Another update! Wow, is my updating schedule really messed up. Sorry about that!
Also, another apology about the length of this chapter. This chapter is, once again 13k words! I just find these arena chapters very hard to cut.
Warnings (spoilers!): this chapter introduces more gore to this fic. There is mentions of blood, needles/stitches, medical operations, and pain. While there is not a lot of detail, I still feel like I should give an extra warning for this. As I mentioned last chapter, I have attempted to write the amount of gore to match the amount presented in the source material (and therefore, stays at a teen rating). If anyone has any questions/comments/concerns about this, I am completely open to it. (also, as always, a warning for violence and coarse language)
I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter 21: The First Camp
Day 1
As soon as Lincoln heard the noise from upstairs, he was moving.
He quickly walked across the room, moving towards the stairs that lead to the second floor, as quietly as possible. His feet were surprisingly quiet on the wooden floors; between the weight of their boots and the hastiness of his pace, she was surprised he didn't make more noise.
She tried to copy his walking technique and step where he stepped, hoping to avoid squeaking floorboards. They had to have the element of surprise. Obviously whoever was upstairs hadn't heard the squeak of the door when they first entered the building. Clarke was going to use this to her full advantage.
He turned to her as they reached the bottom of the stairs, his facial expression tight. He motioned her to wait and she nodded in understanding. As he kept moving up the stairs, she halted her advances and crouched low.
As Lincoln climbed the stairs, Clarke couldn't help but wonder which tribute was up there. Was it the girl from District 12? Was it the Careers? She couldn't let her heart hope for Bellamy in this situation, but she couldn't stop herself from wishing it would be him.
Clarke watched closely, her heart thrumming in her chest, as Lincoln climbed the final few steps of the staircase. She could feel her palm getting sweaty from the anticipation and her grip on her sword was loose.
Finally, in one swift movement, Lincoln poked his head around the corner, his sword in the ready position. His movements froze and his eyes widened slightly
Clarke was about to charge up the stairs behind him, but stopped when she heard his laugh. He turned to her, amusement clearly written on his face. That made her freeze and lower her sword in confusion.
"What the hell?" she mouthed, still too nervous to make a sound. He motioned for her to follow him up the stairs.
"Come here."
Abandoning attempting to be silent, Clarke climbed up the stairs quickly, her boots hitting each step with an echo. With her heart still racing in her chest, she poked her head around the corner and into the small second floor. As soon as she did, she felt a smile spread across her face and relief flood her body.
It was a squirrel.
There wasn't a tribute in the cabin – it was just a tiny little animal.
Oh, gods. She never thought she had been so thankful in her life. She had managed to survive the bloodbath without seeing the life leave someone's eyes; she was really hoping she wouldn't have that statement change.
Even though it was impossible that she wouldn't have to see someone die in the arena, it was nice to have something to hope for.
The squirrel had made a home for himself in the far corner of the empty room from small twigs and dead leafs. Nuts were collected and scattered all across the second floor, and there was a healthy stockpile in the far corner. The animal stared at them, completely frozen.
She smiled at the animal. This was the first one she had seen out in the arena.
"Have you ever hunted before?" he asked after a moment of silence. She shook her head.
The closest she ever got to hunting was when she would go with her mother for harvesting healing herbs and they would stumble upon an animal. Jackson – one of the other medics in District 6 – always managed to catch animals the found and he would split it with her family.
"Okay," Lincoln said, nodding his head. He slid his sword back into the holster at his waist. "Get the others then. I'll prep our meal for tonight."
Clarke didn't bother to protest that one. He seemed to have skills in survival that she could only dream of. If she were to kill the animals, she was sure she was going to waste a bunch of meat. At least with Lincoln doing the hunting, there was a chance they could all eat something tonight.
Without another word, she left Lincoln to his task. Clarke took the stairs by twos and walked swiftly across the building, no longer worried about keeping quiet. She pulled open the front door and peered over to the large piece of rubble she had last seen her allies at. She didn't know who was around, so she decided waving them over was the safest bet.
She caught Monty's eyes and motioned him the all clear. She could see him turn his head slightly and say something to the rest of the group. As soon as he did, Well's head snapped towards her. From across the clearing, their eyes locked.
It didn't last long. Just seeing him sent a spike of anger through her. She clenched her jaw and turned away from the entrance of the house. Her hands curled into fists at her side and it took everything in her not turn around and walk back upstairs. The only thing stopping her from doing so was the fact she knew Lincoln was up there, taking apart an animal. She wasn't really in the mood to watch that.
Gods, Wells was the worst. While she had spent her final few days in the Capitol warming up to him ever so slightly, this was too much.
Their whole time as tributes, she made one thing clear; she didn't want to be involved with him while in the arena. She had made her wishes very clear to him. There wasn't even a slight chance that he misunderstood what she said because she wasn't being clear enough. She had spelled it out multiple times to him.
He just didn't want to listen.
She didn't trust him and she didn't want to be near him. It was as simple as that. How could she be around someone that she didn't trust while in the arena? While in here, she had to trust the people around her with her life. She had to rely on them.
She knew she couldn't do that with Wells.
Gods, she even let him write her a letter explaining everything. When the spoke the night before, he seemed so genuine and so heartbroken over what happened to them.
She was too, if she was being honest.
Standing with him, just before the interviews, she was heartbroken. That was meant to be her final goodbye to someone who was her best friend. That was meant to be goodbye to who they used to be. Even though things were complicated and she despised him, she wanted to say goodbye. She wanted to know his reasons for doing what he did.
Gods, why did he even write her that letter if he planned to tag along with her alliance?
She thought her mind in circles. What changed between him delivering that letter to her room while she was on the roof and that morning in the arena? What changed so much that he decided that he should be in control of their fates and their relationship.
She was getting more and more frustrated with him just by thinking of it al. He had gone specifically against what she told him. She asked him to leave her alone, but he persisted. She told him that she was not interested in being his ally, but he still followed her in the arena.
It was almost like everything he was doing was to push her buttons. Was he doing this on purpose?
She reached down to feel for her token – her father's watch. It still sat on her wrist, the skin sticking to the back of it and the band from the heat and the sweat. In that moment, she wasn't thinking of the watch. She was thinking of what sat underneath.
It was his letter he wrote to her. She didn't want to read it before the Games because she didn't want to work herself up and lose focus. She had to stay focused and her mind had to be clear. She planned to read it once she was in the arena, if she survived long enough.
But here he was. Following her.
She was tempted to ask him face-to-face for an explanation. For what, she wasn't sure. She wanted him to give her a reason why he followed her in the arena. She wanted him to give her a reason why he volunteered for the Games. She wanted him to give her a reason why he betrayed her.
All she knew was she needed to know. Why? Why would he continuously hurt her?
But she was too tired to do anything. In that moment, all she wanted to do was lay down and never get back up again. She hurt. Now that the adrenaline was draining from her system, every movement felt impossible.
The group entered the small house, breaking Clarke away from her thoughts. Just like her, they were too exhausted to be chatting.
Murphy was leaned against Monty awkwardly, both of them clearly too tired to complain. Clarke knew they didn't really like each other. Still, Monty had too good of a heart to make him walk alone.
Murphy had finally succumbed to the pain in his arm, making him weak in the legs. She didn't know how he managed to make it all day with an arrowhead still in his arm and blood down the front of his shirt. He looked like he was seconds away from passing out and she didn't blame him.
Well was the next one to walk in the house and she ignored him completely. She could feel his eyes on her face, but she didn't want to deal with him right now. She was too tired to make sense of her thoughts and her emotions – both things she wanted clear before she talked to him again.
Charlotte had lost the bounce in her step completely. It was heartbreaking to see her haunted eyes and her tearstained cheeks. She looked hallow on the inside and it was gut wrenching. She dragged her feet behind her and her shoulders were drooped.
Most concerning, Raven had a distinct look of pain on her face as she held her leg. She had a slight limp as she walked into the house, her hands clenched tightly on her thigh. Without hesitation, Clarke walked up to her.
