Chapter Text
PRAIMFAYA
When he finds Echo with a bloody hand pressed to her stomach, all he can think is "Really?!" But he stands her up and sorts her out as best he can, before sending her on her way. He'd come up to the office for the last box of rations, nutrition bars long since past their sell by date. (Although Clarke had said technically these things could last forever, which he's not sure he agrees with. Surely food should... Expire?)
It's there on the desk. Next to a medical briefcase. He forgets about the bars. Nightblood. If there was enough for all of them, maybe they wouldn't have to risk living out the rest of their lives on the ring. There's not enough. He takes the one syringe anyway. The box of rations gets left behind.
Clarke isn't back yet.
"I can't leave her!" He'd been clear on this.
"Bellamy, there's no time! We have to go. You can't stay!"
"What about this? Would this work?"
Raven looks at the syringe like it's a second head, because why is this idiot boy asking her to look at something so small as nightblood molecules when she's focused on much bigger things, like space stations and rockets and docking manoeuvres.
"What... Where did you get that?"
"Up there, in the office, it's the only one, Raven, would it work?"
"I don't know! We can't stay Bellamy, we're out of time, please."
"Go, go now, I'll stay, and stick this-" he waves the syringe alarmingly close to his nose.
"Jesus, Blake, you need a vein." Idiot boy. She pulls his glove off and shoves his sleeve up, slapping his arm as fast as she can, because the world is on fire, and they need to go.
Their eyes meet as the needle punctures his skin. "May we meet again." He's going for sombre.
"Bloody better do, don't die." She retorts with a grin.
"Don't die."
And then she's gone behind her helmet, and he's left with a dark web blooming under his skin, watching the rocket hatch close and hearing Harper's "He isn't coming?" and it sort of hits him that this may be the stupidest thing he's ever done because the rocket is leaving and he's not on it.
But neither is Clarke. And that sort of makes it okay.
He slams his helmet on and makes sure to check it's fastened properly, because if the last few hours have taught him anything it's that nightblood wasn't an instant solution. That maybe it didn't work. And she's still not back, so he runs up the steps towards the outside, hoping it's not on fire just yet, that she's not dead already.
It's red and furious, flames eating the sky and he can't see the satellite tower anymore. He's not sure if that roaring sound is the world dying or his own breath, his blood thundering in his ears.
"Come on Clarke."
The sky is on fire.
And then he sees her. Tiny in front of the flames. Stumbling in the ash. He runs.
She can't see, both her hands are pressed tight over her helmet where it's smashed, and she falls again as he reaches her and there's no time, everything is burning, but he grabs her arm and pulls her with him. Back to the door, almost there, fire and death alongside them.
There are suits hanging in the entrance so he pushes her ahead of him and grabs what he can, then falls after her, flames roaring inside the walls. He pushes her again and they crash heavily down the metal steps, gasping, gurgling, black blood bubbling from her lips.
The floor lurches under his sticky, stringy melted boots. One arm full of heavy plastic suits, the other around her and it hurts, it burns, but they're inside and he drags her into the office, where it's not on fire yet.
A flash from before - "I got you for that" - and he's ripping the shattered helmet away, but the new ones don't match so he throws her down and heaves her out of her suit, one limb at a time and she falls against him heavily. No time to check if she's even still breathing. He gets the new suit flat and rolls her onto it, grapples with her unresponsive arms, her legs. No time to be cautious of bent-back fingers, just get it on her and hope it's enough. The walls shake and he thinks the ceiling might crack and crash and so he pulls her under the desk and throws his arm over her chest, as though it would protect her if the world fell down and buried them.
"Clarke." He coughs wetly. "Clarke, can you hear me?" Everything is loud, and then quiet all of a sudden as he hears her rasping breath. Silent. Then she breathes again. She's still alive. "I got you, you're okay, I've got you."
He closes his eyes , and thinks then of Raven and the rocket. Did they make it onto the ring? Did Clarke get the signal sent in time? But he knows she would have stayed and burned trying, so he finds the soft rise and fall of her breaths under the bulky sleeve of his suit, and hopes they made it.