Day 58
As they eat their breakfast together, green lush, and leafy, Bellamy lets out a little laugh.
"Yeah?"
"It's been fifty-eight days," He says. Clarke raises an eyebrow but doesn't question. She's been counting too.
"So?"
It is, in fact, a miracle that it's been nearly two months since they woke up here. Since everything fell apart and then came back together again.
Bellamy shields his eyes from the sun and looks up, tilting his jaw towards the clouds.
"Monty should have the algae going by now," He says brightly since they've decided to believe they all made it. Octavia and Jasper did, so why shouldn't the rest of their friends? There is no discussion about the possibility that they couldn't get something going, not with Raven there with them. There's no discussion period that they didn't make it because that would break their hearts all too much.
Clarke snorts into her hand. She looks at her dish and imagines that algae could have been her only food for five years and suddenly she's not feeling all too bad about everything.
Bellamy turns back to Clarke, his smile wide, "Bet it sucks."
Clarke raises her fingers in an apology like he could hear them, "No offense, Monty. We know it's all you can do." She says, kicking Bellamy under the table.
He settles in, "Stars, I will never, ever complain about any food here again. Not even the lack of meat."
Like humans, they hadn't seen any animals yet, just that bird, which must have taken shelter down below.
It was…eerie.
"There's fish."
Bellamy raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, except we have no idea how to catch 'em." They'd tried, very unsuccessfully yesterday, and only managed to return home sopping wet and hungry.
"Well, thank stars for the berries," Clarke said, leaning back on the chair, popping a few into her mouth. Their trek hadn't been all bad, since they'd gotten lost and stumbled across a field full of berries. They'd picked as many as they could in their shirts, running back to their camp gleefully like children, washing them in the water and just staring at the bowls and bowls it filled, knowing there was plenty more where it came from.
"Not very sweet," Bellamy said, throwing a few at Clarke playfully, "But beautiful," He added.
"Bell!" Clarke huffed, "Stop wasting food! There's Arkians and Grounders starving on the ring, wasting away on algae, that would love these!" She teased, taking two from her plate and throwing them back at him.
It's an adage that her mother used to say whenever Clarke didn't want to finish her food on the Ark. She would pinch her nose and say, "Clarke, there are people who died to get up here to survive and would love to finish that lab-grown fish."
Guilting always worked.
This dampened the mood a little, thinking that the crew probably would love these berries, likely already tired of algae and barely in the long stretch of it.
"I think I could make paint with this," Clarke says thoughtfully, looking at one of the cherries, "If I find a binding agent, I could make some really nice stuff."
"Yeah?"
Clarke looks back at the shelter they've set up as their house, "Paint the shutters all pretty."
"We gunna get a picket fence, paint it white?" Bellamy asks. His voice is timid and tinged with something deeper than an innocent question. Clarke chuckles.
"Well, maybe."
"Too bad all the dogs probably ate it too, with the nuclear waste," Bellamy continues, "And we still have time to have our two-point-five…" He trailers off slowly, squinting at something in the trees.
"What?" Clarke asks, following his gaze.
She doesn't see it at first. She thinks it's just a trick of the light, a shadow casting unevenly on the underbrush.
"No way…" Bellamy breathes, eyes widening.
The shadow moves .
"Holy…" Clarke nearly falls over herself to stand, "It's a kid!"
Her pitched voice, full of awe and worry and confusion, startled the very young child, far too young to be out here alone.
"Wait!" Bellamy stands, taking a careful step forward, "It's okay…it's okay…"
He snaps a branch and the kid bolts.
They both take off through the forests. The lushness that offers them protection also offers her mazes and places to duck into, and they are but tourists while she knows this place well. All too soon they've nearly lost sight of her as she darts around trees with such practiced ease, and they stomp after her like beasts roaring through.
"Please!" Clarke calls out in Trig, "I just want to talk to you!"
She isn't sure if this kid speaks English, and Grounder is a safer bet.
"There!" Bellamy spots her in a rocky clearing. They stumble to the perimeter of it, and for some reason, she's just…watching.
"Maybe she's trying to see if we're going to hurt her," Bellamy murmurs quietly.
Clarke takes two steps forward, thinking that between the pair, she's less intimidating.
"Clarke;" Bellamy grasps for her purple sweater, but she shrugs him off.
"Hey, it's okay," She speaks in English, for his sake more than the kid's, "We're not going to hurt you…" She tries to make her voice dulcet and sweet.
Great stars…what are the chances of another survivor? Clarke is almost sure it's just a figment of her imagination, that some of those berries were hallogenic. She and Bellamy had just been talking about the thought of kids…but he sees it too. Shared delusion? Clarke doesn't think any berries are that powerful…
The girl takes off running.
