Chapter 53

Sleep wasn't an option. Not for Bellamy. Not that night. He pulled a chair up next to Clarke's bed, sat down, took her hand in his, and held it long after the sun was down. The only time he let go of it was to get up and go to the bathroom, or to pull the thin blankets up over her chest when he thought she looked cold. Five minutes later, though, he worried she was getting too hot, so he lowered the blankets down to her lap again.

He peeled them back and took a look at her stomach, just because . . . because he had to. The hospital gown was loose, but he could tell that it was still very flat. There was no noticeable baby bump. And maybe now there never would be.

As the night wore on, he started talking to her more and more. He told her about how her parents were on her way, and how everyone else was already there, just waiting on her to wake up. He tried to talk to her about something other than the accident, so he had a thirty minute one-sided conversation about how Murphy was seriously considering growing his hair long enough to put into a man bun, and how Emori was vehemently opposed to it. He told her about Jasper and Monty's plan to hit the gym this summer—they'd never follow through with it—and he hinted that there was a hip hop dance class Harper wanted to take. He teased Clarke about taking that class with her, because he figured hip hop would be her worst nightmare. She'd never even really gotten the Mean Girls dance down that well.

God, she'd looked adorable trying, though. Clarke was . . . a pretty amazing girl.

Nurses had come in to check on Clarke at various points throughout the night. Dr. Tsing had, too, and she came in when the sun was coming up, which led Bellamy to suspect that she wasn't going home. She assured him that it wasn't uncommon after a traumatic injury for a patient to be unconscious for several hours, possibly even days. But she did admit that the sooner Clarke woke up, the better.

Around 8:00, the door opened again, but for the first time, it wasn't a nurse or doctor coming into the room. It was Raven.

"Hey," she said, "they're finally allowing the rest of us to . . ." She trailed off, her eyes locked onto Clarke, and her bottom lip trembled. "How is she?" she asked.

He took a look at Clarke, who hadn't moved, whose blank, sleeping expression hadn't changed, and just shrugged. Because she was the same.

Raven definitely looked like she wanted to cry, but she blinked the tears away quickly and came further into the room. "I've, uh . . . I've been talking to her mom a lot," she said. "They're stranded at an airport in Miami right now. They're having really bad storms. They can't fly anywhere."

"Oh." No wonder they weren't there yet, then. He'd assumed that Marcus would pay for a private plane to get them home, but if the weather was bad, then all the money in the world wouldn't get them home.

"Abby really wants to talk to you," Raven informed him.

To me? he thought, not sure it would do any good. There wasn't anything he could tell her that Raven hadn't.

Well . . . there was one thing. But it wouldn't calm her anxiety at all.

"I think you should call her," Raven suggested.

"Yeah." He could do that. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his phone and started swiping through his contacts for her number.

Raven put his hand on his arm and said, "You should go get some air. You've been in here for hours. I can stay with Clarke."

The prospect of leaving her side was so daunting, he didn't even know if he could do it. But he knew Raven was right. He did need to get up and leave that room, stretch his legs, maybe even go get some chips out of the vending machine. He wasn't hungry, but he had to eat something.

"Okay," he said, still reluctant to move. He looked down at Clarke, hoping he'd see her eyelids flutter or her hand twitch. Just some kind of sign that she was still there, that she was coming back to him. But he didn't. Maybe Raven would have better luck.

He bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, just like he did in the mornings before he went to work. Sometimes that got a contented little purr out of her, but . . . not now. Now, there was just nothing.

Leaving that room was hard, and he took one last glance over his shoulder before he walked out, just in case she was waking up. Raven sat down in his chair, took Clarke's hand in both of her own, and started talking, so he let them be and slipped out into the hallway. He didn't go far, though. Because if Clarke did suddenly wake up or even move just slightly, he wanted to be there, right there, and be one of the first things she saw when she opened her beautiful blue eyes.

It didn't take Abby long to answer her phone when he called. One ring was all, and then she was saying, "Oh, Bellamy, I'm so glad you called. How is she? Is she awake yet?"

Oh, he wished she was, but he couldn't lie to her. "No," he answered honestly. "She's still the same."

He heard Abby let out a shuddering exhale, then mumble to Marcus, "She's still the same."

Sorry, he thought. He wanted to have better news.

"But you're there with her, right?" Abby asked tearfully. "You've been there?"

"Yeah."

Abby breathed a sigh of relief. "Just stay with her, okay? Tell her we're on our way. We're gonna be there as soon as we can."

He'd tell her, but it wouldn't matter. She wouldn't hear him. She hadn't heard him so far.

"Just stay with her," Abby repeated. "She needs you."

