DAY 4

Clarke woke up with a start like some ethereal being had reached down and shocked her back to life. She woke up gasping and sweating, her fingers shaking so hard that she thought there was something terribly wrong. She managed to cup her hands to her face, pressing hard, charting over her features. Two eyes, one nose, lips, ears, hair...the fact that she could even feel was astounding to her, the strangest feeling that she was even breathing bowling her over.

The area around her buzzed like a radio trying to find proper reception. There was an acute ringing in her ears, something not unlike a fly that wouldn't leave.

She was gulping in air like she hadn't breathed in years. Her throat was so raw and dry that in-between gasping she ended up coughing, the residue of her blood spattering on her palms in front of her.

Was this heaven or hell? If she was waking up, it had to be in one of these two places. Had her efforts to do good outweighed the bad she'd wrought upon the world?

As her vision began to sharpen, Clarke realized that this location was familiar. Becca's lab. So, either the afterlife took the form of Becca's post-apocalyptic lab as some cruel joke or...

...or she was alive.

She was crying on the ground before she finished the thought. She dragged her fingers up and down her face, wanting to remind herself at every second that somehow, Clarke Griffin had survived again.

She hurt all over. It was only as she returned to her full senses- feeling the cold floor of Becca's lab, tasting the scent of ash and dust in the air, smelling the burning of rubber and something acrid, hearing absolute nothingness beyond the ringing, and the lab brightening around her as her body woke up- that Clarke felt the searing pain of her leg.

A piece of the ceiling had collapsed on top of her, crushing her left leg from the knee down.

"Relax Clarke," She said out loud, "The fact you can feel it is probably still a good sign."

She could lift her upper leg, and there was a black puddle underneath her, dried and sticky to her pants. The ceiling that had broken likely most of her bones was also keeping her blood in, or else she'd surely have bled out by now.

Her throat was parched and there was a fine layer of dust all over her skin. No, not dust, ashes. Ashes of the world that had burnt to crisp around her. From where the ceiling was cracked, the embers still fluttered down, like snow. Clarke had never seen snow in real life.

Clarke began shoving hard at the cement block restricting her. As she did so, her mind began to funnel back the moments leading up to this.

She'd been sent to fix the satellite. She hadn't been able to do it in time, not before they had to leave. She'd cracked her suit and vomited all over. And then, as she'd drifted off, she'd imagined Bellamy before her.

A sharp edge cut her hand as she fumbled, her breath leaving her all at once.

No, she'd decided he wasn't imagined. Bellamy had been here with her.

Clarke twisted her body so swiftly that her leg shifted and a burning pain shot up her back. She bit back a cry, scanning the room. The area where she was sure she'd seen him lying was completely covered in debris and fallen pieces, a large beam separating the space between them.

"Bellamy!"

Her voice echoed around the space, bouncing back to her viciously as no one answered. The silence taunted her.

Clarke shoved harder at the block, frantic. Her heart pounded so loud that it overwhelmed all of her thoughts, blocking out the pain of her new wound and of the old.

She managed to shove the block off and blood welled up again. Dangerous, Clarke, just so asinine . Fear had made her lose her mind. She should have made a tourniquet before she tried to get this off, because now her fingers were uneasy and quivering as she tore off a piece of her shirt, firmly tying it off. She couldn't get it until the third try, not properly. She ripped off a smaller piece for her palm, fisting it as she tried to move.

Her leg protested immediately.

Clarke ground her teeth, dragging herself across the floor.

She had the faintest thought that maybe it hadn't been Bellamy and it had been a figment of her imagination. That she was stressing herself out for nothing. That she was ignoring a very bad leg wound for nothing. That, even if it was him, there was no way he survived the radiation. That she might find him truly dead and she'd have to face that.

That thought alone nearly paused her shoveling.

She couldn't let it lie, though. It was Bellamy .

She saw another radiation suit and her heart nearly stopped. She felt dizzy and she was sure it wasn't from her leg. The feeling of nausea rose over her with such a trace of bitterness that it shocked her; here she was, seeing the slightest glimpse of neon fabric and she was battling every single emotion all at once. Anger, sadness, joy, fury, confusion, regret, agony...it was enough to get to any sane person.

Her fingers hovered, but she put it back in her lap, biting her lip so hard it drew blood.

He was here. He hadn't gone with the team. Tears welled at the edge of her eyes. She was going to have to uncover his stupid body, see his stupid handsome and reckless face of his, and come to terms she'd never tell his stupid ass that she was in love with him.

"He's not stupid, you're just angry," Clarke whispered, sniffling, scowling. If she spoke out loud, she wouldn't feel so alone.

Her fingers worked slower this time, wanting him as perfectly preserved as she could. She would give him a nice grave. She'd plant flowers all around if flowers could still be planted.

Bell, I love you, I love you, I love you…

It was a mantra she repeated in her head as she carefully eased out rocks, wires, and metal paneling to reach him. She realized halfway through she'd begun to murmur it if maybe she could say it a million times, he'd hear across the planes of existence and he'd understand.

