"Octavia," Clarke whispered. "Damn it." She looked to Abby who had followed her when Bellamy called. "Mom, go get a table prepped for surgery. I need sutures, bandages, and a make-shift IV."
Although her eyes blazed with argument, Abby nodded and released Octavia.
"Help me carry her," she said to Bellamy and Indra. "Three, two..."
As the three of them carried Octavia down the hall, Clarke said, "Bellamy, will you do a blood transfusion? With all this blood she's lost—"
"Of course," Bellamy said. He glanced down at his little sister whose shoulders were in his hands. Then, he looked back up at Clarke and whispered, his voice raspy, "Anything she needs, I'll do it."
Clarke nodded.
When they reached the medical bay, Abby and Jackson were running around, but the table was clear and clean, so they placed Octavia on it. Clarke glanced down at her. Her skin had a sheen layer of sweat on it, strands of her dark, dirty hair clung to the sides of her head, but most of her face was covered in dried blood from a gash over her eyebrow.
She was too pale, Clarke realized. Octavia's whole side was soaked with blood which meant she couldn't see anything. Clarke cut off Octavia's jacket and undershirt and motioned to Abby for the sponge and bowl of water. Once clean, the damage appeared to be as bad as she feared.
Clarke looked up at Abby, inclining her chin toward Bellamy. "Get him set up for a transfusion."
With Bellamy preoccupied, Indra stood and waited.
"Go outside," Clarke said, reaching for the needle and thread.
"Is there nothing I can do?"
Clarke looked at her, and for the first time, noticed something other than coldness in her unflinching gaze. She had grown to care for Octavia.
Indra's throat bobbed, but Clarke shook her head. "If you want to be close, stand outside; otherwise, go eat and rest. It will be a while until she's stable and in a bed."
After one more look at Octavia, Indra nodded and exited.
With the wound site cleaned and sterile, the severity of it fully dawned on Clarke. From the outside of her left hip to the bottom of her sternum, the slash Octavia sustained revealed muscle and bone-white rib. On top of that, she was bleeding a little externally and a whole lot more internally. The Azgeda's sword must have sliced through something.
How Octavia had made it back to camp with this kind of wound, Clarke could only wonder.
She glanced out the door at Indra who had returned and stood at the threshold of the medical bay. Octavia's First had taught her many things; Trigedasleng, the ways of Trikru, how to fight, and most importantly, how to survive. Perhaps she'd taught her to survive a little too well, Clarke thought. But maybe it was those instincts that kept Octavia on her feet, kept her fighting.
"Show me some of that fight now, Octavia," Clarke whispered under her breath.
"Mom," she said, motioning Abby and Jackson over to her. "She's bleeding internally somewhere. Jackson, I need more light, and Mom, start the transfusion."
She glanced at Bellamy.
Despite the tightness of his face and the concern drawing his brows, he nodded to her. "You've got this. If anyone can patch her up good as new, it's you."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Clarke muttered.
Needle and thread in hand, she set to work sewing up the large slice in her oblique and intercostal muscles. Clarke only took a breath when it seemed that the internal bleeding had stopped, and then she moved on to sewing up the torn exterior skin. Luckily, no organs had been damaged which could have made things a whole lot worse.
Abby pressed a finger against Octavia's throat and nodded. "Her pulse is strong and steady. After she regains some of the blood she lost, she'll be in a much better position than an hour ago."
Clarke walked around the table and shut off one of the extra lights. She turned to Bellamy and placed a hand on his shoulder. It took a few moments before he tore his eyes from Octavia. "Thanks to you, she'll be fine. She just needs to take it easy for a while."
Bellamy snorted. "That won't be easy." He squeezed Clarke's hand. "All I did was offer a little blood. You're the one who saved her." His eyes were tired, but the corner of his mouth quirked in a faint smile.
"I'd do the same for anyone here," Clarke said, squeezing back. She turned to Abby and Jackson. "Help me get her to the recovery bay."
Bellamy stood, tearing the tube out of his arm. "I'll help."
Clarke shoved him in the chest and back into the seat. "Stay. You've just donated a good portion of your blood."
"Clarke, I can—"
She raised a brow which silenced Bellamy's next words. "Stay."
He huffed, but merely raised his hands in absolution.
…
Once they had Octavia in the recovery bay and Clarke made sure her fluids and IV were proper, she stepped back to talk to Abby and Jackson. "We need to watch her temperature to make sure fever doesn't set in."
"Infection is the last thing she needs," Abby said. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned into Jackson who rubbed her shoulder.
"I'll stay with her," Jackson said, glancing sidelong at Clarke. "I heard there are more important places you need to be."
"Thank you," she said, already turning towards the door. "Indra."
Octavia's First stood at the door, still watching silently from afar. "Is she going to be okay?"
Clarke nodded, forcing a smile. "Yes. She's strong; she's a fighter."
"Yes, she is," Indra whispered, her gaze fierce once more.
"You taught her that."
Indra shook her head. "No, that fight was in her. I've just taught her to hone it, to wield it. When I first saw her fight, she had no technique, she left herself wide open and gave away her next move, but she had fight. Despite being thrown onto her back into the mud, Octavia did not relent. Something like that can't be taught."
Clarke studied the woman's dark skin, the tattoos on her face, the scars adorning her cheeks. She had earned those scars, those tattoos, just as Octavia had. They were proof she had survived what tried to kill her.
She turned to Indra. "There is something you can do if you still want to help." Indra cocked her head but gave a nod. "When Octavia wakes up, I'll need you to convince her to not get up. That sword tore through four layers of skin, two different layers of muscles, and nearly punctured internal organs." Clarke leveled an earnest stare at Indra. "She needs to rest. If she moves too soon, she could cause real damage to herself. I'm betting you're the only one she'll listen to."
The ghost of a smirk appeared. "I'd be foolish if I thought she'd listen to me, but I can try. If Octavia wants to join in this hunt for Azgeda, then there won't be anything I can do to stop her."
Clarke sighed. "Yeah, I thought as much." She glanced over her shoulder to where Lincoln approached, gait hurried and face scrunched. "I'm going to find Kane." She touched Indra's shoulder. "Mochof."
Indra inclined her chin, hand still resting on the hilt of her sword.
Lincoln spotted Clarke and ran up to her, exhaling. "Octavia. Where is she?"
"She's fine," Clarke gestured through the open door to where Octavia lay on the recovery bed. "She's resting."
The tension in Lincoln's body evaporated and his shoulders sagged. "Thank you, Clarke."
"She's my friend. I would never just let her die if I could prevent it." She motioned down the hall at the recovery room. "Go. Be with her. I have some things to discuss with Kane."
Once Lincoln walked away, another figure joined Clarke's side as she left the Ark. She glared at him. "I told you to stay."
"Yeah, well I'm not that great of a listener, Princess," Bellamy whispered back with a smirk. "Besides, she's got her people around her, so I can come out here and help with this situation."
"You're an idiot," Clarke muttered.
Bellamy just shook his head and smiled. "Whatever you say, Princess."
"And stop calling me that," she said with a roll of her eyes.
He nudged her with a shoulder, and instead of giving a retort, he motioned Clarke toward the group of people in which Kane stood.
Kane's eyes widened when he spotted them both.
Clarke folded her arms, leveling a stare at the Chancellor. "Let's talk."