That was what he'd told himself, but the longer he sat in that room getting no response, the more he wondered if he was doing more harm than good. Maybe Clarke hated him now. Maybe he was the last person in the world she'd wake up for.

"Bellamy?"

He realized he'd been spacing and apologized. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't leave her," Abby requested. "Please? I can't be there, but . . . promise me you won't leave her."

I already did, he thought guiltily. He'd left her the night of Octavia's wedding. Because she'd told him she loved him and . . . and he'd just lied to her and pushed her away. God, he'd been such an idiot.

"I won't leave," he promised anyway, because even though he already had . . . he could try to make up for it now. He could try to do better.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, crying now. "Thank you, Bellamy."

He felt like . . . like he didn't deserve her thanks. Or any gratitude whatsoever. In her mind, he was Clarke's devoted boyfriend, but in reality . . . he was the guy who'd broken her heart.

With his promise to Abby at the forefront of his mind, he went back into the hospital room immediately after ending the call, abandoning any notion of going to get himself some food or going back out to the waiting room to see how the rest of his friends were doing. Raven looked a bit surprised to see him again so quickly, but she let go of Clarke's hand and got right up, making room for him to sit down beside her again.

"Are you sure you're okay in here?" she asked. "If you need to take a break . . ."

"I'm fine," he cut in decidedly.

"Bellamy . . ."

"I'm not leaving her," he mumbled, massaging her scraped up knuckles with his thumb. If someone wanted to bring him in some food, then they could. If someone wanted to come check on him, they could have at it. If Clarke was in that room, then he was in that room. Simple as that.

...

Even though he tried to stay awake, Bellamy just couldn't do it. Sometime around noon, he lay his head down on the side of the hospital bed, closed his eyes for just a split second, and ended up falling asleep. He woke up again when he felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. He lifted his head up to find Octavia standing beside him.

"Hey," she said, "you wanna come outside with me for a minute?"

He looked at Clarke, at the way his hand was still holding hers. And hers wasn't holding him back. "No," he said. He didn't wanna be that far away from her.

Octavia hesitated a moment, then said, "You kinda have to. They wanna run some tests on her. You can't be in here while they do that."

He looked past her, noting the two doctors out in the hallway. They were both waiting patiently. For now.

Raven couldn't get him to leave. Even Octavia couldn't get him to leave. But if the doctors wanted in and told him he had to go out . . . dammit, he was pretty much at their mercy, wasn't he? They were really the ones who were taking care of Clarke. He wasn't doing anything except sitting next to her holding her hand.

He hated having to do it, having to break his promise to Abby and leave her, but what else could he do? He got up and followed Octavia out of the room. On the way, he noticed that someone had brought him in a tray of food, looked like something straight out of the hospital cafeteria. He'd eat it later. Maybe.

Octavia led him past the waiting room, where his friends were mostly still gathered, all of them slumped over against each other, sleeping. Lincoln was the only one who was awake. He was drawing something on the back of a magazine. When he saw Bellamy walk by, he gave him a solemn nod, and Bellamy just nodded back.

He followed Octavia outside, trying to appreciate the fresh air, but all he could think was that every second he spent out here was a second Clarke spent alone. Not alone, really, because she had doctors with her, but . . . she didn't know them, and they didn't know her. Not like he knew her. Not like she knew him.

Octavia walked back and forth in front of him while he sat down on a bench, staring forlornly at the ground, the sky, at her. She held both hands against her back, and he could tell she was stiff and cramped from sitting in that waiting room so long. He thought about telling her to go home, because she was pregnant, and she didn't need the stress of this. But he knew there was no way she'd just leave him there. Right now, she was probably thinking that he was her brother, her responsibility.

"I think we should call Mom," she blurted suddenly. "Do you want me to?"

"No," he responded quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because . . ." He shook his head sadly. "I don't want her seeing me this way."

"Bellamy." She gave him a look, then came and sat down beside him. "She's seen you this way before," she reminded him, "with Roma and with Gina."

He stiffened nervously.

"Not that this is the same," she quickly amended. "Clarke's not . . ." She trailed off, sighing heavily. "I'm really screwing this up."

"It's okay." He understood what she was trying to say. His mother was no stranger to comforting him in a time of need. Maybe having her there would help. He didn't think so, though. If he saw her, he might break down, and he couldn't afford to do that right now.

"Mom adores Clarke," Octavia said. "She'd wanna know. She'd wanna be here for you."

