A/N:
**Important Please READ**
A chapter got missed when I was posting them (I uploaded them all at once as drafts). I highly recommend going back to chapter 7/8 and making sure you've read all the chapters from there to this one as they're now posted. It's a really important chapter plot-wise, and this one won't make sense if you made it here before I added that chapter.
Okay, so this is the last update before the final chapter, which will be up tomorrow night after the new episode. I really hope you guys are enjoying this, and thanks for the feedback so far!
It's dark by the time she gets back to her apartment, just after eight. She's exhausted, and her mind is running over every possible explanation for Bellamy's absence. There's no good reason to assume the worst, except-
Well. She's Clarke Griffin. That's probably reason enough.
She slides the key into her front door, and turns it, then tugs on the handle. It doesn't open. Frowning, she stares at the key in her hand. She's just locked the door. Which means that when she got here, it was unlocked.
After unlocking it, properly, she pushes the door open. Her apartment is dark, quiet, and by the light filtering in from the other high-rises outside, nothing looks out of place. When she pushes the door shut, her fingers stick slightly to the wood. Clarke turns on the light, and what she sees has her keys clattering to the floor.
Her fingers are stained red, the inside of the door smeared with half-dried bloody hand prints. A trail of red, like drag marks behind a body, disappear around the corner into the hallway.
And she just knows. She sprints for the bathroom, flinging the light on, and clapping a bloody hand to her mouth when it flickers on.
Bellamy is laying on the floor, a pool of blood collecting beneath him, seeping along the grout lines. He's sheet white, curled halfway into fetal position, one hand resting on his stomach, where a small mountain of her gauze packs have been heaped, black with blood.
"Oh my god."
She has to crawl under the sink to reach him, heart smashing against her ribs, and she presses two fingers to his neck.
Time stops, blood roaring in her ears as she waits. And then-
A pulse. One of the weakest she's ever felt. But it's there.
"Bellamy," his name escapes as a sob, and Clarke is dialing 911 even as she peels away the layers of sodden flannel and gauze sticking to his abdomen. A gunshot wound stares back at her, thick with a mixture of fresh and congealed blood. She wonders how long he's been here. When dispatch picks up, she rattles off her name and address, Bellamy's condition. After hanging up, she grabs new gauze and packs it into the wound, pressing as hard as she dares, afraid to hurt him. He doesn't stir.
"You can't do this," she hiccups, vision blurring with tears. "You've got to-you can't die, okay, because I lost Wells, and I lost my dad, and if you leave me I won't make it." One of her hands slips down to lace with his, the other still pressing firmly on the dressing.
"I should probably tell you that Octavia needs you, and that you should pull through for her. Because I'm just some girl who came into your bar, someone you took pity on. I'm nobody. I know that. But-" Her voice breaks, the panic threatening to shut her down. "But you're everything to me, okay? You made feel whole again, and you know better than anyone that people just take these big chunks of you with them when they die, and if you die too, there won't be anything left."
Suddenly, he spasms, eyes flying open, wild, body jerking in her arms.
"Wh-"
He thrashes a bit, and Clarke starts to wonder if he's having a seizure, but then she sees the muscle working in his jaw, the veins in his neck. He's in pain.
"Shh," she fights to even out her voice, trying not to let the agony in his eyes pull her in. "Bellamy, they're coming, okay, try to stay still."
"Cla-" When he opens his mouth to speak, blood comes out. Swallowing the wail in her throat, she smooths a hand over his forehead.
"Shh, don't try to talk. I'm right here." She shifts his head into her lap, and he stills. She's so wrapped up her relief, that at first she doesn't notice that his chest isn't moving at all. "Wait. No. No, no no, no…" She presses her fingers back to his neck, but there's nothing. "Bellamy, no-"
Her strangled sobs are cut off by the sound of her front door bursting open, and suddenly there are other people there, in her bathroom, pulling her off of him.
"No, he-" She claws at the arms dragging her out of the room. "Stop!"
