"Raven, clear off that table and lay a tarp down. Miller get him up there when she's done."
"Clarke, I'm fine."
"Shut up," Clarke commanded and turned around. "Finn, sit in that chair. Don't get up til I've seen you."
"Alright, Princess."
"Jasper, I don't think yours is that deep, just hold this down on it and apply pressure, hard. I'll come see you in a minute."
Clarke took a deep breath and turned around to face Bellamy. He was sitting up on the table with his legs hanging over the side. Clarke could see the blood seeping through his jeans. His knuckles were white from clutching the table and he was watching her closely from under his fringe.
"You're meant to lie down on that," was all she said before she reached for her needle kit.
Bellamy huffed and rolled his eyes but swung his legs up and laid back obediently.
"Alright," Clarke exhaled and stood over him. "I need to cut your pant leg open, okay?"
"Clarke, just do what you do," Bellamy clenched his jaw.
"Right," Clarke nodded. She took a knife and sawed open Bellamy's pant leg before ripping it past his knee. There was too much blood to get a good look at the wound.
"Raven, get a wet cloth and some gauze," Clarke said.
She took the cloth from Raven and pressed it firmly to the wound. Bellamy breathed deep but otherwise didn't make a sound.
"It was a spear, right?" Clarke asked. The cut was jagged and messy.
"Yeah," Bellamy said.
"You shouldn't have taken it out," Clarke muttered. She wiped her hands and threaded her needle.
"Sit still and don't look," she said and pressed down hard on his thigh. She started stitching, her face taut with concentration but her hands sure.
Bellamy sucked in through his teeth.
"Raven, go get Octavia, please."
"No," Bellamy grunted in protest.
"Please," Clarke urged.
"Yeah, okay," Raved nodded and headed out the door.
"Clarke, I-"
"Shut up," Clarke pushed down on the wound.
The door opened and Raven appeared, followed by Octavia.
"Bellamy!" she cried out. "Oh god, how are you?"
"Fine," he attempted a smile.
"Yeah, you look great," Octavia said with wide eyes. "What can I do?" she turned to Clarke.
"He's going to be fine," Clarke assured her. She dropped her voice. "Just hold his hand, okay?" She glanced at Bellamy's face. "And don't comment on how tight he squeezes," she muttered in an undertone. Bellamy shot her a dark look but remained silent.
Octavia pulled up a chair next to the table and took Bellamy's hand. Clarke pulled the skin on Bellamy's thigh together and started stitching again.
"Raven, can you take the cloth up please, I can't even see the wound."
"Yeah, I got it."
"And pour some moonshine on there too."
Bellamy jerked his leg and shifted on the table.
"Lie still," Clarke said without looking up from the wound.
It seemed like ages before Clarke was finished. Each stitch was painstaking and Clarke could feel Bellamy's leg tense up every time the needle pricked into his skin.
"Okay," she exhaled finally. "All done," she said. By this point her hands were covered in blood. "I'll just wash you off and you'll be set."
"Great," Bellamy said, eyes closed. She rinsed her hands in a bucket of water and wiped down his leg, finishing with a final rinse of moonshine. She cut his pants off entirely and pulled out the bloody tarp from under him. He was clean and stitched up but his grip on Octavia's hand was still vice-like. Clarke stood at the end of the table and undid his shoes gently. "Just hold on, okay?" she murmured. "I'll get back to you," she gave his toes a squeeze.
She moved on to Jasper and bandaged him up. A knife had just grazed his upper arm. Clarke cleaned the cut and wrapped it in gauze.
"You should be okay, Jas. I don't think you need stitches but if you keep bleeding through your bandage let me know."
"Will do," he smiled. "Thanks Clarke."
"I'll help you to your bunk," Octavia stood. "I'll be back, okay?" she said to Bellamy. Bellamy nodded and Octavia ran across the room to open the door for Jasper.
Clarke directed her attention to Finn. He was sitting down with elbows rested on his thighs and his head in his hands. "Okay, Finn," she pulled up a chair across from him. "Let me take a look at you. You were hit with a club, right?"
"Yeah," Finn looked up, "But Clarke, we need to talk."
"It can wait," Clarke tilted his chin up. "Did you lose consciousness at all?"
"No," Finn said impatiently, "Clarke listen-"
"No, you listen!" Clarke jabbed him in the chest. "You sustained head trauma, I need to check you out, we'll talk after. Now, do you feel any nausea?"
Finn scowled. "Yes."
"Where were you hit?"
"Uhhh," Finn felt both his temples with his hands. "The right side has a goose egg," he said.
"And where are you experiencing pain?"
"The left side."
"Hm," Clarke tutted. "Okay, follow this light with your eyes," she moved a flashlight back and forth.
"Whoa," Finn said.
"Make you dizzy?" Clarke asked.
"Yeah," Finn blinked.
"Alright, can you stand up for me now?"
"Mhm," Finn stood.
"On one leg now?"
Finn lifted his leg and promptly put it back down.
"You've got a concussion, take a seat. Any gaps in your memory?"
"What? No," Finn said. "I remember everything, Clarke, what happened back there?"
"Not now Finn."
"No," Finn insisted, "this is important. You didn't even hesitate when you saw that grounder, you just pulled the trigger!"
