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We'll Wade Through the Hours (of Cold)

Clarke didn't get far. Her legs simply couldn't carry her. And she couldn't find the will to leave the premises of the hospital even though her every instinct begged her to take off and never look back. She just couldn't bear to be in that room anymore.

Because she'd seen that picture before. Octavia crying. Repeating those words on end until she came to believe them. Lincoln standing there in a pair of house slippers—something that must've slipped his mind when they got the call.

Instead, the first time this ever happened, Octavia was her, and Lincoln was her mother, and Bellamy was her father and the whole world spun on such a destructive axis it terrified her.

Then the second time came around, creating this vantablack chasm in the middle of her existence she learned to live around until it slowly and only with time disappeared. And that time she was still Octavia, except Lincoln was Jaha, and Bellamy was Wells, and the interminable cycle continued on and on until it managed its way back around and found her there in the present.

It never ended.

She couldn't be in there and listen to the sound of the ventilator that breathed for him, or watch blood run through the tubes and into his skin. Because, again, she'd seen it before and would be damned if she'd experience it again.

Clarke itched to run to the apartment a few blocks down and bang on his front door with the slight hope he'd answer, flash that wicked smile of his and settle all her worries. But instead, she replayed the dream over and over in her head until she became sick to her stomach from the pain it caused and forced herself to stop.

For some reason, Clarke found herself in the small of the chapel the hospital provided on the first floor.

She wasn't particularly religious or hand any justified opinion on God. The space simply deemed quiet and far enough away for her to clear the fog from her mind.

She sat in the last row of the four small benches the room offered, scraping the nonexistent dirt from under her fingernails until she gathered the courage to confront her questions. She didn't voice them, of course. Just contemplated the endless affair on end until it made a split sense in her mind. Because the reality of it could be spelled in three simple steps; Bellamy told her loved her, Bellamy left for work, Bellamy got rolled in her ER.

And as she sat there she somehow came to the conclusion she couldn't run away, no matter how prominent her desire to flee presented.

And it presented with every breath she drew.

After awhile her mother had found her, yet instead of coming with a million questions about her whereabouts and actions, she simply took a seat beside her daughter. In fact, Clarke was the first of the two to speak. It took a few moments, but she finally let out what she thought her mother came to say.

"I should be up there, uh?" Her voice is shaky and lacking confidence and so un-Clarke-like it scared her. Yet to her surprise Abby just shrugged, pausing for a moment before asking, "How you holding up?" The Blond turned away from her gaze, shaking her head for of course she didn't answer the only question she couldn't. "I don't—I don't know." She struggled. "I'm sitting in a chapel, mom."

"I noticed," She offered an understanding nod before continuing. "Octavia's looking for you." She revealed to which Clarke's eyebrows immediately perked.

"She is?"

"She trusts you… with every news we've delivered she goes 'and what does Clarke think?'"

"So, I should go up there, uh?" The younger Griffin repeated once more. However, this it sounded like a statement as if she had already made her mind up on the matter and was now just in search of any sort of confirmation. "When you're done doing whatever it is you came here for, then probably." Abby advised reaching for her hand before making a move to stand and leave.

But Clarke held tight to her grip, not quite ready to let go just yet. And as she stared off into the distance, in the smallest, most fragile voice she spoke.

"I don't want to lose him."

And as her mother, not wanting to instill any false within her yet also not wanting to leave her daughter with nothing she nodded, gripping tight to her hand.

…

"Guys?" Clarke's quiet voice rang out in question as she lightly tapped lightly on the glass door.

Lincoln's gaze instantly shot up in alarm as he shook his head, gesturing to the Blake sister. She had passed out in the lounge chair, hand entwined with her brothers. Clarke quickly threw him an apologetic glance and wormed her way into the room, taking a seat beside Lincoln on the small sofa. "How's it going?" She whispers, not knowing what else to say. Her gaze purposely avoids the obvious in the room as she sets her eyes on her best friend's fiancee before her. He swallows, not knowing how to answer exactly, but tries his best to stay positive, she can sense that in the tone of his voice.

"Better now that she's passed out."

Clarke nods in agreement shooting a quick glance to Octavia. "She was wondering where you went."

"Oh," The Blond let out before she could register. "I just…"

"Needed some fresh air?" Lincoln finished for her, remembering her last excuse in the conference room. And Clarke, not knowing how else to explain, nods.

"I get that." Lincoln expresses. She doesn't know what else to say. To offer, so she's relieved he continues. "I uh, I heard you were one of the people to meet the ambulances." His voice was low but steady not knowing how she'd react.

"Yeah." It was a quick and short fed answer. One she didn't necessarily want to be reminded of, but one she knew she'd have to face eventually.

"My mother—she had me called immediately." The Blond continued, eyes now resting on the foot of the hospital bed, blurring themselves into the white thick plastic that is trying hard not to visualize the memories from the trauma room, until Lincoln spoke out once more and she snapped them away.