She's easier to follow, staying on what almost seems like a trail, but it's still easy to be disoriented around here. Green is overwhelming, it's almost too lush.
"Are you alone?" Bellamy calls, "Are there others?"
Have they been living in someone's house, like the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears? But if so, why haven't any Grounders come at them with knives and pitchforks yet?
Still, the idea that there might be more than just them fills Clarke with equal parts glee and worry. Glee because, well, others! Worry because she's gotten used to just existing alone with Bellamy, and part of her is terrified about what they'll fall back into if they're back in a community.
This relationship, or whatever it is, it's so...new. The thought of it falling apart is heartbreaking yet predictable.
When the girl stops again, it's another clearing.
Clarke knows, on some level, that this has to be…intentional.
Yes, this girl is hardly above the age of eight, but she's survived possibly alone for the last two months. You have to be some sort of cunning to do that.
Clarke, as the one who uses her head best between her and Bellamy, knows that she should be more cautious before trampling through the woods like an irate bull, but in this golden sunlight, she gets a good look at this girl for the first time.
It's a child and she's so young. Now that they're hardly more than a yard away, she can see the dirt stains all over her chubby, round cheeks. Her fingers are tiny and her hair is matted and stands up like a helmet, but underneath it all, she's adorable.
But feral; Clarke has to remember this. She's frightened.
"Are you a nightblood?" Clarke asks, taking one more step, hoping that maybe she's gotten tired of the chase. She must be tired; her little legs can't take her far, can it? "It's okay," Clarke continues to say, unsure that this girl believes her, but hoping maybe on the thousandth time, she will.
Her next step is a mistake.
Clarke doesn't even register what's happened, all at once, she's grasping her leg and screaming.
It hurts, worse than any of the other shitty things that's happened on Earth.
The girl lets out a battle cry, one that Clarke remembers Octavia making, and unsheaths a nasty-looking knife that will absolutely require a tetanus shot, if Clarke had any of those to give herself - if it breaks skin.
Bellamy is between them in an instant, frantic about Clarke, but trying to keep the girl from mauling Clarke entirely.
"Die flamekeepers!" The girl screams, but in Trig, and goes for Bellamy's arm. The knife cuts a jagged line across his shirt, and she can see Bellamy want to punt the girl but restrains himself.
She's fucking scared to death, and that's not her fault.
He does manage to knock her back across and when the girl gets up and raises her knife again, her eyes go wide.
Clarke sees her gaze flicker to the trap that has her leg tight. Gooey, thick, black blood seeps around the trap, and impossibly, the connection alights in her mind.
"Nightblood…" She whispers in confusion and then spins quickly.
"No! Wait!" Bellamy reaches out for her but is caught, worried.
"Bellamy…help me," Clarke chokes out, fingers grasping uselessly on the trap. She is sure it's gnashed her bones. A fucking bear trap. And the girl knew exactly where it was.
If she wasn't the unfortunate victim of this ploy, Clarke would think the girl was smart.
Hell, she thinks she's smart anyway.
But there's no time to think of that now.
Together, they're able to wrench the jaws apart long enough for Clarke to tear herself away.
She screams when she moves.
It's a good thing they're alone here because her screams are of utmost agony and would surely descend enemies on the left and right at worst and be rude at best.
Everything coming back to camp is hazy. Clarke knows she needs to stay awake, but she wants to just let herself fall into the black, comforting silence that's ringing on the edge of her vision.
"Nightblood, I know that one," Bellamy says, his breath short with concern, "But what did she say when she attacked?"
If Bellamy knows he's forcing her to stay awake with questions, Clarke can't be sure. But she's glad of it.
"Flamekeeper. She thinks we're here to collect her for the conclave. Force her to fight."
"Fight?" Bellamy chokes, "She's a baby!"
"And there's fewer and fewer nightbloods," Clarke says bitterly, "And the necessity for Commanders continues."
"Well, maybe if they'd stop getting themselves into fights and dying so young-," Bellamy bites out, and then winces hard, "I didn't mean…Lexa-,"
"I don't really want to talk about her," Clarke says, her stomach rolling, not just with pain, but with the uncomfortable memories, "In there…" She flicks her head toward the space they've only just begun cleaning out. This will be messy and Clarke would rather not do it on the table they prepare food or the place they sleep.
"What…what now?" Bellamy asks, shaking with worry.
"Clear that off," Clarke says, and he uses his arm in one wide sweep, the boxes and tins clattering to the ground, "Help me up. And open that window."