"Sit down," Clarke seethed through gritted teeth.
"There's so few of them left, how do you know they weren't approaching us for help?" Finn asked.
"She was holding a spear and pointing it at him," Clarke hissed and gestured toward Bellamy. "And then another one threw that spear into his leg!"
"Yeah, because you shot and killed that woman," Finn retorted. "She hadn't done anything yet. She was holding a spear, yes, but she hadn't done anything. Since when are we about taking pre-emptive strikes against people weaker than us?"
"Weaker than us? You've got a concussion. Jasper was cut. Bellamy has a hole in his leg!"
"And they are all dead. You fired the first shot."
Clarke stared at him open mouthed.
"We'll talk about his later," she said finally. "You need to rest. Raven can you bring Finn to his bunk. Wake him up every two hours please."
Raven shot her a pained expression.
"Okay, fine, just make sure he gets down to his bunk and ask Octavia to keep an eye on him please."
"Alright," Raven shrugged, "Come on, Finn, let's get going."
Finn grudgingly followed Raven out of the room. The door banged shut behind them.
Clarke sighed and rubbed her face in her hands.
"Don't sweat it, Princess," a deep voice drifted across the medbay.
"I'm not," Clarke muttered and got to her feet.
"Sure," Bellamy rolled his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. "So what's the deal, am I free to go?"
Clarke crossed the room and stopped at the side of his table. "Not yet," she shook her head. "You've lost a lot of blood, I need to check your vitals."
"Alright," Bellamy nodded. "So what's that mean?"
"That means lie down," she pushed him on the chest.
"So bossy," he murmured, but laid back and stared up at the ceiling.
Her hand closed around his wrist and her fingers pressed against his skin.
"Clarke, I'm alive, you don't need to check for a pulse."
"I just gotta see how your heart's doing-"
"Well Princess, I'd say I'm holding up okay emotionally."
"Haha," Clarke said humourlessly. "Now stop talking, I'm counting."
She pulled up the chair next to him and leaned over his wrist, counting silently.
"You pulse is weak," she said after a minute, "and your beats per minute is low. You're going to need to stay and rest and drink lots of water to replenish your blood volume," she concluded.
"Alright," Bellamy agreed. "You done counting?" he asked. She was still bent over him with her fingers wrapped around his wrist.
"Yeah," Clarke nodded. "Yeah, I'm all done." She let go of his wrist but leaned her elbows on the edge of the table, crossing her arms. He stared at her expectantly.
"I shot first," she admitted after a silence.
Bellamy nodded. "I know."
Clarke met his eyes. "She was pointing a spear at you."
He breathed out through his nose. "I know," he said again. "Clarke, you don't need to justify yourself to me. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that you were wrong to shoot. I have done some horrific shit to protect the people I love. My mom has done some horrific shit," he said as an addendum. "If you're looking for a scolding, go find Finn."
Clarke narrowed her eyes. "I'm not looking for a scolding."
"Then what are you looking for?" he asked brusquely.
Clarke sighed and dropped his gaze. "Nothing," she said. "I'm going to go get you some water. Try to rest, I'll be right back."
When she returned, Clarke was carrying a folded up parachute, a change of clothes, and a canister full of water.
"Alright Bel, I want you to drink all of-" she stopped talking. Bellamy's eyes were closed shut.
"Bel?" she asked as she set down the canister on another table. She dropped the clothes and parachute on the floor and rushed over to the side of the table.
"Bellamy," she said loudly. She fumbled for his wrist and her fingers dug into his skin.
"Fuck," she whispered. She dropped his wrist and pushed her hands through her hair. "Okay," she exhaled. "Think." She turned and scooped up the folded parachute from the floor. "Bellamy," she called out again, louder this time. She jerked his legs up and shoved the parachute under his feet.
"OWW," he shouted and his whole body squirmed. "Jesus, Clarke."
"Fuck," she said again, breathing out shakily and rubbing her eyes in the heel of her hand. She dropped down in the chair next to him.
"What? What happened?" Bellamy asked and started to push himself up.
"Nothing, lie down," Clarke reached out and pushed on his chest. "Please, you can't sit up, your heart is working hard enough as it is."
Bellamy took one look at her face and compliantly laid back down. "What are you doing?" he demanded as she reached for his wrist.
"Nothing," she said. "I just- I couldn't find your pulse," her fingers flitted lightly over his veins. "There it is," she breathed. "I must have just missed it. It's there."
Bellamy stared at her, his brow furrowed and his dark eyes wide.
"Are you crying?" he asked incredulously.
"No," she protested and shot him a scathing look. She raised her arm to wipe her eyes on her sleeve but never once let go of his wrist.
"Clarke," he said, softer now. "Come on." He reached through her grip to touch her cheek.
"Don't," she flinched slightly.
"You don't," he frowned and brushed her eyelashes with his thumb.
She released his wrist, her fingertips skimming over his knuckles and stopping to clasp his hand, pressing it more firmly to her cheek.
"Alright?" he asked, his eyes searching her face.
She met his gaze and held it. His grip was strong and his eyes were in focus. "Yeah," she nodded.
"Good," he said and gave her fingers a squeeze. "Good."