"Up in Flames"
Lucawindmover
Chapter Three
"Blind"
Clarke stood back to survey her handy work. She wasn't sure if it would work out the way she hoped it would but she knew she had to try. She needed as much information as she could get before she could make any kind of real plan to leave this place.
There wasn't a mirror in their bathroom, not exactly. The Mountain people had been smart enough not to arm them with glass. Had it been glass, she'd have been able to break it and fashion weapons. Instead, they had a shined piece of sheet metal bolted to the wall where a mirror should have been. Clarke had meticulously dried it off after Bellamy's shower. Using the grease from the fried meat, she wrote a message to their neighbors on the metal that would be visible once the room was steamed up again.
"What do you think?" she asked over her shoulder.
Bellamy was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. "I can't read it from here. What's it say?"
"Well, I didn't have much grease so I just put our initials," she said, wiping her fingers on the towel she was holding. "Hopefully whoever is on the other side will know that means it's us and they'll leave us a clue in return."
Clarke turned as she spoke, taking in his obvious frown.
"That's putting a lot of faith in whoever our neighbors are," he said, raising a valid point. "I mean, what if it's Murphy or something? I don't think he can actually read."
She carried the towel out and dropped in the drawer with their dirty clothes. They'd finished breakfast and showering so she pushed both drawers closed, watching to see if there was any angle of light in the shutting of the drawer. There wasn't. The other side of the drawers were secured somehow.
"I don't hear you coming up with any better ideas," she said with a sigh. "We can't just punch our way through the wall or anything."
"I don't solve all my problems with violence, you know," he responded.
Clarke just crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
He ignored her in return, flopping back on the bed. He closed his eyes and tucked his arms back behind his head. He looked relaxed but Clarke knew better.
She knew he was terrified.
He hadn't said as much and he would likely be on his deathbed before he ever admitted to being afraid. But she could read him. The tightness in his jaw, the pinched look around his eyes, his tendency to resort to picking at her…she knew his tells. And she didn't blame him. If they couldn't figure out a way to escape before nightfall, they'd be stuck in the same situation as the previous night. Or so she assumed. That was just another topic they couldn't seem to agree on right now. Bellamy thought the Mountain people would wait to see who was pregnant before they all were gassed again. Clarke wasn't so sure. How would they know who was pregnant yet anyway?
She leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. She'd thought about sitting on the foot of the bed but she was about to start a conversation that she didn't even want to have, let alone sitting within touching distance of him. Very vivid memories of a naked Bellamy hovering over her still gave her chills and she wasn't entirely ready to decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"I can almost hear you thinking over there," Bellamy said, breaking her out of her thoughts.
"Is that right?" she replied. "So what am I thinking about then?"
She looked up to see him watching her expressions. She felt her stomach clench but refused to make herself look away.
"You're worried," he said.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh well that clears it right up, doesn't it?"
"About them gassing us again," he continued as if she hadn't spoken.
"You know what? You're right," she said. "I think we need to have a plan, just in case."
"You mean in case your mirror initials don't manage to break us out before bedtime?"
It was his freaking tone. He was doing that thing, that belittle-everything-Clarke-says-thing that he liked to do when he was feeling insecure. And normally she could brush it off because there were more important things to worry about. But her nerves were frayed and she needed him to work with her, not against her. Clarke clenched her jaw and stood, stalking over to him. He didn't flinch and that just pissed her off even more. She ripped the pillow out from under his head, enjoying the thud as his head hit the mattress. He jerked up to sitting and tried to grab it back out of her hands but she held firm. Their eyes met and the angry retort on the tip of her tongue faded as she finally got to see beyond the façade a little.
"You're worried, too," she said softly, letting go of the pillow.
His brow furrowed and he tucked the pillow back behind his head again.
She sat on the side of the bed, next to his knees. Neither of them spoke for a very long time.
"Of course I'm worried," he said finally. He draped one arm across his face so she couldn't read his expressions while he talked. "That gas almost killed me last night."
Clarke frowned. "Almost killed you? How?"
With a groan, he sat up again and swung his feet off the opposite side of the bed. Their backs were to each other and while they weren't touching, there couldn't have been more than an inch between them. She could feel the heat coming off of him but she didn't move.
"Because I made you a promise, okay?" he said, his voice thick with emotion that she hadn't been expecting. "And that gas all but stripped that promise right out of my hands. I almost broke that promise. I almost failed you."
Clarke gulped. She waited for a long moment, weighing his words in her mind before she spoke. "And failing me would kill you?"
"Yes," he answered without hesitation.
With that one syllable, that one-word answer, Clarke felt her world tip sideways. She didn't want this. She didn't want him to feel like she was his responsibility. It was too much pressure. Their partnership had always been equal, long before they'd even realized they had a partnership. This promise, one that he couldn't possibly expect himself to keep considering the circumstances, tipped that balance precariously.
"I don't want you to keep it," she said.