"Are you okay?" Clarke asked, her eyebrows pulling together. Raven nodded her head sharply, a thin smile stretching across her face. Monty looked back at her with concern, his arm still wrapped around Murphy's shoulders.
"I'm okay," she replied tightly. She straightened up and tried to walk evenly on her leg, but she ended up limping. It looked like she was in even more pain than before.
"You're not," Clarke insisted. "It's your leg."
Raven let out a long breath and leaned against the railing of the staircase, taking her weight off of her leg. While she hadn't completed her medical training, Clarke didn't need that to know something was majorly wrong with her friend. She scanned her body for blood – looking for any signs of injury.
"It's all of the running," Raven explained after a long moment. She fidgeted with her hands, her eyes glued on her fingers. After a long moment, she looked up and locked eyes with Clarke. "I never really mentioned it before – I just didn't think it was necessary."
"What?" she asked. "What didn't you mention before?"
Raven shrugged. "I got an injury a few years ago that nearly paralyzed me." Clarke swallowed thickly at that. She didn't know. "Since I was one of the up and coming mechanics of the district – and, according to a few people – of Panem, they wanted to do anything to help me. They wanted to do anything to save my career."
"They?" Clarke echoed.
"Yeah. You know. Capitol officials and doctors and stuff." Clarke half wondered if her mother was in on this decision. "Anyways, a few of my supervisors recommended me for an experimental procedure. It was designed to help fix spinal cord injuries, but the technology could be applied for me." Raven rubbed her leg with a wince. "I had shrapnel pressed up against my spine. I lost a lot of blood. The procedure worked for the most part. I got function of my legs again and could walk – something that they told me I might not be able to do again. For a while, I had really nerve damage and lost all feeling in it, but…" She shrugged. "It's different now, but I'll never be the same."
"I had no idea," Clarke admitted.
"Don't worry. I'm not mad you didn't know," Raven said, a small smile on her lips. "Most times, I can move like nothing ever happened to me. For the most part, I can deal with the pain that comes with that. But… It gives me a lot more pain if I use it too much. I shouldn't really be running. Like I said, it helped, but it's never really been the same. I've gotten used to it for my daily activities, but I've never pushed it this much."
Clarke frowned. "I wish you would've told me. We could've stopped running."
She shook her head. "I'm fine. I'm still alive. A little pain isn't going to bring me down." Somehow, she managed to keep a smile on her face. Clarke was inspired by how strong she was. "Plus, if we would've stopped running, we could've been killed."
"We're in the arena. Anything could kill us."
She shrugged. "Everyone has their battle scars, Clarke. I'm not going to bring everyone else down because of mine."
She shook her head. "No. You wouldn't be bringing us down," she insisted. "You're part of our team. Monty said it earlier – we're family now. If you can't run for long periods, we won't either. This is your health we are talking about." Clarke lightly touched her shoulder.
"Thanks." Raven sighed loudly. "This is the only time I'll ever be thankful for Capitol technology, even if it is a pain in my ass," she grumbled.
Wells winced. "Careful what you say," he warned her. "We are in their Games and this is their arena. They can do whatever they want to us."
Raven shot him a look. "Careful, Wells," she snapped, her voice tight. "The only reason I didn't kill you was because I felt bad for setting Murphy on you after the chariot rides," she snapped.
Clarke remembered how angry Raven looked when she first spotted her in the arena. That felt so long ago, even if it was only a few hours. She had been standing in front of Wells, absolutely lashing out at him.
Raven knew that she didn't get along with Wells. Clarke was grateful she attempted to stand up for her and hold her ground.
"Why don't you sit?" Monty question, stepping forward. He had set Murphy down on the floor and had turned his entire attention to her.
She batted his hand away, a frown on her face. "I don't need sympathy. I don't want pity. I'm fine." Clarke pressed her lips tightly together. She knew Raven was a strong woman – it was clear by her actions in the Games and her attitude in life. She just hated seeing her friend in so much pain from using it in an extreme circumstance.
"You should get some rest," Clarke commented. Raven shot her a look. "I'm not saying that because I pity you, Raven. I'm saying that as your friend. And as your ally. We need you as strong as possible if we're going to get through the Games." Clarke turned to everyone. "We need to all be as strong as possible." She smiled. "You each have skills that us, as a group, could really use. If we work together as a team – we can do this."
"Aren't you a beacon of positivity," Murphy drawled from the floor.
"It's true," Wells insisted. "We'll need to work together as a team."
The room fell silent. Clearly, everyone was having a hard time accepting Wells as being part of the alliance. Did the fact Clarke let him run with them even make him part of their alliance?
"We need a fire!" Lincoln called from the top floor, breaking the awkward silence. Clarke was grateful for it. While she couldn't stand Wells at the moment, she didn't want to get into the details with her group about why.
Charlotte looked puzzled. "What? A fire?"
"We caught supper," Clarke explained. "Well... Lincoln did." He came down the stairs and looked around at the group.
"Can one of you build a fire?"
Monty nodded and went outside. As he left to do that, Clarke walked up to Murphy. Along the way, she leaned over to Wells.
"I don't need you to fight my fights," she told him, her voice low. "I don't need your help."
His face was tight. "Got it." He crossed his arms, an unreadable expression on his face. "I take it you didn't read my letter?"
"No," she answered. How could he tell? Even if she did read the letter, she doubted her attitude towards him would be any different than it was in that moment. She doubted any explanation in the world would make her hate him less for betraying her.
Before she could get into it with Wells anymore than she had to, she left him standing in the middle of the room. She examined Murphy with critical eyes. The piece of cloth wrapped around his shoulder was soaked with blood. His face was twisted with pain and drawn with exhaustion.
"We need to get that arrow out of you because it causes more damage," she commented. She crouched in front of him and reached for the wound. He winced and gasped as she unwound the bandage.
"Watch it," he mumbled. He was too tired to hold the same hostility he usually had. Clarke felt even more worried in that moment.
She tugging the bandage gently and tossed it to the floor. Clarke glanced at his wound and chewed on her lip. It was worse than what she thought it was.
"You'll need stitches," she determined. She swore and leaned back, her head tilting to the sky.
She couldn't do this. She didn't have the supplies and she wasn't in the proper environment to be doing any medical treatments. With the equipment she had in that moment, all she could do was bandage wounds up, but she knew it wouldn't be good enough in this moment.
Wells surprised her by speaking. "I know you can do a suture," he insisted. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He stood a foot behind her, peering at Murphy over her shoulder. "I've seen you do it before."
In that moment, she didn't feel angry with Wells. She just felt worried for her ally on the floor. All her thoughts and her energy was absorbed by Murphy – she didn't have time or room to worry about Wells.
If she didn't treat him, she doubted he would get better on his own. In the arena, an injury like that would make a big difference in survival. Not only did it make him more susceptible to infection and prone to being picked off in a fight, but it would also reduce his sponsors. Who would want to spend their money on a kid who was injured and going to die anyways?
She rested her forehead against the back of her wrist as she thought. She needed to do something. What could she do? What was needed?
He needed stitches, or he would bleed out. The arrow had pierced the skin on first impact, but it had continued to tear it on the run to the cabin. It was a fairly long gash now, and it was deep. If she didn't seal it, she didn't know how long it would take for him to die out there.
Sutures. She did them only a few days ago on the Capitol mannequin for training. She could do them again, right?
Wrong. She didn't have the same equipment. At least back in the Capitol, she had a suture kit and the thing she was working on wasn't alive. Murphy was alive. Being stitched up without any anesthetic would be sickening for him.
"I don't have any medical equipment," she said finally, straightening her back. "At least not in my bag. I haven't checked the others."
Without question, Wells shrugged off his and kneeled beside her, already digging through it. The others followed suit, each pulling out items from their bag. Clarke already knew what was in her bag; crackers, a water bottle, a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss and a bar of soap. Nothing that could help their situation.
Really, she couldn't see a situation where any of those items would ever be helpful.