Light streams into the space. Clarke, sitting, is able to look at it properly for the first time.
"Bellamy…you need to tie a tourniquet," She pants, "Right…" Her bloody fingers tap just above her wound, "Here…"
His fingers shake so hard when he does it, "I can't…I can't…fuck, Clarke, I can't lose you…" He whispers.
"If you don't get it together, I'll have to do it myself, and I'm about to pass out," Clarke snaps, no time for niceties, "So get it together, Blake! You're telling me in all your time here, this is the worst you've seen?"
"But it's you ," Bellamy whispers faintly, shaking his head, "I don't care about anyone else the way I care for you."
Clarke sets her mouth into a line, taking the rope and helping him tie it tight enough, "For me, please, focus."
He watches, face green, as her fingers dig in the wound. It's deep but clean. For as gnarly as the trap looked, it cut with mostly precision and, miraculously, she didn't think it broke a bone.
"Just a flesh wound…" She mutters, "Can you sew?"
"Can I what?" Bellamy echoes, face white as a sheet.
"Wasn't your mom a seamstress?"
"But…" His eyes are wide, "I don't see a quilt here! She didn't fucking sew humans!"
"It's the same," Clarke puts the needle and thread into his fingers, "God, what I wouldn't give for some of Monty's moonshine right about now."
"For cleaning?"
"To get me drunk," She huffs, laughing, "This is going to hurt like hell. No matter how I cry out, don't stop. We need to get this close." She instructions.
Bellamy swallows. His Adam's apple bobs.
"Okay."
Near the end, on the last stitch, Clarke feels her head spin.
The last thing she feels is Bellamy's warm hands on her cheek, frantic, as she slips under.
Day 59
She awakens to darkness.
Bellamy is sitting, staring out the window, face tight.
"Bellamy…water…" Clarke whispers, her voice raspy.
His eyes are still glued to the pane.
"She's here," He whispers, tilting his head, "Just out there. Watching."
"Watching?"
"She tried to come in and steal your backpack. I made sure she didn't get it…" His lips press together, "I think she's starving, Clarke. And alone. I'm sure of it."
"Great, Bellamy, please…water…" Clarke whispers, all her goodwill dried like the black blood splattered on her legs.
"She was worried."
Clarke hauls herself off the table, snorting, "Was she now?"
"Yeah…" Bellamy shakes his head, ignoring her sarcasm, "Imagine being that young, your family dead…watching them die, probably."
"She tried to kill us."
"Because she thought we would hurt her," Bellamy argues, eyebrows knitted, "She's so, so, young."
As Clarke gets down, a wrench clatters to the floor. Bellamy half-stands, fingers tensed, and from his expression, Clarke can tell the girl bolted again.
"It's not that big of a forest," Clarke assures, "We'll see her again."
Somehow, Clarke is sure she'll seek them out now, like a panther in a tree, always a safe distance away, but aware.
Bellamy is frustrated by this outcome but doesn't want to leave Clarke, not like this.
"You and your bleeding heart," Clarke chuckles, rubbing his hair affectionately.
"I like to adopt strays. It's what I do."
Day 63
They don't see the girl up close for a few days. But she's always there, just far enough away to make you think it's a trick of the light, and if either of them takes a step forward, she is gone faster than you can blink.
It is grating on Bellamy.
He sees so much of young Octavia in this girl it kills him. Her resourcefulness, the gleam in her eyes when she's outsmarted them, and the roundness of her face. He's brought back to those early days on the ARK, and gosh, wishes he could be with her underneath the bunker.
He hopes she's okay.
He puts far more effort into befriending the girl than Clarke does. Clarke is, of course, in recovery. She can barely hobble to go to the bathroom, much less continue any of the tasks they've started. For the last few days, Bellamy has been her caretaker, something he takes very seriously.
Clarke cannot die from this. He would like to say he wouldn't allow it, but it's more he knows he doesn't want to live without Clarke. Or thought so. If this girl is truly alone, part of him is worried he'll be left with the girl who killed the love of his life, and it'll be all sorts of fucked up, with way more trauma than his mother gave to him.
So Clarke needs to stay alive.
On the fourth day, he knows he has to make a trip to the stream.
"I'll be fine," Clarke insists, "No infection. No pain- no more than usual. Go," She swats, "I want to read anyway, without you hovering."
Begrudgingly, with a bucket enough to serve as their water and wash, he goes.
The girl is at the edge of the river, on the rocks.
She doesn't see him yet.