"You don't want me to keep what?" he asked. "My promise?"
"Yes," she answered. "It's not fair. Not to you. Not to me."
She could feel him tense up behind her.
"How is it not fair to you?"
Clarke sighed. She wasn't explaining it right. She stood and walked around to the other side of the bed so she could see him. He didn't meet her eyes right away so she waited until he did.
"This is not who we are," she said, repeating words that had been spoken time and again between the two of them. "You don't get to play protector with me. You never have before and I'll be damned if you start now, okay?"
"God, Clarke, this is different. Okay?" he said, throwing his hands up. "Look, if they keep doing this to us, night after night, and you do end up getting pregnant….I mean…" he trailed off, apparently not having words for his side of the argument either.
And then it came to her. She knew what this was about.
"You're afraid that if you get me pregnant against my will that I'll blame you."
His shoulders sagged a little and even if he never confirmed it out loud, she knew she was right.
He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before starting. "If you were forced to have a kid and it was my fault…I'd never get over that. Never."
"But you're not at fault here, Bellamy," she said, dropping to her knees before him so she could see him, eye-to-eye. "The Mountain people are at fault here. And if that were to happen, it would be their fault. Not yours. I would blame them. Do you understand me?"
He met her eyes and she was distraught by the sadness she saw there. The only other time she'd seen this expression was when they had tried to evacuate their camp before the Grounders came. In that moment, she realized that it didn't matter what words she told him. It didn't matter what reasons or excuses or legitimate arguments she made, he would always see himself as being the monster. It was his nature, had been his nature as long as she'd know him.
Bellamy cleared his throat and Clarke sat backwards and scooted to the wall.
"Well, it's not going to get to that point anyway, right?" he said, attempting a smirk. "Your greasy initial message is gonna bust us the hell out of here."
She returned his smirk, knowing that it was more for appearances than anything else. If they couldn't actually feel confident, pretending was the next best thing.
"Damn right."
They didn't do much more talking for a while after that. Bellamy gave her the bed and she took a nap while she could. Between the cocktail of drugs she'd had in her system over the last twenty-four hours at least and their activities from the previous night, she was still really tired. Her morning shower had reinvigorated her only minimally.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep but she was awakened by the sound of the drawers opening. It was the same sound she'd heard that morning. She jerked forward, her heart racing, before she realized that she wasn't in immediate danger.
Bellamy, she noticed, must have been asleep sitting up next to the door because he jerked to attention at the sound too. She hopped out of bed and walked over, a little anxious to see what kind of foods they would have for lunch. The yellow stuff and fried meat for breakfast had been fantastic, even though she wouldn't admit that out loud. She still wasn't sure if they were being watched via camera so she'd been hesitant to show them any appreciation.
She lifted the metal lid to find an empty tray. Almost empty. The only thing on it was a lidded cup with her name written on the side. She picked it up and turned to Bellamy with a question on her lips. But before she could even ask it, a look of recognition came across his face.
"Goddamn Mountain fuckers!" he exclaimed, turning to punch the wall. He didn't so much as make a dent on the wall but she was pretty sure he'd busted at least two of his knuckles.
"What was that you said about not solving all of your issues with violence?" she asked, baiting him even though she knew she shouldn't. She couldn't help it. That look on his face, his current reaction…it was telling. And what it was telling her was not good.
"That's a pregnancy test in your hand there, Princess," he said, pointing his uninjured hand toward the cup she was holding. "They want you to piss in that so they can test whether or not you'll be giving them a kid."
Clarke opened her mouth to say something but froze, staring at him as he paced back and forth like a caged animal. "How do you know that?"
"I remember that from when my mom was pregnant with Octavia," he answered. "How do you not know? Your mom's a doctor."
She had a very good response to that but he hadn't stopped to let her get in a word edgewise.
"And I'm guessing they're withholding food until you take the damn thing." He stormed past her and picked the tray up out of the drawer. She could see that he was contemplating throwing it across the room but contented himself with just dropping it back into its resting place.
She narrowed her eyes, watching as he resumed his nervous pacing. The knuckles of his right hand were dripping blood but he didn't seem to notice. It wasn't much but it was stark against the very white floor. Something wasn't right. "What aren't you telling me, Bellamy?"
He froze and closed his eyes for a moment. She could see his fists clenching involuntarily as he answered. "There was one of those sample cups with breakfast."
There it was. He'd been keeping this from her all morning. "And where did it go?"
"Back with the dirty laundry."
She crossed her arms. "You didn't think I should know about this? You didn't think I should know that they're already expecting some of us to be pregnant?"
"I didn't think—"
Clarke scoffed. "Oh, well that's nothing new. You never think, Bellamy."
He turned to her and crossed the few feet between them, grabbing the cup out of her hand. "I didn't think you should have to deal with this bullshit. This?" he said, brandishing the cup. "This was my way of freaking protesting, okay?"
With that, he threw the cup back in the drawer and closed it before she could even attempt to fill the sample.