"Monty has an empty water canister, a pack of water sterilizers, crackers, and matches." Charlotte said as she dug through the bag he had been carrying.
"Yes! Matches!" Raven cheered as she pulled out a tiny box from her backpack. "Monty! You'll need these!" She rushed out the door after him, still limping from the pain.
Lincoln was next to pull out items from his bag. "I've got a thermal blanket, a pair of gloves, some rope and liquid sanitizer," Lincoln said. He shoved the items back in the backpack and Raven returned from outside. "We could use the blanket to tie his arm?"
Clarke shook her head. "No. He'll bleed through it and we need it. If they gave that to us, then they must know it'll get cold in the arena."
Murphy chuckled from the ground, his voice dry. "I think I lost all the water in my body today from the heat. I can't see how this place is going to get cold."
"You never know," Raven pointed out, her voice distracted as she dug through her bag. "They control the climate in here." She turned back to her bag. "More matches, some cotton, a full water bottle, and some food." She placed all of the items back in her bag, but kept the water out. She turned to Clarke, concern written across her features. Without hearing her speak, Clarke already knew what she was thinking. One bottle of water would not be enough. "We need more. Unless Wells is carrying a few liters, this is all we have."
Clarke pressed the back of her wrist tighter to her head.
"I know," she said finally, her voice heavy. She swore again under her breath. "We need some sterilized to use now – for Murphy. We need to clean this wound once I get it stitched." She pulled a face. "If I even manage to..."
"You will," Wells promised her.
In that moment, Clarke was almost thankful for his encouragements. It was different than before. This was familiar. Back when she was free and they were friends, he was the one that was always encouraging her and helping her study.
Wells pulled something out of his backpack and tossed it to her. She caught it and turned it over a few times. It was a miniature sewing kit.
She looked up at him, her brows furrowed. "I've read about people sewing themselves shut in books. That's possible, right?"
"It might be." Clarke opened the kit and examined the contents. There were a few needles and some black thread, which was pretty standard. She pulled the thread out and rubbed it between her fingers. She shook her head. "I need something tougher than this. It'll snap instantly."
She put the thread back in the box, but pulled out the needle. As she examined it, her thoughts were already racing. She had to work with what she had, or Murphy wouldn't survive. She had to do something for him – not only because she was the only one with medical training in their group, but because he got injured saving her.
She thought for a moment, the needle still twirling in her fingers. Then, she froze. A thought came to mind, bringing her to a complete standstill.
Out of options, she dove back into her backpack, the needle clutched in her palm. As she dug, Wells pulled out the rest of the contents of his bag.
"I have gauze, bandages, and a pack of water sterilizers, too."
"Keep the gauze out," she asked, her mind preoccupied with searching. Finally, she pulled out what she was looking for. Holding the tiny box in her hand, she turned to the rest of the group. "I've got an idea."
Murphy's eyes were wide as he stared at what she had in her hand. "No. Freaking. Way." Murphy was determined when he seen what she was holding. In one hand, she held the needle from the sewing kit. In the other, she held the package of dental floss. "Don't you dare come near me with that."
Clarke locked eyes with him, attempting to be reassuring. "It'll work," she told him. "And you need stitches – it's not a question. This is the only thing that we have that is strong enough to keep the wound closed." Murphy still didn't look convinced. "You'll keep ripping the wound open if I don't – it won't work if I use the string. It'll get infected."
Charlotte gagged from across the room, breaking the silence. "She's not serious, is she?" she asked who Clarke presumed was Lincoln.
"She is."
Clarke hadn't moved, her eyes still locked on Murphy's. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat and he looked like he was going to get sick. His eyes travelled slowly from the box of floss to her own.
"I won't lie to you. This won't be pretty or easy."
He forced a smile onto his face. "Do I look like quitter to you?" he asked.
Clarke took him in honestly. With blood and sweat covering his body, he looked like he had been through hell. He practically had been. He charged into the bloodbath and saved her, only to run for hours afterwards.
"No," she said. "You're a survivor."
He grimaced. "Damn right, I am." A look of determination settled over him. "Let's do this."
With his agreement, Clarke got to work. She reached into her own bag and pulled out the empty water canister. As she examined it, she turned to Raven. "Raven, can you hand me the water." The girl didn't move. Clarke glanced up at her. "Please?" She lifted her hand that held the supplies for suturing. "I need it to sterilize the needle."
"We need it to drink," she insisted. Her hands were locked tightly around the neck of the bottle. "We're already really low. I don't think we can sacrifice any. Can't you use a dirty needle?"
"Screw you, too," Murphy grumped from the ground. Raven had the manors to look guilty.
"I'm sorry, but I'm just saying. We're all thirsty. We need to split this water between all seven of us. We don't have any to spare." Clarke frowned slightly, but she couldn't argue with that logic. Raven was right. They needed to drink – they couldn't spare a single drop for anything else.
"Will sterilizer work?" Lincoln asked. He had pulled out the gel sanitizer from his bag and tossed it to her. She examined it. After a short moment, she nodded.
"It'll have to." Clarke set the supplies down on her backpack and sanitized her hands. She looked at Murphy's wound. "This is going to hurt, but I'd much rather you be in pain now than dead in a few days."
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, his tone cheeky despite being in pain.
Clarke continued to sterilize her materials, the room silent behind her. There was tension between the group; nobody knew what to do.
Finally, she turned to face Lincoln. "Get her out of here," she said, referring to Charlotte. "You don't have to stay either. None of you do," she said, her eyes flicking over Lincoln and Raven. "It's not going to be pretty."
Charlotte didn't argue. She willingly followed Lincoln outside with the squirrel he prepared. She could hear them strike up a conversation with Monty outside. Raven hung hesitantly by the staircase, her hands wrung together.
She turned to Wells, her mouth open. Just as she was about to ask him to hand the medical supplies to Raven, but stopped herself. He had watched her perform surgeries before. He had helped her study for her exams. He knew what she would be talking about if she asked for help, and he wouldn't freeze up when he seen the blood. They had done this before. They had been a team before, working together in labs.
Her mind was already made up. She couldn't risk a second thought. "Wells. I'll need your help on this one."
For a brief moment, she could see him freeze. While he processed her request, she turned back to the supplies, continuing to sanitize them. After a moment, he nodded and moved into position by her side.
Where he had been many times before.
"Got it." He dropped to the floor beside her and reached for the sanitizer. Clarke couldn't ignore the feeling of how right this was. It almost scared her how normal things felt.
Her mind instantly wondered back to where they were only hours ago. Her father being ripped away. His arms around her body, trying to pull the pieces of her together. Her rage building at him. The pain and confusion in his eyes. The way her heart broke when she realized she was the true one at fault. The way her mother tried to comfort her.
"Raven," Clarke said, trying to pull her thoughts away from Wells and her pain. "Are you staying?"
"If you need my help."
"I do." She turned to her. "You'll need to keep Murphy quiet."
Raven's eyes widened and she chocked on the air in her lungs. "Excuse me?"
"He's going to want to scream," Clarke explained. She locked eyes with the other tribute. "He can't. We'll draw attention to ourselves and we'll die." Raven looked terrified. "It'll be okay. You don't have to see any blood if you don't want to. Just sit on his other side."
"Really? Reyes?" Murphy groaned.
Ignoring him, Clarke gestured in the direction of a backpack. "Grab the thermal blanket from Lincoln's bag. On the stairs."
She didn't have time to complete her thoughts, her mind was already racing, trying to figure out how to do this fast and properly. She only had one real shot at this, and she had to be fast. She didn't want Murphy in any more pain than she needed him to be. Be fast. Be accurate.
She turned to his wound, refocusing her mind. It had been a long time since she had done any medical treatments on a living and breathing person.
Raven dropped to his side, the blanket in her hands. They shared an uneasy glance.
Without looking up, Clarke spoke. "Murphy, bite down on that."
He scoffed. "I won't scream," he said.