She reached the space that covered his face and reached her fingers out, grasping the sides and pulling it back.

Then, she gazed in a mixture of confusion and, deep down, the tiniest flicker of hope.

There was black all around his lips.

Not black like tar or soot, but black like black blood.

As her eyes trailed down, she saw a cut on his arm and dried cakey ebony blood there too.

Bellamy was a Nightblood now too?

Her fingers dropped the metal sheet. It clattered around the lab with such a cacophonous echo that it startled Clarke from her motionless.

She dove in, fingers pressing against his neck. It took three huge, shuddering breaths to steady herself enough to feel his veins properly, but there it was. Just faintly. A pulse.

Bellamy was alive.

Clarke, overwhelmed with endorphins and feeling woozy from her own pain, could only manage to pull his head into her lap and cry.

DAY 6

Clarke yawned, blinking awake as she stirred to check Bellamy's pulse. A small sigh settled over her body; still alive.

It had been two days and he wasn't awake yet. Clarke had calculated it had taken her four days to awaken, but her body was more used to nightblood. She'd had Murphy pump it through her body, if only briefly, and so she was sure it must have felt familiar. Bellamy- though she couldn't guess when he'd done this- had probably been a brand-new Nightblood for less than a month. All things considered, it was a miracle he was alive in a small coma.

Her fingers rubbed comfortingly over his face. Like her own scarred skin, he had radiation burns that had bloomed everywhere. Most were no longer open and pustulating, just scars that were rough to the touch. They'd started to heal in even the two days Clarke had been observing herself, so she was confident in time they'd fade.

They had five years. They had, in theory, all the time in the world. Especially considering all the shit they'd been through had accounted for hardly a year, five years seemed like eons. The idea she hadn't known Bellamy for more than a year seemed utterly preposterous, but the math was solid.

She couldn't imagine what it would be like to discover him as they existed in their own perfectly paused universe.

Clarke rested her chin on her crossed arms of the gurney, staring at the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest. She hadn't found much time to sleep at all, worried that if she fell too deeply into dreams, he might coda or seize and she'd wake up and really have lost him.

He still could die. His body could reject the nightblood or the radiation or just give up. Clarke, being a doctor, acknowledged this truth.

A part of her was furious with him. She had almost perfected how she was going to argue with him in her mind, all the way she'd yell and hit his chest and ask him how he could have ever done something so incredibly boneheaded. Still, there were no guarantees he would have survived on the Ark. Maybe they didn't make it. Maybe something glitched at the last second. There wasn't even a guarantee he'd be alive in the bunker, not if there was a leak anywhere.

Truth be told, at least with Clarke, she knew he was alive. It wasn't some weird version of Schrodinger's cat as it was with everyone else she cared about, but it was confirmed.

Bellamy Blake was alive in front of her.

Her fingers reached out to trace his hand.

A punctured lung, a broken arm, so many cuts and bruises, and maybe even a fractured rib and Bellamy was still alive.

It was enough to make Clarke believe in God or angels because someone out there really loved one of them.

Day 10

Clarke examined her leg up on the table with a scrutinizing, medical once-over. The leg that had been crushed by the ceiling.

She could walk on it, sort of, so things were mostly okay.

She winced at her own diagnosis... 'mostly okay'. Geeze.

Not for the first time, Clarke wished for her mom's medical expertise.

The wound had been ugly, gaping and near infected by the time she'd stabilized Bellamy and focused on her own pains. After cleaning it out, she'd gone foraging. Not for food, but for supplies. Unsurprisingly, lots of the lab was completely underground or in ruins, meaning her options were severely limited. Where Clarke didn't find a needle and sutures, she did find a medical-grade staple gun.

She'd found a rag to bite down on, pinched the two pieces of skin, counted to five, and pressed the button.

Three staples down her leg to close the wound. It nearly made her pass out, but Clarke knew she had to see this through. It had been, without a doubt, the worst pain she'd ever felt. And Clarke had been through a lot of very painful things.

Now, nearly a week later, she carefully examined her leg to make sure no infection had slipped in and it was starting to heal as it should. It wouldn't be pretty when all was said and done, but Clarke would take 'alive' over 'pretty' any given day.

There was a noise from the area Clarke had cleared out. It was slow going since she didn't want to move Bellamy too far and most of the lab was completely useless, but it was clean and sterilized to the best of Clarke's ability, thanks to a lot of rubbing alcohol.

At first, Clarke ignored it, thinking it was more of the fallen pieces of the structure settling itself. As the noise persisted, Clarke realized it was a faint groaning noise.

Clarke's head shot up to Bellamy. While he wasn't moving, the sound was coming from him.

She threw herself across the room just in time to see him start to roll his shoulders, groaning in pain. She immediately reached for the painkillers, knowing that he was probably in relative agony right now. She hadn't wanted to give him too much yet, in case that interfered with him waking up.

