"Bellamy!" Octavia squealed with laughter as Bellamy's fingers tickled her sides. Her cheeks were pink and her hair was a mess in its ribbon. Bellamy grinned. The girl was frowning at him, but she couldn't keep her pout for more than a second before her lips were stretching into a smile again. Octavia had an excellent temper, but she was a terrible liar. Her pouts could tear down the resolve of stronger men, but when she was happy, her smile crept onto her face no matter how hard she tried to prevent it.
Bellamy leant forward and kissed her on the forehead where a few freckles were beginning to appear from days spent in the sun.
"Bell, C'mon, get up!" Bellamy frowned – that was wrong. Octavia's upturned face was breathless with laughter, and her lips moved with a smile, but the voice... "Bellamy, please, get up!" The voice was wrong, agitated and frightened. And it wasn't Octavia; it was too squeaky, too shy.
Something hard hit Bellamy's side and Octavia blinked at him, her lashes brushing her cheeks as she did so.
"Wake up, Bell," She smiled. "Just wake up,"
Bellamy opened his eyes. No. His heart screamed in his chest for the dream that he had lost. It was real, it had felt so real.
"Bellamy!" Inches from his face, Charlotte's wide eyes flooded with relief. Bellamy sat up sharply, almost knocking the little girl backwards, but his hand flew out to grab her arm, keeping her steady. The other found his hip, reaching for a knife he knew he had fastened there. There was fear in those doe brown eyes, and Bellamy was ready to face the threat.
"What is it?" His voice was husky with sleep as he moved to his feet, automatically pushing Charlotte behind his body as his eyes searched hurriedly for a foe. He cursed himself, he should've woken quicker, should've been awake, should've heard her calling.
"Can't fight," Charlotte squeaked as she tugged at the back of his jacket. "Got to run,"
"I don't underst-" He began, but then he saw it. Mere metres away, moving much too fast to be natural was a rolling cloud of mist. "What the...?" Bellamy's eyes narrowed at the approaching fog, silver with a mauve tint to the tendrils that stretched out ahead of the main body, curling around branches and leaves like long, deadly fingers. He wasn't sure what it was, but he was sure as hell that he didn't want to be caught in it.
"Let's not find out," Charlotte gripped his hand with clammy fingers and Bellamy dragged his eyes away from the mist. He couldn't agree more.
It was a shock to the system, waking from such a pleasant dream into such a nightmare; being forced to push your body to its limits whilst your mind is screaming fear mere seconds after you wake, but everything Bellamy had experienced in the last week had been a shocking whirlwind of terror. It was enough to make a person sick, to make them drop to the floor with exhaustion, pain and fear. But Bellamy could do neither, he didn't have time. It hadn't taken him long to learn that in the Hunger Games, if you stay still, you die.
So his feet smacked into the ground hard as he ran and his lungs burnt as they pushed air in and out, in and out. His legs wanted to give way, but every time he looked over his shoulder, the mist was creeping behind, slithering over the forest floor and filling his nostrils with a cloy smell that burnt his skin on the way in and set fire to his throat on the way out. It's catching up, he thought with horror, it's too fast.
He looked up to the girl in front of him as she hurried over roots and ditches and rustling leaves. He was faster than her, but he had slowed his pace so as to be behind her. But it was too slow. He turned his head and saw nothing but dense cloud. It's choking me, he thought as the fog crept into his mouth and ears and nose, it sent tears springing to his eyes and made his legs jerk weakly. Choking and burning.
"Charlotte," He panted, his tongue turning numb between his lips, "Hold your..." His eyebrows furrowed and his run slowed to a walk as his head grew heavy. He couldn't remember...couldn't remember what he had meant to say...The world was spinning and his brain slowing but his skin – his skin was on fire.
"Bellamy!" Her voice sounded much farther away than she was, too faint. "Keep running!" Bellamy tried, he took a step but he felt as if his muscles had burst into flames. His limbs screamed out to him for attention, but his mind was too slow to do anything but feel the pain. A clever poison, he realised, whatever it did to his skin, his thoughts were too jumbled to do anything about it. He almost laughed, but that would've let the mist in.
He wondered how they did it, how the two components worked together to create such a potent mix of pain and sluggishness. She'd know, the Princess, she could fix my legs with her fancy plants...
"Bellamy!" Charlotte screamed again, but this time her voice was close to his ear, her tiny hand yanking at his. "Run, run!" She pulled at his arm, "It's killing you, you have to run!" Her voice turned from words to sobs and Bellamy blinked. Think, think. But it was so hard...it was burning, or, perhaps he was still asleep? Perhaps...He screwed his lids shut tight and opened them again, ignoring the sting.
