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Bellamy doesn’t realize that something is wrong right away. Actually, it’s not before he helps move Octavia to her cot in the commander’s tent that he feels a nasty tug on his right side and he has to bite his lips so as not to groan.
Clarke notices though, of course, she does.
“You okay?” she asks furrowing her eyebrows in confusion and all he manages is a weak smile in return as he hurries to exit the tent.
“I’m fine. Take care of her” he nods at his sister and disappears before Clarke can stop him.
Once outside, he shoves his hand to the right side under his jacket and the moment he feels something wet, he knows it’s blood even before he draws his fingers out.
He tries to get a better look at it and curses when he realizes it’s not just a scratch, but that there’s a particularly big piece of glass sticking from his torso between his ribs and his lower back. It’s a rather strange angle, which would probably explain why feels a sharp pain whenever he moves his arm and the rather dull throbbing in the entire area.
He presses his hand to the wound and tries to head off to his tent quietly and without drawing any attention all the while cursing the damn glass and trying to convince himself that this isn’t as serious.
He’s just about to call it a win when he feels someone’s small but cold hand gripping his wrist and a second later he’s turning only to face the fury that is Clarke Griffin.
“Bellamy, what the hell is-” she starts scolding before her eyes trail down to his hand pressing his side and the moment she sees his already bloody hand (yes, he was bleeding a lot even before he found out he was actually hurt. The side of his shirt was already soaked)
“You’re hurt.” she states with a light gasp but she doesn’t actually waste any time letting this sink in.
Clarke, she was like that, she wouldn’t sit around try to make sense of it, she’d jump in action and try to fix it. Before it’s too late, before it’s irreparable. She’s lost too many people not to act like that, Bellamy regretfully thinks, as she grabs his elbow and shoves him in the tent.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asks outraged as she pushes him to the cot and helps him remove his jacket.
He can see she’s pissed off to no extent and the light in her eyes, the one suggesting he’s in big trouble for not voicing his pain, is dangerously close to turning into tears.
Something he definitely didn’t want.
So he grabs her slightly shaking hand and squeezes it while she was trying to remove his shirt.
“Clarke” he tries to keep his voice calm and collected, hoping his bravado holds up to her eyes. (her beautiful blue eyes) ”It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.”
She huffs annoyed at his stupid attempt to make this okay but doesn’t say anything as she removes his shirt and pushes him down.
He doesn’t realize when her hands get bloody, but he does wonder why the fuck is the world spinning when he’s laying down and he squeezes his eyes for just a second as he tries to get his shit together before he feels her hands on the wound again.
“It’s not just a scratch” she states and he looks up at her to find her applying pressure at the hole in his body with one hand and taking out bandages and medical supplies from her bag with the other.
He knows they barely have anything left. Whatever meager supplies they’ve taken with them when they left, were lost during the sandstorm, taken away by the wind and whirled somewhere in the nothingness, minimizing their chance of surviving this thing with it. Until Monty and the others came back with more, they were more or less screwed.
“Fuck” Clarke curses as she digs out nothing but a really short piece of bandage and whatever alcohol was left in the bottle she’s used so far to patch everyone up ”This is not enough.”
“It’s alright” he states with such certainty that it makes her stop for a second and look at him.
She meets his eyes and the moment she does her heart leap because of what she sees there-resignation. He’s alright with this.
And the moment she lets that sink in, she somehow gets even more mad.
“After all these years” she gets back on with her task and pours the alcohol over her hands and his side that just refuses to stop bleeding (now it was turn for the cot to start soaking) ”You’re still the same stupid idiot, Bellamy.“
“You’re the one who complimented me mere hours ago for taking your advice” he reminds her as she struggles to take a better look at the way the glass entered his body.
He shivers when she touches it and bites back another groan.
“Yeah…well I should’ve taken my time with it apparently” he surprises her with a light laugh and she meets his brown, now full-of-pain eyes.
Sweat is coating his forehead and his freckles are standing out dangerously bright against his pale face.
Shit. He was losing too much blood.
“I tried my best” he says and reaches for her hand but misses it just barely.
His vision must be blurring too because he squints a little as he probably tries to make out her features.
His arm ends up hanging from the bed, dangerously motionless and every breath he draws in, makes her almost shiver, because it’s deep, raspy and way too desperately trying to cling on to reality.
And that was bad. That was too damn bad.
She had to take the glass out and patch him up.
She tells him so and he just nods in reassurance. He doesn’t scream while she drags the big piece out, but he does bite his lips so hard he draws blood.
“You did great” she finally responds to his previous comment all the while she desperately tries to stop him from bleeding out.
Her hands are covered in red to the elbows and somewhere at the back of her mind she wonders how many more times will this happen to her.
”But none of this matters if you still value your life as little as you did six years ago” she adds and his eyes widen at her words before he just shrugs it off and tries to give her one of his signature Bellamy smirks.