Bellamy can watch her quietly for a few moments. She has a spear, fashioned specifically. Too much dexterity is required for her to have made it, and it's so large, that it's almost funny. No, this has to be a weapon left over from…whoever wasn't a nightblood.
As young as she is, she's been taught well.
He is awed at her gratefulness. At how still she can become, like a stone there a thousand years, and then, quick and precise, she catches a fish.
His stomach growls.
Neither he nor Clarke have managed to get one yet, sure these post-apocalyptic fish are particularly slippery.
The girl, hearing his low rumble of hunger, spins, eyes wide.
Bellamy gets low to the ground, eye to eye with her.
"Can you teach me that?"
Clarke's theory is that she does not speak English, which isn't too strange to think. But he hopes if he speaks and gestures and smiles gently, she'll understand he comes in peace.
She warily regards him, as though unsure what to make of Bellamy. He can see the thoughts turning in her mind, a mental battle.
She's already decided Clarke is bad news, but she's not sure where Bellamy falls, as it seems.
"Are you hungry?" He asks, "Well, obviously," He tilts his head toward the fish, laughing.
He takes out some jerky from his bag, something left from the lab. He holds out a piece of her, the bag held in his other hand.
The girl edges forward at a painful slowness, and then all at once, darts forward and grasps not the singular offered piece, but the remainder of the bag.
All in all, Bellamy just laughs.
She vanishes after that, but Bellamy can see her on a high rock, eating, and smiling.
He hopes she enjoys it.
While he's at home, cleaning Clarke's leg, he retells the incident.
"Great. The last three people on earth, and one of them has to be the child from hell," Clarke mutters sourly.
"Hey," Bellamy says, frustrated, "That's not fair."
"I know it's not, but she's…" Clarke bites out a groan, "You know!"
"Alone? Terrified? A baby?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes. All of the above. And still," She raises a finger, "A gremlin."
Bellamy shrugs, "I think that my gesture will help in the long run. What have you done to get her to trust us?"
"Uhm, stepped in a bear trap?"
"I'm serious."
"So am I!" Clarke throws her arms out, hobbling away.
Bellamy sputtered, "Where are you going?" He demanded.
"Away!" Clarke said, taking harsh, pointed steps, pulling herself across the clearing toward the unorganized hut where Bellamy had sewed her leg together.
"Not very fast," Bellamy huffed.
"Oh, fuck you!"
For the first time, Bellamy thought about the fact that there were only three people upside of the Earth (seemingly), and specifically, he thought about in this way; one was a little girl who wanted nothing to do with Clarke (the jury was still out on him) and one was Clarke, who thought he loved dearly, he was often at her throat and vise versa and there was no escaping it.
They were going to murder each other before five years came, Bellamy was sure of it.
He stewed and cleaned their house with force. Their first fight. The first couple fight. Sort of.
Were they a couple?
They'd kissed in the elation of survival and Bellamy had felt like it meant something, but it was…pretty unclear where they currently stood.
Neither caved and came to the other first. They both seemed to be drawn to the porch on opposite sides of the clearing, staring across at each other with guarded expressions.
"Are we going to yell from side to side?" Bellamy asked.
"Are you going to apologize?" Clarke crossed her arms, "And admit that maybe my anger is valid? I mean, my leg is…" He watched her swallow, "She really fucked it up. I know why, but I'm allowed to be angry, Bell."
Sometimes, Bellamy forgot. He forgot how young they were, truly. They were both just hardly more than kids, trying to stumble through life, and neither was perfect.
"I know," He sighed, "But it pains me. I just want to help her." Bellamy took two steps, and Clarke matched him.
Sort of.
He realized that this was a hard ask of her as she currently was and took long strides the rest of the way.
Clarke dragged a hand over his cheek, "I know you do, Bell. It's in your nature. And she'd be so lucky to have someone like you caring for her. I know I am."
"I'm just worried," Bellamy admitted, "Out there all by herself…we're the adults here. We have to take the higher road. We have to try." He urged.
"I know," Clarke said, and didn't sound frustrated, just resigned, "Here." She produced a page from a journal.
It was their wild girl, standing in the clearing, eyes wide and bright.
"My gesture." Clarke bit her lip, "I don't have…the kindness you do. I just have this."
"I think she'll see it," Bellamy said quietly, "And understand it."
"Well," Clarke said after a moment, "If not, we have five years to learn how to co-exist with her."
Still, Bellamy pinned the picture at the edge of their camp to a tree with a knife, one that wasn't rusty, and a bag of nuts.
When he went back the next morning, all three were gone.
Bellamy took this as a very good sign and allowed himself, just a bit, to hope, this wild child would let them in.