"How you holding up, with all of this?" He asks, his hand suddenly on top of hers. And doesn't even have a moment to compose herself before turning back to him, attempting to swallow back the tears that threaten to come out.

"I uh," Her voice breaks and she shakes her head. Vision becoming blurry. She doesn't want to lie. "I'm not sure…"

"Clarke."

She shrugs.

"Bellamy, uh…" Her heart aches at the sound of his name off her tongue. Her shoulders rise once more and she can't bring herself to finish the sentence. Lincoln's hand smoothes against her skin in support as she attempts not to look so vulnerable in his eyes.

"I just—I… I hate this." She shakes her head trying to make sense of it all, mind drawing a blank.

"Did, uh, did the rest of the gang come... uh, come see him?" She clarifies quickly, hoping to move on. Lincoln nods. "Yeah, they came. They just didn't want to be in our hair. I sent them home, for now, told them to at least get breakfast or lunch or whatever time it is now then come back or, I don't even know. I-I didn't know what to tell them. Octavia was just barely getting through the shock and I…" He shakes his head attempting to recall everything that went on. "I-I don't know what to do, or what to say or how to make this all okay…" He trails off.

"There isn't anything. This," Clarke shakes her head. "is…unbelievable…" She exhales, this time allowing herself to set her focus on a still Bellamy. Her stomach turns—a nasty feeling erupting in its wake, but now that she braved meeting his figure, she can't look away.

"I need a drink." Lincoln exhales.

"A strong drink." Clarke agrees's.

And before she knows it, Lincoln's gone. Back to the apartment for thicker clothes, actual shoes and food for he knows the girls should eat something, especially Octavia. This he didn't say when he left Clarke there for he knew her answer would be one he didn't particularly like.

And once he was gone, the blond pulled up another chair opposite of his sister, and for the first time, observed the nature of Bellamy's state up close.

That thick tube that snaked it's way through his parted lips and down his throat, hissed with every motion it took, gathering air at a constant. Yet somehow in all the destruction that surrounded him, he managed looked at peace.

And with a slow hair-tuck behind her ear, she laced her hand around his trying to hold it, together as to not wake Octavia. She noticed the slight irregularity in his heartbeat on the monitor and made a note to keep an observant eye on it for the time being, but made nothing else from it.

"Okay." She inhaled sharply, running her thumb gently across the top of his hand. "I'm here." She whispered, attempting to get used to the particular view. Him like that. Him in her hospital.

She swallowed hard, throat hurting as she sniffed. "And I am not letting you go anywhere." She warned. Because there was no way Bellamy Blake was going to be the one to do this to her again. She wasn't going to let him.

…

Octavia had woken up before Lincoln was back, and by the time Clarke had realized it she didn't have the time to gather herself and not look so panicked.

"Hey." She whispered softly, offering a somber smile. "Clarke." Octavia frowns in confusion, eyes in search for her soon-to-be husband. "Lincoln went to the apartment to get a few things. He should be back soon." The Blond quickly explained.

"How long was I out?" The Blake sibling then asks, eyes falling on her brother, the light in them dimming significantly.

"A few hours give or take." The Blond shrugged.

"Any news?" She only glances at the Blond, and Clarke can't help but notice the glint of hope trailed along in her voice that comes crushing down when she shakes her head a no.

To which Octavia nods, as if she's somehow accepting this news. But Clarke knows better.

"It's okay. He's gonna be fine." The Blake sister attempts to reassure, the tone in her voice so convincing, that is, until she repeats herself and the Blond realizes she's trying to convince herself more than anything else. "I'm sure of it." Octavia adds, beginning to feel the panic rush to the tips of her fingers, with the realization she suddenly wanted her brother's embrace. Her only basic sense of paternal protection and the conclusion that that wasn't within her reach only presented more panic within her.

"Clarke?" Her voice called out, small and fragile as she met her best friends gaze, teary eyes and all.

"O," Clarke's won voice tore upon watching her best friend shattering before her. Yet somehow she managed to retain herself and keep calm, instilling the confidence within the brunette. "Where'd you go? E-Earlier? You just disappeared." She then moved on.

"Oh, yeah." The Blond cleared her throat not really knowing what to say. Should she reveal the truth? Say, 'Oh, you know, I was about to flee and distance myself as much as possible but yet I only made it to the downstairs chapel', or offer something vague and none expressive?

"I uh, I needed some air." She reveals, feeding her the same line she exchanged with Lincoln just a few hours ago.

Octavia nodded watching the Blonds every move. "Right." She commented, eyes trained on the soft and sweet movement of Clarke's thumb running gently against Bellamy's hand. And after a slight moment of what looked to be nothing but utter confirmation to the Blake, Octavia spoke. "So, you and my brother, how long has that been happening?"