He sighed heavily, so unused to this. He wasn't used to needing so much help, so much support. As devastated as he'd been about Roma and Gina, eventually he'd just picked himself up and moved on from it the best he could. But if Clarke didn't survive this, if she never woke up . . . there was no moving on from this one. If she didn't make it, he didn't see how he was supposed to. And that was one disturbing, sobering thought. So disturbing that he reluctantly nodded in agreement with Octavia and said, "Alright, go ahead and call her."

"Okay," she said. "I will." She reached over and put her hand on his back, rubbing gently. He'd never known Octavia to be gentle before, but . . . well, wonders never ceased. "How are you holding up?" she asked, her voice full of evident concern.

He could have tried to placate her with a lie, but it probably would have been an obvious one, one she would have seen through easily. "I'm scared, O," he told her.

"Well, of course you are," she said sympathetically. "You love her."

"It's more than that." He swallowed the lump in his throat and finally—finally—confessed what he now knew to be true. "I'm in love with her."

Octavia's eyes momentarily widened, and her mouth dropped open a bit. She looked . . . stunned. Not because he was in love with her—that wasn't surprising anyone—but because he'd finally admitted it out loud. And to himself.

"And I didn't tell her," he went on regretfully. "It took all of this for me to even realize it. God, I'm such a loser."

"You're not a loser," she argued. "Bellamy . . ." She looked away for a moment, blinking back tears, and then turned back to him and said, "You're my hero."

He snorted and shook his head.

"You are," she insisted. "You always have been."

He looked at her closely, frowning, trying to pick up on some sort of indication that maybe she was just telling him that right now to make him feel better. But she looked completely sure and completely serious. She'd just gotten married a few days ago, yet he was still the guy she looked up to, the guy she thought of as . . . as a hero? He felt like he didn't even deserve that. Heroes saved people. But he couldn't save anyone.

She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, and wrapped her hands around his arm. He rested his head against hers, looking down at her rounded belly, watching it move ever so slightly as her happy, healthy baby kicked.

Bellamy didn't stay out there with Octavia for long. Twenty minutes, maybe? Whatever tests those doctors were running, they could surely run them in twenty minutes. She stayed out there after that to give their mom a call, and he headed back inside, going straight to Clarke's room. He let himself do something stupid and imagine walking in that door and finding her away, a big, bright smile on her face as she exclaimed his name. But the realist in him knew she'd still be asleep. Or unconscious. Whatever you called it. He expected that.

What he didn't expect to find was Murphy in there with her. Not even with Emori. Just him, by himself, sitting next to Clarke's bed. He was talking to her.

Bellamy stood in the doorway and listened.

"That leg lamp . . ." Murphy was saying. "That's pretty cool. That was a good gift. You did good, Clarke."

Bellamy couldn't help but smile a bit. That leg lamp was an eyesore. But then again, most of Murphy's things were.

He thought about clearing his throat or walking further into the room to announce his presence, but Murphy's expression became very serious very suddenly, and he wiped a tear from his cheeks.

"You gotta pull through this, Clarke," he said. "I don't think . . . I don't think Bellamy can lose you."

I can't, Bellamy thought in agreement.

"I've never seen him so . . ." Murphy trailed off, as if he were struggling to articulate what he wanted to. "He's just really happy with you. Happier than he's ever been. But right now, he's not—he's not doin' so good. I think he's really scared."

I am. Murphy was right about that, too.

"He needs you," Murphy said to her, "and we all need him, so . . ." He took in a shuddering breath and muttered, "Dammit Clarke, just open your eyes."

Bellamy watched her intently for a few seconds, studying her closely for any subtle change. It didn't have to be him or Raven sitting in there with her. Didn't have to be her mom and stepdad. If something someone else said got through to her, he'd take it. He'd take anything at this point.

He must have breathed in too loudly or shifted his weight or something, because Murphy heard him, looked over, and quickly tried to cover up the fact that he'd been sitting there getting emotional. "Oh, hey, man," he said, pushing the chair back. He stood up and walked towards Bellamy. "Just keepin' her company while you were away."

"Thanks," Bellamy said. He just stood there and let Murphy walk past him, let himself be somewhat amazed that he, out of all his friends, seemed to be taking this the hardest. Murphy acted like he didn't care about people, but he did. He cared. Octavia cared. Miller cared. They all cared. They all cared about Clarke. They loved her.

But Bellamy was pretty sure he loved her more than anyone else in the world did. And when she did finally wake up, he was gonna work up the nerve to tell her that.

...

All the tests the doctors had run on Clarke indicated that her vitals looked good, so it was still just a matter of waiting until she woke up, they said. Dr. Tsing told Bellamy to keep talking to her. If she registered his voice, it might lure her into waking up.

It hadn't worked so far.