She looked away from his wound, a serious expression on her face. "I'm going to be removing an arrowhead from your arm, cleaning it, stitching it back up, and bandaging it. Without anesthetic and without proper medical equipment. You're going to scream whether you want to or not." Murphy's expression remained strong. "Even if you don't scream, you're going to break a tooth or bite your tongue if you don't have something in your mouth. This isn't going to be easy."
Finally, he relented. He took the blanket from Raven's hands and stuffed it in his mouth. He gave Clarke a dry expression.
"Happy?" he mumbled, his words distorted from the blankets.
Clarke didn't respond.
She laced the floss through the needle and handed it to Wells to hold. She was ready.
She glanced at Murphy, who was staring at her with a morbid curiosity. "I'm going to start. Try to keep quiet and still. I'll be as fast as I can." She turned to Raven. She looked pale and nervous. "You don't need to watch. Just keep him quiet." She nodded weakly and turned her head to the side, blocking her own view.
Clarke lifted her hand above his injury and sucked in a deep breath. Her hand trembled the slightest bit.
She was terrified of messing up. What if she just made this worse? What if she realized she couldn't fix him? What if he couldn't take the pain?
She didn't think she could handle Murphy withering in pain. She didn't think she could handle the screams that were bound to escape his lips. Just hearing someone in as much pain as Murphy was about to be in terrified her.
She couldn't look at Murphy's face anymore. She had to take a step back. She to distance herself from him.
No. This wasn't Murphy. This was a mannequin from the Capitol. Yeah. She could do this. The screams weren't going to be from someone she cared about – they were going to be manufactured.
With fake confidence in her, she started.
As soon as she began the procedure, Murphy's body jolted and clenched up. Wells instantly moved to his side, holding his arm still. Clarke whispered apologies under her breath and tried to work faster. A few more seconds past and he clenched his eyes tightly and made a fist. His nails dug into the palm of his hand, drawing blood.
"I'm sorry," she muttered again, wincing alongside him. Wells and Raven were both silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Raven watching Murphy in complete horror. It occurred to Clarke that this must've been the first time she had seen someone in so much pain before.
After only 10 seconds, he let out his first scream. It was absolutely bloodcurdling. Clarke flinched away and she could see Raven do the same. The blanket barely muffled his screams.
"Raven," she muttered, already moving back into position. Murphy let out scream after scream, his face turning a brilliant shade of red from the ferocity of it all. "We need him quiet."
"I'm trying!" she insisted. Her hands hovered over his face, shaking. "I don't know what to do!" Clarke began trying to remove the arrow and he screamed louder. She could feel him completely stiff under her hands.
"Raven!" Clarke said urgently. If any tributes were nearby, they would hear him. He needed to keep quiet. Raven moved instantly, pressing her palm against his mouth, a frantic look on her face. Clarke look horrified. "Distract him, not suffocate him!"
Raven removed her hand from his mouth and wiped the slobber off on her pant leg. After a second of hesitation, she lowered her head so she was eye level with him. Their noses were only inches apart.
"Murphy!" she called, her voice shaking. Despite his screaming, she kept her composure. "Murphy," she called again. "Shhhhh. Please." Her voice was getting stronger and more desperate. "You need to be quiet." Still, it didn't work.
Raven pulled back and ran her hand through her hair several times, gathering her composure. Murphy was sobbing now, his cries mingling with his screams of pain. He was on the verge of passing out from the pain – Clarke could tell. She was surprised he was still awake.
With newfound determination, Raven scooted towards him again and placed her hand on his uninjured shoulder, squeezing it gently. When that didn't break him from his pain, she growled and poked his cheek.
His eyes opened sharply and their eyes locked. "Good. Good. Look at me." His eyes were in and out of focus, like he was struggling to stay awake. Clarke half hoped he would pass out at that point, to stop him from screaming. "Clarke, can you stop please? Just for one second."
Clarke pulled her hands back away from his arm. Murphy continued to let out cries of pain, but they weren't as strong as they were before. Slowly, they died down to pitiful sobs. His eyes managed to lock onto Raven's again.
"Good. Murphy." Raven forced a smile onto her lips. Clarke marveled at how well she managed to disguise her own pain. "You're doing good, so good. It's almost over. Clarke said only a few more seconds, alright?"
No, she didn't. She didn't dare say anything though. Raven was clearly trying to comfort him.
"But you need to stay quiet, okay?" Murphy let out a sob and she nodded. "I know. I know. It's hard. It's impossible, but you just said you're a survivor. So, survive, okay?" Raven gestured for Clarke to continue. As soon as she touched his arm again, he flinched and let out a gargled yell. "It's okay," she promised him. "Just look at me. Look at me." Murphy's eyes never left her own. Clarke could see they were blurry and unfocused. "I'm going to talk to you. Alright? I'll tell you a story. And you're going to listen. Okay? Okay." She was rambling, but Clarke was thankful. Murphy was quieting down the more she spoke.
Finally, Clarke removed the arrowhead from his arm. She took the sanitizer from Wells and glanced to Raven, an apologetic look on her face.
"It's going to get a lot worse," she warned. Raven nodded without looking away from him.
As soon as she began to clean the wound, Murphy's screaming intensified. His head went flying back into the wall, but Raven managed to prevent him from getting further injured by placing her hand against his skull.
Raven inched closer to him, forcing him to focus on her as she spoke. "I'm an only child. Like you, right? You said in your interview you're an only child. Well… So am I. I had shitty parents, too." Murphy's eyes reopened and locked onto hers. He looked desperate and broken. "I grew up in District 3 all alone. I don't know my dad - my mom never knew who he was. And my mom. She's never been around much." As she spoke about her family life, Clarke worked faster. She didn't know how long the two of them could keep this up. "We always struggled. She… uhm… Well, she would trade my food for drinks."
Clarke traded the sanitizer for the needle and floss from Wells. "Almost done," she promised. "Just the stitches left."
Clarke forgot how hard it was to work on actual people. The dummies in the training area didn't wiggle and try to pull away. They didn't scream every time she looped the needle around. It was made even worse by the fact that she knew the person under her hands.
Yeah, so much for just thinking of him as a Capitol mannequin. That was nearly impossible. As she looked at him, all she could see was the boy who risked himself for her.
Every time he screamed, she grimaced. This was her fault. He had taken that arrow for her. She tried to work as quickly and neatly as possible. Get this done fast. Get this done fast. End his pain quickly. Don't make him suffer.
Raven was still rambling onto him, talking about anything that came to mind. He was clearly tired and near passing out; his intense screams had slowly turned to whimpers and screams without strength.
"His name is Finn. He's a real pain in the ass sometimes, like you I guess, but I love him. He grew up with me. Whenever my mom wasn't around or when she was spent all of the food money on other things, he would bring me over. His parents became mine, in a sort of way." She was smiling as she spoke about him. Even despite the pain of the arena, she couldn't deny that his family made her happy. Even Clarke could see it. "I guess I'm pretty lucky to have him."
"No," Murphy grunted. Clarke was startled. That was the first word he spoke. "He's the lucky one," he disagreed. He tensed up and let out a strangled cry as Clarke continued to stitch. He was barely hanging onto consciousness.
"You know, you're implying that I'm not the pain in the ass you make me out to be," Raven commented. Murphy let out another cry. Raven's smile disappeared. "We're almost done. Just a few more seconds." He didn't show any signs that he heard her. "Growing up sucked for both of us, right? Well, I'm older than you, aren't I? So I have more wisdom, right? So, I can tell you that it gets better. Life gets better, no matter how hard it is."
Clarke's hands pulled away from him so she could untangle a piece of the floss she was working with.
"You're wrong," he groaned.
"It does."
"No, you're wrong." His eyes fluttered closed. Clarke was nearly convinced he passed out. Finally, he spoke. "You're wrong. My life doesn't get better. It won't. Because I'm stuck in this hellhole."
"Starting again," Clarke warned. He let out a grimace as Clarke continued. He hit bit down on the blanket again and let out a low moan of pain.