Clarke immediately looked up, surprised by the words that she, for a moment though she heard incorrectly.

The Blond almost expected her to mad, raged with anger, but instead what she faced was nothing like it. Octavia was calm, tone like a statement, simple and purely factual as if she'd known this whole time.

"Come on, don't give me that look. I know—the whole world knows."

"You know?" Clarke bites back her breath, heart racing in her chest for this was the last thing she thought to discuss with Octavia at the time.

"H-How? How do you—how—"

Octavia revealed a smile. It was small and barely even there at all, but ever-so significant.

"I don't want to burst your bubble here, but I've had my suspicions for a while—I think what really confirmed it for me was the cabin trip, though." Clarke sat there, dumbfounded expression molded into her face, almost making the Blake sister chuckle, almost.

"I mean, you two couldn't have been more obvious. Sharing a bed, that day at lunch when you came back minutes apart—and don't deny it because it was more obvious than you thought…" Octavia warned.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"If I remember correctly, I asked you about it that same day." She reminded, her spirit perking up just a bit by talking about it.

Clarke bit her lip, but nodded, feeling a tad embarrassed. Their relationship had lasted for so long she was almost ashamed in how she had managed to keep it from her best friend.

"I just figured you weren't ready to talk about it, so I let you guys be hoping when you were ready you'd tell me." The Blake sister explained.

"So you knew?"

"No, I didn't know know—I had my suspicions." Octavia shrugged. Clarke nodded accepting the fact his sister basically knew—everyone knew, now that she realized it. "I'm sorry—" Clarke attempted to explain not wanting to leave her best friend with nothing.

"For what?"

"I don't know… I never meant to keep it from you, not really. It just," She shrugged not really knowing where to start. "it came out of nowhere."

"So, are you going to tell me everything now that you know that I know?"

"Of course." Clarke exhaled, eyes turning back to Bellamy before them, stomach suddenly turning remembering the reality of their situation. And Octavia observed the slight panic presented in her eyes and insisted she continue, talking was making them feel better, there was no denying that.

"It didn't start the way you'd think…"

…

"His blood pressure is low," Abby shakes her head in disappointment reading the chart as both Octavia and Clarke sit on the edge of their seats, the anticipation of any news getting to them.

"I noticed an irregular pattern on the monitor within the last hour," Clarke added, standing to meet her mother. "I've been keeping an eye on it." She kept her eyes trained on the machine before her, re-reading its history.

"Okay," Abby closed the chart coming to a conclusion. "I don't want to take any risks. Clarke get a nurse in here. I want to want him under electrocardiogram observation for the next twenty-four hours."

"On it." The Blond paced her way out of the room leaving a confused Octavia in her mother's wake.

"Is something wrong?" She questioned on high alert. "There are some irregularities presented with the function of your brothers heart, but we'll figure it out, okay?" Abby explained to the best of her knowledge at the moment just as Clarke came back with a nurse.

And this time as Abby re-read the chart, Clarke joined in, gazing over its meticulous notes attempting to figure out what was going on.

"Chief Griffin?" The nurse called out grabbing both the Griffin's attention. When they looked up they immediately knew what was wrong. His chest had presented a yellow, purple color. "Myocardial contusion." Clarke bluntly stated, blood rushing to her face.

"Okay, ditch the electrocardiogram and page Dr. Collin's, tell him to meet us in the OR!" Abby shouted to the nurse. "We gotta get him to surgery, now."

"Hey—hey, what's happening?!" Octavia shot up in concern for suddenly a team of people rushed in setting up for transportation and the Blake sister was just standing there left without an explanation.

"The blunt trauma from the force of the bullet must have caused a late onset." Abby continued trying to make sense of the situation at hand. "Octavia, your brother needs emergency surgery—we need to get in there and repair the damaged blood vessels in his heart. I need your consent."

"Of-Of course." The Blake sister nodded, paralyzed in her stance.

"Clarke stay with her!" Abby cried out when she noticed her daughter attempts to follow them.

…

The conference room stood at a solid still. Normally, a person wouldn't notice or even being to objectify the stillness of a room, that is until factoring the number of people in said room. In this case, with the exception of herself, seven, and now, with the addition of Octavia and Lincoln, nine.

Nine people, and the room stood still.

It was a strange sight to see. The clock on the wall ticked like a canon. The commotion from the other side of the thin glass blaring through the silence that carried through the room, and Clarke couldn't remember ever witnessing such a somber ambiance held together by such a unified solace.

All eyes turned on their movement the moment they entered. And as Octavia and Lincoln took their seats, Clarke kept her stance, having to pronounce the news. "They took Bellamy in for emergency surgery." She announced stoically, eyes purposely lingering on the augmenting emotion present on Kane's face.

"Again?" He questioned. Confusion dripping from every syllable.