Bellamy wasn't about to give up, but the more the hours ticked by, the more upset he became. He kept trying, though. He had hours of conversations by himself. Raven brought in some of Clarke's horrible romance novels that afternoon, so he picked out one with an especially awful cover and read some chapters to her. They used to sit together or lie together in bed and do this a lot. Inevitably, they'd always found some horrible passages that made them both laugh out loud.

"Then he kissed her," he read, trying to keep a straight face, "like a butterfly kisses the . . . windshield of a Porsche on the Autobahn?" He made a face, so distracted by the odd imagery that he couldn't even keep reading. "Who even writes this shit?" he asked. "I bet you and I could write a better romance novel than this, don't you think?" He paused, as if giving her time to answer, even though she wasn't saying anything. Conscious Clarke would have agreed with him and told him to read more. But he was tired of reading.

Her eyelids hadn't even flickered, not once in almost twenty-four hours now. He'd been sitting in there her all day, and every single one of their friends had come in and talked to her, too. But not one of their voices seemed to be getting through.

He closed the book and set it aside, feeling like he had some serious eye strain from staring at the pages so long. He needed his glasses for all this reading.

Clarke liked the way he looked in his glasses.

"Raven went to your place and got some of your stuff," he told her, looking around the room. There were clothes, pictures, blankets . . . even her sketchbook, which he wasn't about to open, though he knew it contained plenty of drawings of him. The doctors had brought in her bracelet, too, the one he'd given to her for her birthday. Unfortunately, they'd had to cut it off her wrist, because her forearm was bruised and had swollen up after the crash.

He could fix it for her, though. There were still some things in the world he could fix.

"Miller went home and got some stuff for me," he added, plucking at the shirt Octavia had practically forced him to change into. She wanted him to go home and take a shower, too, but he wasn't leaving the hospital. "He brought a lot of my shirts, so if you wanna wear 'em after you wake up, go on ahead. They look better on you anyway." He grinned, so used to being able to make her blush when he flirted with her like that. But getting no reaction out of her was so unnerving. No blush. Not even a smile. It was almost like she just . . . wasn't really there.

"Can you even hear me?" he asked, starting to lose hope that she could. All of this talking . . . what if it was for nothing? What if there was no way to pull Clarke out of this? What if she either just woke up on her own or . . . she didn't?

The door opened suddenly, and in the doorway stood Abby and Marcus. Last he'd heard from them, they'd rented a car to drive up to Orlando, with the intention of catching a flight home from there. And now here they were.

Abby looked devastated to see her daughter lying there, unconscious. She may have been a doctor, but she was still a mother. Bellamy doubted any of her experiences with patients had prepared her for this. She clasped one hand over her mouth and came into the room with tears already falling from her eyes. "Oh, Clarke," she said, stroking her daughter's hair lovingly. "I'm here."

Bellamy stood up, giving her a little space, and nearly backed into Marcus.

"Bellamy," the older man said, giving him a supportive hug. "How is she?

He shrugged. "The same." Maybe that would change now that her mom was here, though. They may have had their differences over the years, but this was the one person in the world Clarke had known longer than any other. They were family.

"It was good of you to stay with her this whole time," Marcus said. "Thank you."

Bellamy just nodded, not sure if he really deserved any gratitude. Maybe Clarke wasn't waking up for him because she didn't want to come back to him. It was sort of an irrational thought, but he couldn't help thinking it.

"Oh, Marcus, she looks good, don't you think?" Abby asked her husband hopefully. "I mean . . . I envisioned her looking worse."

"Me, too," Marcus said, stepping around Bellamy. "She looks strong." He picked up his stepdaughter's hand and gave it a squeeze, and Bellamy noticed a flicker of disappointment in his eyes when she didn't squeeze it back. But he concealed it well and assured his wife, "She'll make it through this."

"She will," Abby agreed, wiping the tears off her cheeks. She sat down on the side of the bed and started smoothing out the wrinkles in Clarke's hospital gown and threading her fingers through her long, blonde hair. "You hear that, sweetie?" she said. "We believe in you."

Bellamy backed up towards the door, mumbling, "I'll give you guys some time with her." But he was pretty sure neither one of them heard him or noticed him leave the room. All of their focus and attention was on Clarke, just as it should have been.

He hated leaving her, but he reminded himself that he wasn't the only person who loved her. They needed their time with her, too.

He lumbered back out into the waiting room, where his friends had practically set up camp, and found Monty and Jasper halfheartedly playing a card game. Roan was handing out vending machine snacks to everyone who was still awake, and Harper was flipping through a magazine with a look of disinterest on her face. When she saw him, she set it down and eagerly asked, "Is she awake?"

Bellamy shook his head sadly, and Harper picked up the magazine again.