"When you get out, you'll see I'm right," Raven promised after a long pause. "It's a shame I won't be around to tell you told you so."
"Almost done. You're doing good," Clarke muttered. She put in the last stitch and tied the knot at the end.
"I got to go to school for something I loved. I got to train to be one of the youngest mechanics ever. I worked my ass off, but it was worth it because I got to do what I loved. I was happy."
Clarke used a knife to cut the end of the floss. She handed the needle back to Wells and took hold of the gauze.
Raven forced a smile. "Maybe, one day, you'll be happy too."
Clarke finished wrapping the gauze and tied it off. "Done."
She sat back, and let her arms fall to the ground. Her head tilted towards the roof of the house and she let out a sigh, letting the tension fade from her body. Raven had moved backwards from Murphy, no longer inches away from his face. Wells had dropped Murphy's arm and rested his head against the wall.
Murphy slowly lifted his uninjured arm and ran his fingers over the bandage. He let out a tired chuckle.
"That wasn't so bad."
Raven was the first one to start laughing. She threw her arms around both Clarke's and Murphy's shoulders, pulling them towards her. Murphy let out a grunt of pain as he was moved, but he didn't pull away or make a comment.
Clarke turned to Wells, who was sitting just on the outskirts of their hug. They locked eyes.
Without thinking twice, she reached for him and pulled him into her side. She let out a laugh, the relief and joy overflowing from her.
They did it.
It was their first obstacle as a team and they had overcome it. Clarke was exhausted from running all day and then trying to stitch him up as good as she possibly could, but the relief that she felt was undeniable. It was pure bliss.
Murphy would be okay. The arrow was removed and the wound was sealed. It might not have been the best suture she had done in her life, but she was confident it would hold. He would have a scar when this was all over, but it wound wouldn't kill him. All she hoped was that he wouldn't get an infection in the arena. While she sterilized the needle and her hands as best as she could, it wasn't as clean as she would've liked it.
"Here." Wells pulled out of Clarke's arms and reached across to take the partially used gauze package from her hands. He placed it back into the backpack, which now housed all of the medical supplies.
"Is Murphy okay?" Monty was at the door of the house, looking concerned. He must've realized either something was wrong or they were finished as soon as Murphy stopped screaming. He seen the expressions of pure bliss and happiness on Raven and Clarke's faces. "I'll take that as a yes."
"I'm good," Murphy mumbled. Clarke was once again surprised he hadn't passed out. He was stronger than she gave him credit for.
As if to prove his point, he tried to stretch his arm, but Clarke stopped him.
"Let's wait until it heals a bit," she said, her hand catching his forearm before he could move. "I've never used dental floss to stitch a cut before – I don't know how it'll hold up." He nodded in agreement and relaxed his arm. He turned his head lazily towards Raven. He smirked.
"Thanks, Reyes." She returned his smile.
"No problem."
"I guess you're okay. Just don't tell anyone I said that."
"Sure, Murphy," she snorted. "I'll hold that compliment near to my heart," she teased. "Just remember this next time you want to complain about me."
Clarke smiled slightly at them. Even though they had started off at each other's throats, they managed to put their hate for each other aside that day. First, they ran beside each other as they made their way out of the city, and now, with Raven distracting him.
Even in that moment, she noticed their teasing was different. It was lighter – kinder. Maybe all they needed was few moments of bonding and understanding.
Clarke looked down at her hands and felt a chill settle over her. They were covered completely in blood. Her breath caught in her lungs and she felt a hush settle over her thoughts.
Blood. So much blood.
She noticed that it hung heavily in the air again, just like it did in the bloodbath. The metallic taste of it lingered on her tongue.
Blood. She could feel it all over her from their events of the day. She almost forgot that she had it across her neck from where Murphy fell on her during the bloodbath. Mindlessly, she reached up to brush her fingertips across it.
Only a few hours into the Games, and she already had blood on her hands. She was already covered in the blood of people she had cared about.
It's from saving someone, she reminded herself. You saved him. You helped.
Still, she couldn't ignore the feeling of dread and panic that filled her in that moment. She felt like she was falling down a hole, unable to escape. It was suddenly hard to swallow.
As if Wells could hear her thoughts, he leaned forward. He shrugged his jacket off and reached for her hand. She let him take her hand without a comment. The small amount of physical contact brought her back down to the ground. Once again, she felt like her feet were solidly planted.
He gently wiped the blood from her fingers, an intent look on his face. Clarke smiled at him.
It felt like time after time again, he was able to bring her back from the moments she felt like she was losing herself. He was able to recognize she was slipping, even after all that time apart. Like right before the interviews.
"Lincoln's done cooking squirrel," Monty pointed out from the doorway. He turned to Clarke, an odd expression crossing his face. "We need to start rationing."
Clarke took the jacket from Wells and began to rub the blood off her opposite hand, a feeling of worry washing over her again.
It made sense. They barely had food. There were so many of them part of this alliance – so many more than just twenty-four hours ago. Within the last twenty hours, both Murphy and Wells had joined the alliance. That meant there were two more mouths to feed – it was something none of them had accounted for.
"Already?" Murphy complained, his voice sounding strong that before. "We just got here."
"We didn't get enough food from the Cornucopia," he pointed out. "We have two packs of crackers and one pack of dried meat. That's it. That's supposed to last us for two weeks – all seven of us." He looked just as worried as Clarke felt. She felt a pang of hurt inside her – she was already failing her alliance. "And don't even mention water. We have one bottle – that's 500 milliliters – to split seven ways." He rubbed his forehead. Clarke felt sick. "We have three other canisters for water, but they're empty. We're not going to last two days."
Clarke shoved her feelings of worry and failure down. Now wasn't the time. If she knew one thing from her time in isolation, it was that no hope could kill. If her allies ran out of hope, they were already lost.
She needed to give them hope and confidence that things would be okay. She had to prevent their panic and their worries by being strong. And that meant hiding her own worries.
"We'll manage," Clarke promised, her voice light. She stood up from the ground and dusted off her pants.
In truth, she wasn't too sure how they would manage. The numbers were looking grim. They all needed water tonight – badly. They had run for hours in the scorching heat and they were all dehydrated.
She remembered that her mother used to tell patients to aim for 3 liters of water every day. They had a fraction of that to split between all of them.
In that moment, Kane's advice hit her hard. He warned her about this. It wasn't tributes that would most likely kill all of them – it was the elements, starvation and dehydration.
They weren't even a day into the arena and she was realizing how impossible this would be. They needed water to survive. Without it, she doubted they would last more than two more days.
Lincoln walked back in the house with Charlotte on his heels. In his hands was their food, if she could even call it that. She didn't think it would feed one of them, never mind seven.
"I can see I'll be going to sleep for dinner tonight," Murphy said sarcastically. Nobody had the heart to laugh.
The rest of the group turned to her, each one of them wearing nervous expressions. They were looking to her for answers she didn't have. She wished she had them. She wished she knew what to do.
"Let's divide the squirrel evenly for tonight," Clarke decided after a moment. What else could she do? She couldn't very well hold a lottery over who gets to eat that night. This was the only choice.
Huh. An oxymoron. Clarke couldn't deny the clear contradictions in her thoughts. She never really had a choice to begin with.
"How much meat will that be?" she asked. Lincoln examined the animal.
"One bite."
"Great."
She chewed on her lip and tried to work out a solution. She didn't want to open up any of their food they got from the backpacks. She didn't know what the future might bring for them. For all she knew, that's all the food they would have for the rest of their time in the arena. This animal might be the only one they catch all week.
The water was another issue. They only had a single bottle to split between all of them. She could feel that her throat was scratchy and her tongue was heavy already. Dully, she could feel a slight headache forming, an ever so present reminder of her lack of water.
She didn't know if they would ever find a source of fresh water to fill their other bottles with. Once again, what they had in their possession might be the only water they had. How could the seven of them dream of surviving off so little water? It was impossible. Even surviving off that amount of water for one day felt impossible.