"You've got to let them work ma'am, come on."
She doesn't recognize any of the faces as they take Bellamy away on a stretcher. But they don't try to stop her when she climbs into the back of the ambulance with them.
"Take him to New York-Presbyterian," she says dully, sliding her hand back into his.
When they arrive, Clarke goes as far as she can, shouting in outrage when they stop her at the swinging doors of the OR.
"You can't go back there," the paramedic tells her, physically holding her back.
"I'm a doctor," she spits, all but crawling over him in her effort to follow the stretcher. He doesn't budge.
"I get that, but you can't-"
"Clarke?"
She swivels, coming face to face with Jackson. His eyes widen at the sight of her, and she can only imagine how she looks, Bellamy's blood soaking her sweater, probably smeared across her face. Her hands are caked in it, too, and she knows how hard blood is to get out from under your fingernails.
"He's my friend," she says desperately. "Jackson, please-"
"The Miller kid?" His face wrinkles in confusion.
"No, his name is Bellamy, they won't let me back there, I can't operate on him, please-" She's begging him, her boss, tears running down her face and mixing with the blood in her hair to stain the blonde pink. "I need you to do it."
Jackson takes one hard look at her, and then nods.
"Okay. Stay here." It's a direct order, she recognizes that tone, and she swipes at the tears on her chin, nodding. Then he's gone.
One of the paramedics who brought them in leads her over to a chair, looking uncomfortable.
"Do you want me to call someone?"
Octavia. She needs to know. But Clarke shakes her head.
"I'll do it."
She does, dialing the number as the panic in her stomach begins to dissolve into something dark and hollow. Octavia doesn't even greet her this time.
"Have you heard-"
"He's here. At the hospital."
"What? Do you know-"
"You just need to come down here, now." Clarke wishes she had the strength to comfort her friend. But she doesn't. She feels fragile, and empty. She hangs up.
A few minutes later, she hears the paramedics talking.
"-heard he was there for like nine hours-"
"-they're going to need a miracle to save him-"
Then they catch her looking, and fall silent, flushing.
It occurs to Clarke that she probably only gets one miracle a day, and she's used hers on Miller. Hating herself, she wishes for the briefest of seconds that she hadn't.
.-.-.-.-.
Some time later, Octavia arrives, Lincoln in tow. Her eyes are full of questions, and then she takes one look at Clarke, and she doesn't have to ask any of them.
"I don't know," Clarke rasps jaggedly, even though the brunette hasn't said a word. She drops her head into her hands. "I don't know."
.-.-.-.-.
Then Raven shows up. It's almost midnight, they've been sitting in the waiting room for hours, but Clarke forgot to call her. She comes bursting in, sees the threesome sitting silently against the wall, then disappears, returning with coffee. She doesn't say anything either, just sits down next to Clarke, who leans into her, closing her eyes.
"I didn't get a chance to tell him," she says, in a small voice.
"You will."
.-.-.-.-.
Monty runs into them purely by coincidence, on his way to get something to eat while Miller is still out. He stops in the middle of the hallway, staring at them in confusion.
"Are you looking for Miller?" he asks, eyes darting warily across their wretched faces.
"Bellamy," Clarke says. It only takes a second, and then he gets it. Suddenly, Clarke remembers something. "I didn't get the pajamas. Sorry. I just-""
"Clarke-" Monty interrupts her softly, shaking his head. "It's okay."
But it's not. Nothing is.
.-.-.-.-.
After five hours, a nurse appears, catching sight of Clarke and walking over to the group.
She sits bolt upright in her chair. If the surgery was over, Jackson would be here.
"What is it?"
The woman takes a deep breath, like she's steadying herself.
"I just-" She holds out a clipboard. Clarke stares at her. "I need you to fill these out."
"Right," she says, her voice sound strange to her own ears. She takes the clipboard, and the nurse walks away. From a few seats over, Octavia holds out her hand.
"That's probably for me."
Clarke nods numbly, handing it over. Her mind flashes back to when Bellamy was the one sitting in this chair, waiting for his sister.