"I-," Bellamy tried to say, eyes closed, but broke off with a cough. Although Clarke had been giving him saline and other necessities through an IV, she knew that his throat must feel so dry. She tipped his head up, soothing him as she pressed a bottle to his lip. He drank most of it, coughing.

"Clarke, is that...you?" He sounded woozy and tired. His hands flailed and Clarke grasped it. His firm was strong, almost painful, like he didn't want to let her go.

"Shhh, Bell, it's okay, you're alive," Clarke whispered, rubbing his head.

"Hurts."

"I know, I know," Clarke said, "You're awake, and that's what matters. I'm going to give you something for the pain, alright?" She asked. Bellamy gave a grunt of agreement.

Within moments, he'd slipped back under, but at least he was more conscious than last time. Clarke was assured he'd pull through.

His grip stayed tight around hers until his head lolled again. As soon as his grip loosened, Clarke brought his hand to her lips and kissed the back of his hand, smiling in relief.

Day 15

"Clarke, hey...hey…" Bellamy's voice was rough but also soft. This was the first time he'd been awake long enough to communicate with Clarke beyond a few raspy grunts and blinks for simple 'yes' and 'no'. Clarke had been sitting in the corner, digging through one of the cabinets for supplies.

She saw Bellamy try to move.

"Are you crazy? Lay back down," She demanded, rushing over and almost forcefully pushing his chest.

"Ouch, Princess," Bellamy winced, "Geeze, did you miss the day on bedside manner?" He teased.

"If you weren't trying to move after a near-fatal injury, I wouldn't have to manhandle you," Clarke replied, but she was close to crying. Every time Bellamy woke up again, it felt like another victory, another moment she was snapped from a dream.

"So, it was bad."

Clarke pulled up a chair. It squeaked noisily over the floors, the floors which she'd meticulously swept of dust and debris. It had given her work to do. Clarke always felt better with busy fingers. Becca's lab, while mostly destroyed, still had a couple of rooms that were nearer to safe. Sure, this room had a hole in the wall Clarke had just thrown rocks into, but other than that, it was close to immaculate.

"Why don't we start with exactly when you became a nightblood," Clarke asked, her voice even as she held down a mixture of fury and tenderness, all at once.

"I meant to tell you-," Bellamy began, wincing hard, "There was just never time."

"This seemed significant." She pressed her hands to her head, "Fuck, Bell, what were you thinking?" At his silence, Clarke looked up. She'd gotten used to reading his expressions, "Right. Yes. Duh. You weren't."

It seemed cruel to put it like that, but it wasn't far from the truth. It had been a moment of impulsiveness where Bellamy had only chosen with his feelings instead of his head. It was so similar to the old Bellamy, the one that Clarke had fallen for.

She looked at the beds of her fingernails, face blushed as she tried not to meet his gaze.

"I wasn't," Bellamy agreed in a soft tone.

"Well," Clarke gathered herself, "It did keep us alive. As stupid as it was-," She grinned, "We've survived yet another apocalypse."

Bellamy let a slow smile creep across his face. He raised his arms, seeing the burns and the bandages.

"The burns will fade. They already mostly have. I'm treating your wounds- extensive wounds, let me add. I think you should still take it easy a couple of days, or a week."

"Are we safe here?" Bellamy asked.

"We're the only ones probably still alive up here. Everyone, no, everything else…" Clarke's face darkened. Bellamy winced.

"Right."

He looked around the room. It had become the hub of everything; in the corner was Clarke's bed and boxes of usable items she'd salvaged so far. The food stocked near a sink, one that didn't really work, along with water. Clothes that weren't torn to shreds. Weapons.

"Hey, Clarke?"

"Hmm?" She asked, her eyes trained on him, never wanting to stop looking.

"Think I could get another pillow? This table is not exactly comfy."

Clarke sighed, but nodded, "Now that you're up, we might move you to a more comfortable bed." Right now he was just on a table with a mattress pad and a pillow, just so Clarke could assess him properly at any given time.

He shot her a strange look.

"Weren't you just telling me not to move?" He asked.

"I guess so. I mean, if you want to stay there-,"

"Forget I argued," Bellamy rolled a shoulder wincing. Clarke wanted to reach out, rub his shoulder, but she kept her hands in her lap.

"Tomorrow I'll try to find some more soft things. Are you hungry, in the meantime? Thirsty? In pain? Need-,"

"Clarke, chill. Stop taking care of me. I mean, other than my wounds. You don't need to continuously worry about the rest of it."

Clarke helped him at least prop up his current pillow so he could lift his head, give him a more comfortable position. She couldn't stop her fingers from rubbing in his soft black curls, just for a second.

"Silly Bellamy," She whispered, almost as though it was just meant for her own ears, "I always worry about you."

If people are enjoying this, I would really super appreciate a few reviews...I only got one last chapter.

But, for those wondering, this will be a multi-chapter fic! It will take place during those years on the ground, oh around 2000 some odd days. So we've only just started!