Looking around at the faces of her friends, she realized they would have to chance it. Right now, they were hungry and thirsty. What good would it be to save it all for when they really needed it if half of them were dead before that time came? They would drink the water they had and deal with that problem tomorrow.
She reached into the backpack where Raven had been sitting. She pulled out the bottle.
"We'll drink half of this tonight and half it tomorrow before we move again," Clarke said. "Tomorrow, we'll need to find water for the rest of the week. If we don't, we might be able to stretch this until our third day in the arena." She doubted it, but she could at least give them something to hold on to. "Is that okay with everyone?"
Monty shrugged. "Rationing is the best option. I see no problems."
Seeing nobody else speaking up, she passed the bottle to Charlotte first. "We each get one sip." Raven looked dejected and Murphy looked pissed.
"We'll need a lot more than that if we want to live," he pointed out.
"We can survive with what Clarke is proposing," Monty interjected. "We won't be comfortable, but we'll be alive." Charlotte passed the bottle to Lincoln next.
"As for food, we'll eat the squirrel tonight. I seen nuts on the second floor that we can eat. In the morning, we'll eat one pack of crackers." The bottle was passed to Monty next.
She chewed on her lip, unsure of that plan. She knew the crackers would make them thirsty and the salt covered it would make them even more dehydrated. She didn't know whether the benefit of food would outweigh the cost of dehydration. She would have to weigh the options during the night.
The bottle made its way to Raven, Murphy and then Wells. As soon as it got back into Clarke's hands, she took a short sip and capped it. She held the bottle at eyelevel and looked at the remaining water left in the bottle.
It was half gone already.
She tried to keep her expression emotionless. It was fine. She did say they could drink half of it today. Part of her just wished some more water would magically appear.
She handed the bottle back to Raven.
Charlotte couldn't stop staring at her. She hoped that she didn't look too concerned. In reality, she was worried. Really worried. She wished that they had managed to get more materials from the Cornucopia. They were a full day walk away from it now, so they couldn't go back to quickly grab more things. They had to keep moving forward, which meant their chance of finding food and water was uncertain.
Clarke remembered seeing arenas in the past where the only source of water was the bounty collected from the Cornucopia. She hoped with everything in her that it wasn't the case this year.
"Let's all move to the second floor," Monty suggested, glancing nervously out the front door. "We'll be further away from the door, if another tribute does find us. Plus, the window up there should give us the advantage of height."
The sky was dark when they got settled on the second floor. Clarke felt nervous in that moment, but she knew she shouldn't. She was surrounded by people she could trust. She was as safe as she could be while in the arena.
Still, the dark felt sinister.
Lincoln had distributed the food among the group. Clarke could fit the amount of food she had in the centre of her hand. Three nuts and one strip of meat.
She didn't let her fear or her want for more show. She sat with her allies, enjoying their presence. She tried to keep her mind off the fact that people who wanted to kill her were in the same arena with her. She tried not to think about the fact that the Capitol wanted her dead, and now they had complete control over her surroundings.
It terrified her. She was finally in their domain and under their control. If they wanted her to die, they could light a fire in the forest and trap her. If they were sick of her being alive, they could kill her and nobody would bat an eye.
It happened all the time. Tributes had unfortunate encounters with traps set by the Capitol. Tributes would die because of mutts or other traps the Capitol created – not from survival issues or other tributes.
What was stopping them from killing her right there?
She tried not to think about it too much as she chewed on her food.
It seemed like her group had their minds occupied with other things as well. They didn't speak or joke like they usually did. A heavy weight sat on each of their shoulders.
Clarke could understand why.
Kids died today.
Murphy got shot today.
They were almost out of food.
They were going to run out of water.
They weren't doing well. Even though the whole group of them had survived, they didn't celebrate. They knew that any one of them could die at any moment. They knew that tomorrow was going to be worse. They knew that not all of them would be heading out of the arena alive – only one of them could.
Even though they didn't know each other very well, just sitting around each other provided comfort. They were all going through the similar experience – being thrown into an arena, forced to kill children their age. They were ripped from their homes and placed into a television show, all for the amusement of the Capitol and to satisfy their craving for blood.
It was nice being surrounded by people that shared similar pain.
Murphy put himself in one of the corners of the room, distancing himself from the rest of the group. While they all banded together to help him today, the truth was, she still didn't really know him. He had joined their alliance the previous night and she knew next to nothing about him.
She trusted him though, and she knew the others did too. He had thrown himself in harms way for her and got injured because of it. The others knew that he was trustworthy just from that and that was enough for Clarke. He was a fighter and a survivor.
Monty and Raven sat close together a fair distance from Murphy. Raven had fallen asleep early and Monty wasn't too far behind her. Raven rested her head on Monty's shoulder and Monty rested his on her head as they slept. Clarke was glad they managed to fall asleep so easily. She doubted she would be able to sleep.
Charlotte was given the thermal blanket for the night, as well as a backpack to rest her head on. Her back was pressed against the side of Lincoln's legs, but he didn't seem to mind. He was protective over her, there was no denying it. Clarke remembered how he stood, a solid and unmoving force in front of her during the bloodbath. She wondered how much of the horrors Charlotte had witnessed that day.
As she slept, he watched the horizon out of the window. His head lounged against the wall, his face made of stone as he gazed at the treeline. Wells sat between Lincoln and Clarke, his eyes glued to the night sky as well.
Clarke couldn't take her eyes off of Charlotte. She was too young to be here. She was too young to have to watch other children die. She was too young to have to worry about having enough food and water. She was too young. It wasn't fair.
Really, it wasn't fair for any of them. She wondered how Lincoln managed to stand his ground during the bloodbath. He cared about humanity and life so much; how did he manage to stand on the outskirts of the Cornucopia as children died? How did he resist the temptation to run into the fight to try and save as many people as he could?
When the anthem started, Clarke jumped. Her hand twitched towards the sword laying by her side. When she realized there wasn't a threat, she sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves.
She glanced around the small room. Lincoln and Wells were the only other ones awake. While Lincoln had continued to watch the night sky intently, Wells had turned to her when she jumped. He smiled briefly at her. She glanced away, suddenly too overwhelmed and too nervous by what was going to follow the anthem.
Her eyes locked onto the glowing blue sky, her heart in her throat. The deceased tributes' faces were going to appear in the sky any moment.
Please don't be Bellamy. Please don't be Bellamy. Please don't be Bellamy.
She could already imagine his face staring down at hers from the stars. She didn't know what she would do in that moment if her fear did come true. She wasn't supposed to care.
If that was the case, then why did it feel like she was about to get sick from worry.
The first face to appear in the sky was John Mbege's – the tribute from District 7. His brown eyes were so full of life in the photo projected across the arena.
Clarke rubbed her face tiredly and suppressed the wave of relief that flooded over her. She knew it was terrible to be relieved that someone had died, but, to her, his image in the sky meant something more.
She knew the faces in the sky were shown in the order of districts. If they jumped straight to District 7, that meant all of the tributes in front of him lived.
Bellamy lived.
Octavia lived.
Clarke could almost cry with happiness. They survived the first day. They had managed to survive the bloodbath. She wasn't surprised, but she was relieved. She didn't know how she would react if she seen his face in the sky.
It was only a matter of time until she did.
She squashed that thought. Now was not the time. For now, he was okay. She didn't have to think about that. She couldn't think about that.
She didn't know the tribute from District 7 well, but she had gotten to know his face. He was always behind her in the lines – the chariot behind hers, the seat behind her in the assessment waiting area, the spot behind her in the interview line. They never spoke, but it was still weird seeing his face. It was eerie knowing he was dead.
The next face in the sky was his district partner's – Maya. The same went for her; while they never spoke, Clarke grew used to her smiling face and her soft voice. She didn't know if she had a family or if she was in an alliance, but she couldn't help but wonder in that moment.
The next face to appear in the sky made Clarke completely freeze. A shiver went down her spine and Clarke swore she could've been sick in that moment.