When she's done, Octavia stands up to walk the forms back over to the nurse. Clarke shakes her head, taking back the clipboard.
"I'll do it."
As far as she knows, they still don't have insurance. When she tells that to Amber, the receptionist barely bats an eye.
"I'll take care of it," she says, and Clarke can barely manage to mumble a weary thank you before stumbling back to her seat. She's now been up for over twenty-four hours. Raven suggests that she take a nap, but every time she closes her eyes, she sees him.
"If you're not going to sleep," Raven decides, pulling her back to her feet half an hour later, "Then we should at least get you cleaned up."
Clarke looks down. She'd forgotten what she looks like. No wonder all her friends had fallen silent at the sight of her.
She follows Raven to the bathroom, where she tugs off her sweater and washes her hands, arms, face. She tries to wash the blood out of her hair, too, but the red stain stays. Raven runs to her locker and brings back a clean pair of scrubs, the only other clothes Clarke has.
When they get back to the waiting room, nothing has changed.
At around one, Raven ducks out. She gets clothes for Monty and Clarke, and Miller's pajamas. Clarke ties her hair back into a messy bun, tired of looking at the pink tips on her curls.
Just before two, Octavia switches seats with Lincoln so she can talk to Clarke.
"What happened?"
Clarke suspects the girl has held out as long as she can. She scrubs a hand across her face and takes a deep breath, trying to tell the story without picturing it.
"When I got home, the door to my apartment was unlocked. When I got inside and turned on the light there was…" she pinches her nose, fighting off the wave of nausea that has nothing to do with the blood and everything to do with the person it came from. "Blood. A lot of it. I followed it to the bathroom, and he was there. He was unconscious, he'd tried to put some gauze on it but he must have passed out. I don't know how long he'd been there."
She glances at Octavia's face, but it's steady.
"I called the ambulance, and while we were waiting for it he woke up for a minute and then he-" she breaks off. He died. When the ambulance got there, Bellamy had been dead.
But Jackson would have come out hours ago if that was still the case. You don't operate for five hours on a dead man.
"Jackson is the best surgeon here," she finally manages. "And the fact that they're still in there is a good sign."
They sit in silence for a little while longer.
"Kind of ironic, huh?"
Clarke looks over at her.
"What?"
"Well, this is where you guys met, right?"
Clarke blinks, then, slowly, shakes her head.
"Actually, I met your brother first. When I found out Finn was cheating on me I went to Johnny's and got drunk, and Bellamy drove me home. The day you had your accident was the second time we met."
Octavia stares at her for a second, and Clarke begins to wonder if the sleep deprivation is getting to her.
"You're the girl?" she asks. When Clarke doesn't respond, she clarifies. "You're the girl from the bar?"
"He told you about that?" It doesn't make sense, Clarke was so sure he hadn't. She assumed he'd kept all their first encounters secret, because they didn't really paint either of them in a positive light. Octavia sighs, leaning back in her chair.
"That makes so much sense."
Clarke is about to ask her what she means when the doors swing open again, and this time it's Jackson. She's on her feet, halfway over to him, before she even realizes she's moved.
"It's over?" Even she can hear the weight in her own words. He glances behind her at Octavia.
"You're the sister?" She nods.
"He pulled through."
Clarke stumbles backward, her whole body suddenly going limp, and Raven catches her. Beside her, Lincoln does the same for Octavia.
"He is very, very lucky. He's going to be okay. I've never seen anything like this, it was-"
"A miracle," Clarke mumbles. Jackson looks at her, then nods.
"Pretty much."
She doesn't hear anything after that, just collapses into the nearest chair and waits until they've moved Bellamy into a private room, at which point Raven has to help her stagger into it.
He's still pale, shockingly so, but he doesn't look so much like a corpse anymore. Octavia falls into the chair on one side of his bed, Clarke on the other.
The moment she hears him take a firm, deep breath, she drops her head onto the bed beside his hand, and lets go.