"Charlotte!" He gasped. The little girl stood before him, tears upon her face and her arms marked with great red welts. No. The sight of her pain sparked something inside of Bellamy, instinct to nurture, or thoughts of Octavia or the pain that was ripping through his heart which had nothing to do with his own condition. "Charlotte," He repeated dumbly. "Let's go," The fog that surrounded them was a thin haze, but behind them the cloud was denser, it would choke them if they stayed still.
He wasn't sure how, but he pushed his legs forward step by step, his fingers tight round Charlotte's wrist. It wasn't the sprint he had begun with, but it felt a million times harder. Bellamy grunted with the exertion of movement and the struggle to breathe clean air. It could've been mere moments, or several days but eventually Bellamy began to taste forest air on his tongue and feel his brain begin to work again. The fog still wrapped his deathly arms around his legs and arms and waist but he was outrunning it. He felt his heart swell with relief, they were outrunning it!
And then a root sprang up in front of them and Charlotte was sent sprawling to the ground. Bellamy thought perhaps she was weeping, but then he realised with a jolt that she was making no sounds at all.
His heart thudded wildly in his ribcage as his head whipped around, the fog was so close, his legs burnt and his brain was telling him to run while he could, run, run, run, determined not to succumb once more to the haze. But he couldn't leave her; there was no reality in which Bellamy Blake could ever leave her behind. So with a tremendous effort, he bent to the ground, hoisted the girl over his shoulder and pushed onward, his desire for clean air propelling him forward along with the resounding voice in his head. "You're the bravest person I know." Just two more steps, he told himself, "You're strong and fast and brave." I promise, O, I promise, I promise. He wanted to touch his ribbon but his arms were wrapped around Charlotte's limp frame, reminding him what was important. Get her safe, Bell, get her safe and then you can think about O. Just do this first. Just breathe. Just be safe. But there was no safety in the arena, was there?
The air was getting more breathable, but there was a downside to that, with each breath he took, his head became clearer, and with that his body became more painful, and his mind became panicked for the girl slung across his back; panicked she wouldn't make it, panicked he couldn't retain his pace, or that the fog would speed up and swallow them both.
There had been no canon though, and he could feel her breaths in the way her chest expanded against his shoulder. She's okay, he had to keep her that way. Or he might as well run into the mist and lay down himself.
It was then that he saw it, the chance he had been waiting for, a dark cave mouth where he could slip in and hide until the fog had passed. There was a chance that the fog might slither in with them and kill them all the same, but it was a chance he would have to take. He couldn't outrun it forever, not with Charlotte in his arms. The girl weighed hardly anything, but Bellamy's body was too full of poison to bear much extra weight, he could barely carry himself, let alone another person.
He started toward the cave and all but toppled down the slope into it. He grunted and Charlotte moaned as Bellamy's body collided with the rocky floor and he dropped her unceremoniously.
"Charlotte," He spoke hoarsely, crawling to her form on hands and knees. It was dark in the cave, hard to see, but Bellamy could see that her eyes were opened a crack and watched as she raised a hand to her face to touch her cracked lips. The sight of it made him realise how dry his own mouth was.
"Water," she gasped and Bellamy smiled despite himself, despite how much it hurt to move his lips. She's okay. "Please," She repeated, struggling to sit up.
"No, no," Bellamy hushed her, "I'll do it," He gently propped her against the cave wall, removing his pack from her shoulders where she must have put it before waking him. He withdrew the bottle from its depths and held it to her quivering lips.
Bellamy grimaced, there was less than a litre left, they would have to make water their first priority as soon as they could move, but he let her drink and took a swig for himself before replacing the bottle cap with trembling hands.
He sighed, collapsing against the other wall, the cave was small, too small to stand; probably an animal hole and yet no creature was in sight. Bellamy wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep but he knew enough about illness to know that wasn't a good idea. If he fell asleep, he might never wake again, and then how would Charlotte survive? He watched her through the gloom; she looked so young, curled in on herself with small breaths and a pale face that shone through the dark. Her exposed skin was littered with red sores and Bellamy held up his hands to find that his mimicked them. He risked a prod at one only to recoil back in pain.
He thought once more of the District One girl. Clarke. The Princess. She'd know how to fix them, she could heal them. He leant his head against the stone and exhaled, wondering where she was and imagining how different their circumstances might be if she were with them.