“All that matters is that everyone else is safe” he groans a little when she starts up stitching him.
She has literally no bandages left and he’s still bleeding out, so she takes off her shirt and tears it apart, remaining in nothing but her white t-shirt that’s about to get red from all the blood.
His blood. She thinks and tries to chase the thought away.
She pushes a piece of the freshly cut cloth in his hand and presses it to his wound.
“Hold onto this for me, will you?” she asks and he doesn’t respond.
He just closes his eyes and she’s about to yell at him to keep talking to her so he doesn’t fall asleep when he opens them again and stares at her with the strangest look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry” he utters and she furrows her eyebrows in confusion as she tries keeping her attention to the stitches ”I’m sorry for leaving you behind, I’m sorry for all that you had to go through on your own-”
“Bellamy-” she tries to cut him off and tell him now is not the time but he shakes his head vehemently.
“No, I need you to hear this” the words take her back to a different time.
A time where she said it to him before she almost died and the fact that he was pulling this shit on her now suggested he believed he was going down that road himself and that scared her like no sandstorm ever could
”I never should’ve done that. I should’ve stayed behind, I should’ve made sure you’re alright and I didn’t. We were supposed to do this together and I fucked that up.”
“No, you did what I told you to do. You kept our friends save, you listened to your head.”
“And it broke my heart” he added in a second.
He moved his hand up and this time he managed to place it on top of hers that was still holding up the needle while making the final stitch.
”You never warned me about that side effect.” he adds with a broken smile as he struggles to catch his breath.
He was getting worse, she could see. Stitching him up and wrapping a bandage would do nothing for him if his blood was already infected.
She drops the needle and moves her hand up to his forehead, pressing it carefully under his curious gaze.
God, he looked like a little boy to her in that moment, a really fucked up sad little boy grasping at the straws to stay awake and talk to her despite his pain.
“If I had, you never would’ve listened to me, you never would’ve gotten on that rocket and kept everyone alive.” she says with a sad smile as she dabs another part of her shirt with water and presses it to his forehead, trying to cool him down.
“Everyone but you” he blurts and squeezes her hand ”You think you can ever forgive me?”
“It’s already done” she promises with yet another squeeze but she can see that in his eyes there’s doubt and she realizes it’s not really because of her…it’s because of him ”Will you ever forgive yourself?”
“No” he answers in a heart beat and she feels the anger return to her.
Why did he have to be like that, why did he have to be so damn hard on himself?
”Never.” he squeezes his eyes shut in pain before she can scold him about it and moves up, desperate to find a more comfortable position.
She tries to shush him and tell him it’s alright all the while squeezing his hand.
“Not even for me?” she knows she’s playing a really dirty card right now but it’s her only chance at actually pressing him to the corner and making him think about it.
“That’s not fair, princess” he knows what she’s doing and gives her another weak smile while he keeps struggling to breathe.
The old nickname that comes out of his mouth makes it hard for her to catch her breath as well. She’s so close to him, her upper body is leaning heavily over his chest and her hands won’t stop touching his face.
“Yeah well life’s not fair. You of all people should know it.”
“I do, but you’re playing in a dangerous territory.” he adds carefully and she shrugs.
It’s not danger.
It’s love.
But he doesn’t need to know that yet. Not right now, not when he’s fighting for his life after bleeding all over the place.
“Get rest” Clarke says when he moves uncomfortably again and buries half his face in the pillow ”I’ll be here.” she promises
“You should check on Octavia, see if she needs-”
“I’ll be here.” she states again and he knows he can’t fight it so he just closes his eyes, telling himself he’ll just be a minute, but soon the sleep and the exhaustion draw him deeper into the darkness.
She wraps the rest of her shirt tightly around him as best as she can with him laying down and sits next to him, not taking her eyes off of him and making sure to change the wet cloth on his forehead every once in a while.
She has no medication to give him and it’s clear that the wound is infected, it probably was even before she treated it, just cause he was an idiot enough to not say anything about it and as the time progresses and he starts talking in his sleep, she gets more and more concerned and keeps radioing Monty asking how close they are.
At some point his dreams or more like nightmares apparently get violent. He keeps saying Octavia’s name, calling out for help, but it’s not until a few hours later when she hears her own name escape his lips that she freezes.
“I have to get home” he utters and keeps moving his head left and right on the sweat soaked pillow ”I have to…I have to go home” he repeats over and over and it’s not until she carefully climbs on top of him and presses her body to his weaker one, hugging him tightly but mindful of his wound, that he settles down.
“You’re home, Bellamy” she whispers in his ear.
It’s Madi who finds them asleep like this, still entangled in one another and a smile creeps up on her face.
A smirk, actually, that Bellamy Blake would be too proud of.