14
Karma
CLARKE
The water erupted from Clarke's lungs and the pain rushed in to replace it. She turned onto her side, coughing and sputtering and struggling to suck in the air as the water spilled from her like vomit.
"Breathe, Clarke. Breathe." Someone was telling her as if she needed to be told. As if that wasn't the single goal of her entire existence.
Her body wracked with the coughing and she sucked in a glorious breath. And her lungs were still burning. And her chest throbbed. And her brain throbbed. But the air was all around her and she gulped it in hungrily.
Slowly the world came into focus around her. Emori was kneeling over her, her face a combination of sheer relief and utter panic. Her ripped clothes clung sopping wet to her skin and the water dripped from her hair onto Clarke's face and Clarke suddenly realized that the arms that had wrapped around her must have belonged to Emori.
"Thank you." Clarke choked out of her burning, raw throat.
"Thank me later." Emori replied. "John needs you."
She pulled Clarke up and helped her to her shaky feet. She wobbled as the darkness swam before her eyes again, but Emori held her steady. Still bodies and puddles of red littered the boat deck and Clarke tried not to look at the mess as they hobbled across it. There, in the center of a red puddle, was Murphy. His breathing was shallow, rapid, and irregular and his face was steadily turning white as the blood drained from his body. He was laying propped on his elbows, the blood oozing from a bullet wound in his upper thigh.
Immediately Clarke's cloudy mind cleared and she forgot the pain of her own body as she snapped into motion. She snagged Emori's ruined coat from the floor of the deck and ripped it into long strips, wrapping them around Murphy's thigh like a tourniquet.
"Watch the hands, Griffin. I'm a hitched man." Murphy tried to joke, his face growing paler with the effort.
"Shut up, Murph." Clarke scolded him. "I know you hear that a lot, but this time I mean it... No talking."
"We have to get him to my mother quickly." She told Emori. "Help me get him into their speedboat."
Getting Murphy down the ropes and into the pirates' boat was almost an impossible feat and by the time they managed it Clarke was feeling weak and dizzy again. But it was nothing compared to the state Murphy was in. His entire body was trembling. His face was now fully blanched and, despite the chill of the air, was covered in a sheen of sweat.
Clarke looked back at the trawler longingly as Emori gave Murphy's shoulder a squeeze and climbed into the driver's seat. It wasn't too late. Clarke could climb back onto the trawler. Emori could take Murphy and Clarke could press on to the mansion on her own. They were nearly there. She was close. She was so, so close.
"Clarke..." Murphy mumbled weakly. "Clarke."
Clarke turned toward Murphy. His breathing was still rapid and shallow. He was shaking more than ever. And then he wasn't shaking... He was convulsing. His eyes were rolling. He was going into shock.
Clarke thought of Murphy holding Ontari's barely beating heart and Clarke's life in his hands. Clarke thought of Emori's arms pulling her from the cold darkness.
"I'm here." She whispered to Murphy as the speedboat's engine rumbled to life and Emori tuned them away from the mansion, the journal, the blood, and Lexa, and they rocketed across the waters in the direction from which they had come.
...
Clarke felt weak and woozy and her head was pounding again. She couldn't be here anymore. Without bothering to excuse herself, she pushed back her chair and turned away from the table. Bellamy and Kane were busy arguing over Arkadia's best chances of survival, weighing the (few) pros and (seemingly infinite) cons of fleeing or fighting, and Clarke knew they would not even notice her absence. So she made her way to the infirmary to check on Murphy.
"You're mom says he almost died." Emori told her as Clarke sidled up to Murphy's cot. "Without your tourniquet to slow the bleeding, he would have. But she says he's going to be OK."
"Of course I am." Murphy said weakly. "Do you know how many times I've almost died? How many Grounders have tried to kill me? Hell... How many Sky Crew have tried to kill me? This is nothing. Just a scratch. I've survived way worse. It's going to take more than five bastard pirate Grounders playing with guns to take me out." He coughed.
"I told you not to talk, Murph." Clarke scolded with her own small laugh. "If anything is finally going to be the death of you, it's going to be your own damn mouth."
"Thank you for saving his life." Emori spoke over Murphy as the laughter threw him into another coughing fit.
Clarke shrugged. "Thank YOU for saving MINE. I don't know how to swim. A minute longer and I would've drowned completely."
"Maybe someday I'll teach you." Emori replied with a small smile. "Teach you to swim."
Clarke forced herself to return the small smile but she could find no words. Again she felt woozy. Again she felt weak. Her lungs still burned with every breath she took and her chest throbbed where Emori had pounded against it to revive her. But worse that anything else was the familiar pain in the pit of her stomach. No, the place deeper than the pit of her stomach. The place that was more soul than flesh. The place of longing.
Because Lexa had promised to be the one to teach her. And now Lexa was gone. And as badly as Clarke wanted to learn, she knew she could never bear to let anyone else teach her.
A soft arm wrapped around Clarke's waist and Abby broke the silence. "Hey, Clarke. How are you feeling, Hun? You look nearly as bad as John."
"I'm fine." Clarke answered, trying to sound convincing.
"Emori says you almost drowned. How do your lungs feel?" Abby asked.
"They hurt like hell." Clarke admitted. "But only every time I breathe." She added with a forced laugh that only made the flames burn hotter.
"Maybe you should spend the night here so I can monitor you too." Abby suggested, the worry creasing her forehead.
"No, no, no..." Clarke said quickly. Perhaps a bit TOO quickly. Clarke couldn't spend the night here. She had other plans for the night. But Abby didn't know that. And it had to stay that way. "I'm fine." She repeated, earnestly. "Really, it's not that bad. I'm just a little tired." She said with yet another forced smile.
Clarke thought she had mastered the fake smile by now. But Abby was still not convinced. She was still assessing Clarke with that half-mother, half-doctor frown that she only ever reserved for Clarke and Raven.
"I'm fine, Mom." Clarke repeated. "Really. I only came here to check on Murphy. How bad is he?" She asked, trying to draw her mother's attention off of her.
It worked. The motherly concern on Abby's face receded as she switched back into full doctor mode.
"John will be fine... With time." She answered. "Luckily the bullet just missed severing his femoral artery. Still, it caused significant damage to the rectus femoris and the adductors running beneath it before lodging into the femur itself. It's going to be a while before he's on his feet again. And even longer before he'll be able to run or even walk properly." She paused. "There's going to be a lot of real fun physical therapy in our futures, John."
"Goody." Murphy mumbled. "Can't wait. Sounds like a blast. Maybe, if I'm lucky, Ice Nation will put me out of my misery before that."
Everyone ignored the last comment. No one spoke about the complete uncertainty of the future. It was easier that way.
"You're going to have to wear a brace." Abby told Murphy. "But with time and hard work, hopefully we can get you out of it."
"Great." Murphy replied. "Maybe Raven will let me borrow hers. I swear... The universe has to be a woman, because she holds a grudge like no other."
"Yeah." Clarke agreed. "Karma is a real bitch."