It was the girl from District 9.
That was the girl that attacked Clarke in the bloodbath. She kicked her in the ankle, most likely breaking it. She had left her in the grass gasping for air. She hadn't even looked back to see what came of her.
She had contributed to her death.
If Clarke didn't kick her to the ground, she might've still been alive. The girl from District 9 – Zoe – had been doing what she had to for survival. She could tell she was just a kid trying to survive. She didn't have hate in her eyes. She didn't look bloodthirsty like Ontari had the night on the roof. She looked like a young girl trying to find a way back home.
Now she was dead.
Clarke did that. Clarke helped kill a girl.
As Clarke struggled to come to terms with her death, the next image to fill the sky was the girl from District 10. She hadn't spoken to her before, or noticed her before really. The next face was the boy from District 11. She remembered that he was good with the slingshot and he liked to wear hats, but that was it. She hadn't spoken to him before, just like the others that had been killed that day.
As she watched the images flash across the sky, her hands shook and her vision became blurry. While she wasn't the one who killed the girl from District 9, she played a large part in it. She felt terrible.
The last face was the girl from District 12. District 12. Clarke remembered seeing her at the very start of the Games – she had the platform right beside hers. She had run beside her for a while, both trying to be the first to get to a weapon. She wondered how she managed to live, while the girl right beside her didn't.
The anthem ended and the sky went dark again. She pulled away from the window and turned to Lincoln and Wells. They stared at each other for a long moment, each too tired to say a word, but each needing something from another human. They needed to be reassured that things were okay, even though they all knew it was not.
Clarke adverted her eyes and looked out the window. The sun had completely disappeared, taking away the heat. Just as she suspected, the arena felt cold without the heat of a sun. It was strange; the arena had the appearance of a forest, but the climate change like a desert.
Finally, she turned to Lincoln. "I'll take first watch," Clarke offered. "I'll wake you in four hours?" He nodded his head, his eyes already closing.
With that, she climbed off the floor, her sword already in her hand. She climbed down the stairs to the first floor without glancing in Wells' direction.
The first thing she realized when she got to the ground floor was the smell of blood still lingering. She wrinkled her nose and walked across the room. She sat on the ground closest to the door and propped her chin on the windowsill. She looked up at the sky and sighed.
The stars were not the same.
They weren't the same when she didn't have someone to look at them with. They weren't the same as they were the previous night, when her and Bellamy dreamed about living in the stars. They weren't the same. They weren't freeing.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to focus on anything but Bellamy. She didn't have the time or the energy to think about him. She had to survive. She couldn't think about him; it would hurt her too much.
She couldn't think of him or what could've been. She couldn't torture herself with what if. She couldn't send herself in circles, regretting not kissing him.
Even if it was the truth.
She regretted not kissing Bellamy Blake.
She regretted not rocking forward the one inch to meet his lips half way. What did she have to lose? She already cared about him. She was already going to miss him. Not kissing him didn't prevent herself from trusting him or liking him.
She was broken from her thoughts as someone came down the stairs behind her. She jumped again, her heart racing in her chest. Being in the arena made her jumpy. She turned around to see Wells walking towards her, a knife clutched in his hands. It hung loosely at his side, showing he was not a threat. He smiled at her the slightest bit and dropped to the floor beside her.
Clarke wasn't sure what to think about him. She was so confused.
He went against her wishes by following her and joining her alliance. She told him she didn't want to be near him because she didn't trust him. She didn't want to be in the arena with someone she couldn't trust. It frustrated her to no end that he knew what she wanted, but ignored it.
If he truly wanted her forgiveness, would he actively be going against what she wanted? She thought that if he was truly sorry, he would be doing anything in his power to prove it to her. How would going against her wishes proving that he regretted his actions?
But earlier that evening, when she was stitching Murphy back up, things seemed to click. They worked together as a team, just like they did before he betrayed her. And even before they went into the arena, they had slowly fallen back into the pattern of friends; he encouraged her before she went on stage, she comforted him after his interview.
Was it possible to get back to that? Was it possible for her to truly forgive him and just… move on? She wouldn't deny that it felt so good and so right to be alongside her best friend, doing what she did best. It was safe. It was familiar.
But was she ready to move on? Was she ready to put their painful past behind her?
"You're not tired?" Wells asked her, breaking the silence. Clarke shrugged slightly and rested her head against the windowpane. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him.
"Exhausted," she admitted. She couldn't lie to him. "But someone has to keep watch. Who would I be if I asked someone else to stay up while I got some sleep?"
"You would be human."
Wells made the answer too simple. It wasn't that easy – nothing was.
"I was the one to organize this alliance," she pointed out. "A good leader sacrifices their own comfort for others, right?" She shrugged. "This is just one of those things." She would bear anything for her allies.
"You are a good leader," he said. "You went head first into the bloodbath. I know you. You could've easily asked anyone to go in while you waited with Charlotte, yet, you didn't."
"Because it wouldn't be right."
He smiled gently. "Exactly." He shifted to rest his head against the windowsill too. "You lead us to safety – all of us. We all survived – all seven of us. Do you think that would've been possible without you? Do you think we all would've survived if you hadn't lead us?" Clarke glanced over to him and their eyes locked. "You stitched Murphy up with dental floss and a sewing needle." Wells smirked. "Badass."
Clarke couldn't help but smile fondly and turn away from him. "If anything, Murphy's the badass in this situation," she pointed out. He didn't reply, so she kept talking. "I'd rather just stay up. It's not really a big deal. Plus, I wasn't the only one who did things," she said. "Everyone played a part in us getting here today. We wouldn't have made it this far without any of them." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, heavily considering her words. "You, too, Wells. We wouldn't have made it it here without you too." He nodded as a thank you and turned to look out the window.
Silence consumed them. Clarke settled in against the wall, her eyes trained on the treeline. The night was completely silent which terrified her. Where were all the animals?
"You didn't read my letter," he pointed out after a long moment. It wasn't a question; he already knew she didn't. Clarke kept her eyes locked on the trees. She could see him shifting awkwardly beside her.
"I didn't want to read it before the Games, and I haven't had a chance since we got in the arena," she explained. She hoped he understood. She wasn't exactly avoiding reading it because she didn't want to know. She wanted to know. She trailed her fingers over the face of the watch, her mind drifting to the damp piece of paper underneath. "But I have it. I planned to read it."
"Thank you," Wells said, his shoulders relaxing the slightest bit. "That's all I ask."
Clarke swallowed thickly and searched for a spark of confidence inside her. She would need it.
"I planned to read it," she clarified, her voice strong. She turned to face him completely. He looked hurt and confused by her words, so she continued. "I don't want to read it anymore. I want you to tell me." He looked shocked. She hoped she wasn't asking too much.
When Wells didn't say anything, she could feel pain spread through her chest. "Please tell me the truth," she asked, her voice breaking. "I know you don't owe me anything, but I need to know. I need to know the truth."
Wells glanced around them and she knew what he was thinking – she was thinking the same thing. She wondered where the hidden cameras were. She had a feeling they didn't need to be vague in this conversation. There was no chance that the Capitol would show them talking about how he got her dad murdered on television, no matter how vague they were.
For a brief moment, she was worried something terrible might happen to her or the people she loved for talking about it. Then, she remembered that the Capitol was aware Wells knew about the secret. The only reason she was locked-up, put in isolation and threatened was because she had made an attempt to go public. She was the only one who was a risk.
"Clarke, I…" He ran his hands over his eyes. In that moment, he looked exhausted and broken. She wondered what was going through his mind. "I… I didn't want you to find out. When it happened, I told myself you would never know. I wanted it to die with me." Her bottom lip quivered. "But, when I heard your name called at the reaping, I knew you deserved the truth. You deserved to know what actually happened. I just knew I had to tell you. I knew I couldn't let you go into these Games alone either. So, I volunteered." He locked eyes with her. She could sense the turmoil inside of him.