Clarke fed them a quick short nod, continuing. "He presented with a myocardial contusion." She offered. "My mother and Finn are in there right now."

"I don't understand, the last time we spoke he was stable." Marcus commented. Like everyone else, he was trying to make sense of everything going on and Clarke couldn't blame him for she too was in search of answers. "It's a complication from the blunt trauma force of the bullet. It's not common GSW complication but definitely possible."

The Captain nodded, eyes intensifying with every piece of information thrown his way. Clarke glanced over everyone's exhausted gazes coming to the realization that since that morning, most of the intelligence team remained, too stubborn to leave. "You guys should head out." She stated. "Get some rest, eat some food. You've been here all day." She suggested not wanting to see their tormented faces sitting in anticipation. Waiting, no matter how placid it deemed, was a stressful, difficult task, especially in this case.

"Really, I'll be here—keep you updated." She insisted.

"We're not going anywhere." Murphy was the first to disagree, and although he and Clarke had never been introduced she took his forwardness as a sign of compassion. And for a pure moment, the Blond experienced that sense of unity Bellamy had praised so highly in his unit.

"Guys, listen. It's going to be a few more hours—at the least. Go home, change, shower, whatever. You've been up since last night. We all have… I promise the moment Bellamy's out of surgery I will notify the team." She attempted at one more time knowing the last thing Bellamy would want is a room full of anxious, tired people awaiting news of his well-being.

"Dr. Griffin here has a point." Kane sighed, coming to his senses. "Go home. It's been a long day. I'll send updates through the group chat. We'll reconfigure sometime soon." And once he finished his word was final.

…

By the time Clarke had managed to slip out of that room, and make her way to the OR floor she had already formulated a plan. She had read the Surgical Board and noted they had cleared OR five then proceed to pave her way to the observation room above, and hide there hoping her mother and Finn wouldn't spot her.

It almost worked for she had managed to sit in the back row, keeping her eyes glued to the hands in her lap, not brave enough to look up yet, but satisfied with the audio offered from below. She went unnoticed for about ten minutes before she was caught. The room was fairly full due to the interest of the surgery among the staff, yet somehow her mother had noticed her presence and requested the intercom be switched on.

"Can someone please get my daughter the hell out of there?!" She shouted, ignoring Clarke's civil protests that she was indeed fine where she was. Still, a surgeon beside her offered their hand, and Clarke couldn't do anything else but comply.

She stood outside the observation room for the rest of the time, having the same woman who led her out, feed her updates every thirty minutes. Clarke felt crazy. A sort of crazy she didn't know how to quite justify just yet, but she didn't know what to do. She certainly couldn't go back to that room.

"How it go?" She questioned the moment her mother and Finn walked out of the OR.

"Good. We managed to repair the blood vessels without complications, but you already know that." Abby stated firmly. The Blond took a moment attempting to come up with a perfect excuse as to why she was prying but knew it was no use.

"We need to talk, Clarke." Her mother suddenly declared, stopping before an empty lounge room. The tone in her voice so cold and serious the Blond actually listened, shooting Finn a confused gaze before following Abby's guidance inside.

"Dr. Collin's this will only take a moment."

He nodded, and gracefully stood outside.

"You can't keep doing this." Her mother began, taking Clarke by surprise. "You're not permitted. You are not on this case." She declares rubbing her temples, gaze purposefully avoiding her daughters. Clarke can tell she's exhausted from the hours of strain on her feet and that the last thing she wanted to deal with was this topic of conversation.

"This is not your case. You are not his doctor. Right now, you are family. And I know it doesn't feel like that because this is your hospital—your workplace, and you're usually used to being permitted around here—and I know it's confusing for this to be happening here but there are rules, Clarke! There are rules. You know that. I know that. And you are breaking every single one!" She shouts unintentionally, attempting to get her point across.

The young Griffin just stands there, taking it all in. In the end, her mother was right, she knew it. Yet, however, justified, the position she was deemed in didn't seem fair.

"I can't just sit there, mom." Clarke defended almost blindly. "I can't." She argued, because for once she felt like she has some control of the situation, and her mother was suddenly ripping that away from here without a warning.

"You aren't doing 'nothing' Clarke, you're here. You're here in support of Octavia, in support of Bellamy. You're here and that's all that matters." Abby explains understanding her daughters feelings of uselessness. "But sneaking into OR observation rooms—having another surgeon explain to you my every move during said surgery isn't going to cut it!" She declared loudly.

Clarke nodded. "I know… I-I don't know what that was." She offers. "I'm sorry—you're completely right. It won't happen again." The Blond finished wanting nothing more than to be done with the conversation.

"Good." Abby exhaled, gathering the rest of her thoughts. "Finn's waiting. We should go tell the rest." She sighed, hoping she had successfully created a fine line between what was acceptable from her daughter at this time.