"You're not doing it," he said, his jaw firm.
"You're right," she agreed.
That seemed to actually get through his anger. He had been prepared to argue, not to be agreed with. "What?"
Clarke shrugged and sat down on the foot of the bed. "They want me to be a healthy specimen to carry a baby, right?"
"What's your point?"
"My point is that they can't withhold food indefinitely. They'll have to give us something eventually or else risk me not being able to carry a child."
He stared at the place where the drawer had receded. "So you're thinking we wait them out? Keep refusing to take the test until they give us food."
"That's exactly what I'm thinking," she said. "I mean, if you're up for it. We're probably going to get really hungry before they cave."
Bellamy smirked. "Right. Like we've never been hungry before."
It was true. They hadn't always had the best of resources at the drop ship. But it hadn't been for a lack of trying.
"Come here," she said, motioning for him to sit next to her. "I want to look at your hand, Mr. Hotheaded."
"Okay, you suck at nick names," he replied. But he followed her instructions and took his seat next to her.
Clarke took his hand and placed it on her knee while she examined it, determined to ignore the heat that was threatening to creep up her neck. She focused on the split on his middle two knuckles, telling herself that any random reactions her body had to his nearness had to be a residual effect of the gas.
"Well, they aren't deep," she said, leaning forward enough to use the edge of her shirt to wipe the blood away. "They're stupid, but they aren't deep. And they're not likely to get infected here. No grit, grime, or germs to get into the cuts in this cell. On the plus side, you did prove me right."
"About what?"
"About not being able to punch ourselves through the wall."
Bellamy took his hand back and Clarke noticed she had blood on her fingers. She started to wipe them on her pants, like she probably would have done back at the drop ship. But Bellamy stopped her, pulling his shirt off over his head and using it to wipe her hand first. He did so hastily and paying little attention to what he was doing, before tying up the shirt around his fist.
Clarke had to swallow hard as that heat threated to fill her chest. She wasn't comfortable with how her heart was pounding in her ears. This was Bellamy. Bellamy, for God's sake. He'd wiped blood off her a half a dozen times. This was nothing new.
"Damn drugs," she muttered to herself.
He just huffed at her comment. If he'd understood what she'd meant, he didn't say. He didn't ask either.
Bellamy stood and moved back over to his seat by the door. He looked lost in thought and Clarke wasn't willing to break the silence just yet.
She laid back, leaving her legs dangling off the end of the bed. They really needed a plan, a better plan than just trying to get in touch with their neighbors because Bellamy was right. Their neighbors could prove to be useless. She needed to figure out if there was a camera and, if so, where it was. She had a feeling that it was to the left of the door from where she was laying, which meant it would have no view of the inside of the bathroom. They would need to use this to their advantage. She hadn't inspected the bathroom properly before. She'd been too interested in the damn shower, which she was now regretting. Maybe if they could find a panel in there that was loose, they could get it off and get behind the walls. Or even into the air ducts. What they could accomplish would rely a lot on whoever was on the other side of the bathroom though. Clarke hoped it would be people they could trust. But she had to come up with a plan that didn't count on them, just in case.
She must have fallen asleep again while she was brainstorming because she was woken sharply by Bellamy shaking her by the shoulder.
"Clarke, put this on your face," he said, shoving his bloody shirt at her as she sat up.
She did as he said without asking questions, watching as he pulled the pillow case off one of their pillows and held it over his mouth and nose.
That's when she heard the hissing. The Mountain people were gassing them again. And it wasn't even night yet this time.
The shirt wasn't working. She could tell. It had been a long shot anyway. She could feel that bittersweet burning sensation tingling low in her belly and she gulped.
"Well that didn't work," Bellamy said, balling up the pillowcase and throwing it across the room.
Clarke dropped her shaking hands to her lap, taking the bloodstained cloth with them. "It was worth a shot," she said. She swallowed hard and turned her eyes toward his.
His pupils were dilated with lust but his expression didn't reflect that. He looked sad. Defeated.
Clarke stood on shaky legs, dropping the shirt. Every step she took toward him was agony but she made herself do it. She needed to do it. For herself. For Bellamy. For the partnership that she was determined would survive beyond this ordeal.
Without taking her eyes off of his, she brought her hands up to his cheeks. She swallowed hard, determined not to look at his lips just yet. If she did, she'd be lost.
"This," she said softly. "Is not who we are."
He stared down at her and his defeated demeanor slowly melted away, replaced with the kind of primal hunger that sent shivers down her spine.
"Not who we are," he agreed. He leaned forward, skipping her lips in favor of her neck, laying hot kisses from her ear to her collarbone.
They were both blinded by the need that the gas had instilled within them and as they were carried away by it, Clarke desperately hoped that Bellamy would keep the promise she'd told him he didn't have to keep.
"My eyes lay heavy. You know already exactly where they fall."
Spooky Black "Take the Blame so I Don't Have To"