"Did her parents get here?" Raven asked sleepily. She and Niylah were leaning against each other, both with their eyes closed.

"Yeah." He picked up a blanket from where it had fallen at her feet and spread it across both of them. They looked as exhausted as he felt.

Octavia was asleep, too, curled up on the couch with her head in Lincoln's lap. So Bellamy sat down next to Miller, who looked like he could also nod off at any minute.

"Jackson went up to the cafeteria to get us all some dinner," Miller told him. "He says the chicken fried steak's really good, so . . . he's gonna see if he can bring it down here for everyone."

Bellamy nodded, not really hungry for much of anything, let alone something as huge and hearty as chicken fried steak. It wasn't that he wasn't appreciative, but he'd probably take a few bites of it and be done.

"You hangin' in there?" Miller asked him.

"I don't know," he muttered in response, still struggling to even process that any of this was actually happening. He probably should have been better at this, given how many times he'd gone through it, but . . . he had a girlfriend to worry about and a baby to worry about right now. And the two of them combined had him so scared.

"Do you really think she's gonna be alright?" he asked his friend. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"No," Miller answered quickly. "I really do think it." He waited a moment, then added, "You wanna know what else I think?"

God, this almost felt strange, talking to somebody who actually talked back. But Bellamy just shrugged and waited for him to go on.

"I think that, when she wakes up from this, you guys are gonna be together again," Miller said. "Because the way you feel about her . . . it's never been more obvious."

The way I feel about her, Bellamy thought, immediately filled with regret. There were so many things he hadn't told her about the way he felt, things he might never get the chance to tell her now. If she never woke up, she'd never know. How was he supposed to live with that?

He thought about asking Miller to come outside with him, because he really had some things he needed to get off his chest. But all of a sudden, into the waiting room came his mother. She looked like she'd driven here straight from work, because she wasn't wearing her normal clothes.

"Mom," he said, pushing himself to his feet. He felt like everyone stopped what they were doing and watched as she came towards him and wordlessly wrapped her arms around him, enveloping him.

He remembered falling off his bike when he was little, scraping up his knee. Hugging her had made him feel better back then. He remembered getting into a fight some kids at school who'd been making fun of him and all the other 'free lunch kids.' Hugging her had made him feel better then, too. He'd hugged her at Roma's funeral and Gina's funeral, and even those hugs had managed to make him feel better. But just for a second.

This hug felt a lot like that.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner," she apologized. "I worked a double shift and didn't check my phone until I got off. Your sister . . . she called so much today, left me so many messages."

Bellamy looked down at Octavia's sleeping form. She looked peaceful and comfortable right now, and Lincoln was still awake, one hand draped protectively over her round stomach. She looked . . . taken care of. For the first time in his life, he wasn't worried about her.

"Bellamy." His mother put her hand on his cheek, forcing him to turn his head and look at her. "Are you okay?" she questioned.

He nodded, well aware how unconvincing he must seem.

So she asked him again. "Are you okay?"

He didn't want to worry her. But she was his mom; she knew. So he shook his head honestly that time, feeling the tears start to well up, feeling his jaw tremble as he struggled to keep it clenched. All day, he'd been trying to hold it together so he could talk to the doctors and Clarke's parents and even Clarke herself. But if there was anyone in the world he could be vulnerable with besides Clarke, it was this woman right here.

"Come with me," she said, taking his hand. She led him out of the room, out the big double doors into the parking lot. They made it to his truck, got inside, and sat there in silence for a good five minutes. Or at least it felt like five minutes to Bellamy. Might have been less than that. She didn't push him to say anything, and he didn't. He just sat there, thinking about Clarke, trying to remember the last time he'd kissed her. At the wedding, right? He wasn't sure. And he was trying to forget the last words he'd said to her, because they'd broken her heart. Of that much, he was sure.

"I can't lose her, Mom," he finally blurted, and despite how hard he tried to hold them in, the tears seeped out of the corners of his eyes. He started to cry openly, and she reached over to rub his back and shoulders when he slumped forward against the steering wheel. His whole body shook with sobs, almost uncontrollably, and he felt so weak. But he couldn't be strong, not when he was imagining what life would be like if he never heard Clarke's voice again. If he never saw her smile. Heard her laugh. There were so many things she did—little, incredible things—that he'd taken for granted. But if she woke up, he wasn't going to be such an idiot anymore. He knew now how lucky he was to have her, and he was sure he didn't deserve her.

It wasn't fair. He'd only had her in his life for a few short months. Seven and a half amazing months, sure, but they'd gone too fast. Seven and a half months. That was all.

It wasn't fair.

None of this was fair.