His words alone inflicted even more confusion within her. This was not the attitude of a killer. This was not how she imagined this conversation going.
"You deserved to know what actually happened." His words rang in her head. Had he told her a lie before? Was the story she knew not the truth?
At the start of the Games, all she expected was to learn about why he did what he did. As the Games went on, she got the feeling that things were not as it seemed. His words only confirmed that.
"Please, Wells. I want to know the truth. I need to know." She brushed some tears off of her face and tried to prevent her bottom lip from trembling. He looked out the window intently, refusing to look in her direction. She let out a broken sob.
She thought back to the day her dad was taken again. He was there when it happened. He was the first one to try and comfort her after he was taken outside. And she pushed him away when she finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. When she realized that the only way Jaha would've found out about anything was because Wells said something, she pushed him away.
"You did this! I trusted you! You couldn't keep your mouth shut, huh? Had to go talking to your dad about the wrong things my father has done."
"Clarke, I-"
"I don't want to hear it! Get out."
"I'm sorry, Clarke. I truly am."
When he left, she remembered crying into her mother's arms. Her words echoed in her ears.
"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault, Clarke. It's not your fault."
Before, those words seemed like they were only spoken for comfort. It reminded her of when she was a child and she made a mistake, her mother would comfort her by assuring her it wasn't her fault. It was similar to how she lied to her allies in the arena; she told them things would be okay, when she knew she couldn't promise that. It was just for comfort.
But, now… Now, they seemed to hold a different meaning. After spending a week with Wells, they meant something different to her.
"Wells, please. I need to know the truth." Her mother's words rang in her ears. It isn't your fault, Clarke. A sense of dread filled her when she realized the implications of them. What if they weren't for comfort? What if they were said with their actual meaning in mind? What if it wasn't her fault? "Tell me this was you. Tell me you had a good reason." He adverted his eyes and looked towards the ground. "Please." She was begging at this point. "Tell me you did it. Tell me it isn't what I'm thinking." She could feel hysteria rising in her chest. Her voice shook. Her chest felt deflated.
After what felt like the longest moment in her life, he still hadn't said anything. She focused on her next words carefully. She felt all of her emotion drain out of her in that moment, distancing herself. She was trying to protect herself from pain.
"It was my mom, wasn't it?" she asked, her voice raspy. "She's the one who told your dad." It wasn't a question. With every word she spoke, she felt more and more sure about her conclusion. It broke her heart, yet set her free at the same time. After a long moment, he looked back up at her.
Just seeing his eyes, she knew. This wasn't him. He didn't do it.
She burst into tears at that, a wave of pain hitting her. She felt the pain all the way to her gut and through her arms. Her head fell into her hands.
"I knew how you would feel," he said, his voice coming out in a whisper. "I had to protect you," he responded, his voice just as broken as she felt. She felt her heart shatter further. All of this time, she had been hating the wrong person. Wells didn't tell his father. Abby did. Her mother got her father killed. "I didn't want you to hate your mother. I knew you needed her." He reached out for her. She grasped his hand in hers like her life depended on it. "You didn't need me."
"You were my best friend!" she sobbed, a flair of pain passing through her chest. Her heart clenched painfully. "Of course I needed you." She wiped her cheeks franticly. "My dad was murdered. My mom was a wreck. I thought my best friend was a traitor. I was alone, even before I was sent to isolation." She let out a sob.
This whole time, she had been hating the wrong person. This whole time, she was angry with Wells for betraying her, but, in reality, he was her most faithful friend. He didn't want her to lose faith in her own family, so he sacrificed himself instead.
When he was maybe the only one in Panem she could trust, she was hating him.
Oh, gods. She hated him and she was so mean to him. Suddenly, she realized all of the mistakes she had made over the last few weeks while they were in the Capitol. When he was, once again, trying to be a good friend, she pushed him away.
"You let me hate you," she said, her voice broken and lost.
He forced out a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. His words were genuine as he spoke. "What are friends for?"
Somehow, her chest hurt even more with that statement. She tried to blink the tears out of her eyes. "How could you forgive me?"
"It's already done." Clarke fell into his chest and his arms wrapped around her shoulders. Just like that night all those months ago, it felt like his arms were helping keep the pieces of her soul in place. "It's all forgiven. It's okay." He rested his chin on top of her head. "It's okay."
Her father was dead and it was her mother's fault.
Nothing was okay.
I'm so sorry, but here is a long author's note (I know… you just read a really long chapter AGAIN and now here's a long note. Sorry!)
First of all, I wanted to talk about something important to me in this chapter (and this whole fic, really). I wanted to talk about Raven and her medical condition. This chapter introduced the idea that Raven had a spine injury that resulted in an injury in her leg and has chronic pain (similar to in the show). It was important for me to keep her medical condition similar to canon because I feel like it's such important representation and I do not want to take that away in this fic.
The cause of this is different than in the show (Murphy shooting her vs her getting injured at work). This is mainly because I couldn't work the parallel of Murphy shooting Raven into this fic. Like I said, to me, it was very important to keep this medical condition in this fic because of the representation and also because I feel like it's an important aspect in Raven's life. Even though it isn't an exact parallel to what happened on the show, I felt like it was important to include.
I changed things from canon that I debated about for a long time. I tried to keep the idea of what happened to Raven medically the same (spine injury, resulting in leg injury), but I also knew I had to change a few things to adapt it to this universe. Considering the technology is much more advanced in the Capitol than it was on the ground (on The 100), I felt like it would make sense to change her treatment the slightest bit (ex. she got treatment faster, the technology used for the treatment was more advanced, etc). I hope this doesn't come across as me trying to erase her medical condition. Like I said, it was very important that I keep this aspect in this fic. I just felt like it would fit best with a few changes.
I acknowledge I do not have chronic pain or a condition like Raven does, so if I have done or depicted anything negatively, please let me know. That is 100% not my intention! If anyone would like to discuss this, please reach out. I am willing and eager to learn if I have made a mistake. As I mentioned last chapter, there are a bunch of ways to get in contact with me (a comment, through Twitter, or on Tumblr). I am open to discussions and I value feedback/concerns!
Secondly, I wanted to quickly mention that I do not have any medical training, so all of Clarke's medical treatments are made up. All of my guesses are based off whatever I might have picked up from Grey's Anatomy. Please, just consider everything you have read about medical treatments to be completely 100% false.
I also wanted to put a list of tributes that are in the arena (I posted this once back in chapter 4). The bolded ones are the tributes that died in the current chapter. I will try to keep up with this every chapter.
District 1 Male: Roan
District 1 Female: Ontari
District 2 Male: Bellamy
District 2 Female: Octavia
District 3 Male: Monty
District 3 Female: Raven
District 4 Male: Cage
District 4 Female: Luna
District 5 Male: Murphy
District 5 Female: Echo
District 6 Male: Wells
District 6 Female: Clarke
District 7 M: John Mbege
District 7 F: Maya
District 8 M: Lincoln
District 8 F: Charlotte
District 9 M: Illian
District 9 F: Zoe
District 10 M: Dax
District 10 F: Fox
District 11 M: Miller
District 11 F: Harper
District 12 M: Atom
District 12 F: Emori
As for the chapter in general, a lot of stuff happened! Good ol' bonding time with Clarke and her allies. I really loved writing that ending portion with Wells.
I should also mention, the end conversation with Wells/Clarke is heavily based off the similar conversation on the show (season 1, episode 3). I tried to have these two conversations mirror each other. While they aren't exactly the same, there are some parallels and I did use some dialogue from the episode.
I hope you enjoyed! The next update won't be for a little while. I wrote 120k words of Bellarke within the last 30 days, so I've decided it's probably best if I take a mini-break! I expect the next chapter to be up before the end of the month. And… well, I can't stay away for long so it might be sooner than that. I'll keep everyone updated on my Twitter (Pawprinter1) and Tumblr (pawprinterfanfic).
Thanks for reading! Reviews, favourites and follows are so appreciated. Thanks for everyone for the constant love.
Paw