It seemed years ago that he had scorned her in the training centre. Perhaps if he had been kinder she would've shared her skills with him and he could soothe his and Charlotte's irritated skin. But he had mocked her and driven her away and now she was far away in a band of killers, and he was stuck in a cave, brought down by fog. What a way to go, a bitter voice in his mind sneered.
"Bellamy," A different voice said softly and Bellamy opened his eyes to meet Charlotte's. He hadn't even realised he had closed them. "We're going to be okay, aren't we?" The girl winced as she spoke and Bellamy's chest ached.
"Yeah," He gave his best impression of a smile, "We are," He wanted to believe it, he wanted to believe it very much.
They stayed in the cave all day, too frightened to emerge in case the fog was still lurking, so they sat in half-darkness, nibbling on tiny chunks of fruit and taking sips of water, barely moving in fear of upsetting their wounds.
But when their water bottle finally ran dry, Bellamy knew it was time to leave. They weren't going to get any better sitting there.
Charlotte had slipped into sleep a few times and he had told her stories, stories he had once told Octavia in their little house in District Twelve. He had clutched his ribbon, caked with dirt and sweat and swallowed sadness. He had thought of his sister and his mother, what did they think of his predicament? Did they cry to see him wounded? Or were they proud that he was still fighting? Was O jealous of the way he treated Charlotte, did she think she was being replaced? He thought of the coal mines and how they were darker than the cave. He thought of Twelve's forests and how frightening they had once seemed. They would be a walk in the park compared to this one, he thought wryly.
He thought of the other tributes, the ones he pitied, the ones that frightened him, the ones whose faces he couldn't quite remember...He prayed to any Gods there might be that someone in the Capitol would send him some medicine for their ruined skin and he tried not to think about how thirsty he was.
There was no denying it any longer. Their flesh was painful and difficult to move, but if they didn't leave this cave now, they never would. There must be a stream somewhere; the Games would be considered terribly boring if they all died of thirst. So he and Charlotte collected what remained of their supplies, bit their cheeks as their limbs protested movement, and headed back into the open.
Bellamy's jaw dropped. In the time they had been inside the cave, the forest had grown dark, only it wasn't. For perched on leaves and branches or hovering before his face, were pockets of a strange blue light. Beside him Charlotte gasped audibly, a far cry from the sounds of pain she had been making all day, this was a sound of awe. And Bellamy couldn't blame her. He had never seen something so absurdly beautiful.
A light drifted close by him, making him blink in shock when he realised the lights were alive, and not lights at all, but insects. Huge butterflies, with wings that spanned his palm and glowed bright blue.
Charlotte's eyes were wide with wonder and reflected the glow as she reached out her hand to touch one of the butterflies.
"Charlotte, don't, they could be poisonous," Bellamy warned, wary of anything new, but the insect had already landed on her fingers, making the child giggle with delight.
"Oh," She crooned, "They're so lovely," Bellamy looked up, the boughs of the trees were full of clusters of the things and she was right; they were fascinating, they were beautiful. His hand trembled as one of them came to land on his arm, making his hairs stand up in anticipation, but all that he felt was a faint tickle of the creature's legs on his skin, oddly soothing. It fluttered its wings lazily, the light shining through the membrane and casting the colour onto him. He smiled, his heart swelling and happiness rushing through him. It was such a small thing, so insignificant, but it made him happy to know that even in the arena, there was something beautiful. He wished his sister could see it, as the insect's legs touched the ribbon on his wrist and filled him with a sense of calm.
The wounds on his hands looked less ugly in the butterflies' glow and when he looked at Charlotte, the girl was so happy that he couldn't help but mimic her grin. There is beauty in everything if you look for it, his mother had once told him, and there is always something worth living for.
A/N Writing dramatic/action scenes is something I find quite difficult, I prefer writing the internal struggles and thoughts so you're getting a lot of that in this story. I hope that you're into that, and that you liked this chapter! I decided to put in a happy ending (ish) for once!
A lot of people are asking me about when we will see Bellarke interaction and I promise that this is a Bellarke story, but it is mainly focusing on their thoughts and feelings and the struggles of their situation so it will be a slow build rather than an instant romantic relationship. Remember, they only met a week ago! But you have all been so patient and I can tell you that they will meet up in the next Bellamy chapter ;)
On a side note, the 100 season 2 has not aired yet where I live so please don't post any spoilers! Thank you as always for all your lovely reviews and I hope you continue to enjoy the story :) - J x