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I.
Your mom would be proud.
The words remained with Octavia longer than she’d expected. As she tended to Lincoln far into the night, Bellamy stood guard nearby despite her protests for him to rest. She hadn’t really expected him to listen, not when she was so drained from the past 48 hours that she didn’t have the energy to argue. He knew it as well as she did. So he stood quietly against the wall, gun in hand, despite the bruises on his knuckles and the angry cut on his cheek. And while she knew he was looking out for her, Octavia couldn’t help but feel like he was also watching and waiting for someone else.
Her beloved, stubborn, quick-tempered brother, who had promised her they would bring Lincoln home and find something to save him. Of course, "something" turned out to be Clarke. It was largely thanks to her, and eventually her mother, that he was alive. And Clarke had singlehandedly managed to save him and use the knowledge to stop a war. What a formidable force she was. But Bellamy’s refusal to give up on Lincoln, to rescue him instead of shooting him outright, was what had touched her deepest. Her brother was so different from the boy who'd fought his way onto the dropship so long ago.
Then there was Clarke, who he used to mutter and snap at angrily, who used to keep getting in the way of his plans. How far they’d come, beyond bickering and fighting to meet as equals. She was the one he’d turned to in their greatest time of need, the one he relied on beyond all others. And as Octavia had climbed up the ladder in the dropship, she’d heard those quiet, gentle words from her tough big brother.
Clarke’s response had been one of frustration and exhaustion, but Octavia wondered if the other girl had really registered what he said.
I’m proud of you.
Because of course that was what he’d meant.
Bellamy straightened suddenly, and she looked up. “What is it?”
He put a finger to his lips, cautiously lifting the gun to his shoulder. There was the snap of twigs outside, followed by boots on the dropship floor. The ladder rungs squeaked slightly as someone made their way up. Then, a familiar voice.
“Bellamy?”
The effect on her brother was immediate. The gun dropped to the floor as he sank to his knees to open the hatch. Clarke’s head popped up and he grasped her arm to help her out. For a moment there was only the two of them as she gripped his elbows tightly.
“We have a truce.”
Bellamy’s eyes closed in relief.
“You did it,” he murmured, and there was admiration and tenderness and respect in those three words.
Clarke only smiled and said, “We did it,” squeezing his arms a second longer, and Octavia grinned. It was such a Clarke thing to say. She stood and made her way over to where Octavia sat, kneeling to check on Lincoln.
“How’s he doing?” She asked, and Octavia simply pulled her into a big hug. Her throat was too tight to speak. Clarke seemed to understand and returned her hug just as fiercely. When Lincoln shifted and muttered, Octavia pulled back to grip his hand. His eyes fluttered as she brushed her fingers over his forehead, and he drifted back into slumber.
“You should rest,” came Clarke’s firm voice, and Octavia looked up with a grin to see her standing in front of Bellamy, hands on her hips.
“Tried that already,” she told her. “He’s worse than you are.”
Clarke’s mouth turned up at that. As expected, Bellamy shook his head. “I can take the first watch. Unless you’re heading back?”
Stay.
Octavia looked between the two of them, standing close enough that just one movement could pull them apart or make them crash together for good. Clarke hesitated, and he began to nod knowingly until she dropped her bag on the floor.
“I think I’d be better use here,” she smiled faintly and Octavia’s heart lightened just a little bit.
Taking advantage of Bellamy’s surprise, Clarke placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down until he was seated against the wall. He didn’t resist at all, the wonder still stamped across his face as she sat cross-legged in front of him.
“If you’re not going to sleep, I may as well patch you up.”
“Sure, princess.” The old nickname slipped out with such fondness that Clarke’s hands faltered for a moment. What had started out as a way to get under her skin had turned into something so very different. Bellamy’s eyes drifted shut as she began carefully cleaning his wounds, and Octavia shook her head in wonder.
II.
The fire crackled and spit as she lay on the ground. Her eyes were closed, but her mind remained wide awake. Bellamy sat nearby, on watch as always. His gun rested next to him on the grass. Clarke sat to his right, yawning from time to time but otherwise unbothered. Octavia had become used to seeing them like this, sitting up far into the night in silence. She’d mentioned it to her brother only once, passing it off as a joke to hide the fact that she was genuinely curious. But he’d answered quietly that it was the one time of day he ever felt peaceful, and after that she made it her mission to keep others from bothering them during that time.
The three of them were returning from one of the nearby villages and had stopped to rest for the night. She was pretending to sleep, though her mind was too distracted by Lincoln’s recovery to fully relax. But she knew her brother wanted her to rest, so she at least pretended.
Cracking an eye open, she watched him hand the last bit of roasted meat to Clarke and repressed her sigh. Stupid selfless brother. He had barely eaten anything, alternately sharing the food with the two of them until they forced him to keep some for himself.
Clarke tried to give this piece back to him too, but he shook his head. “You need to eat, Clarke.”
“I did.”
“Not nearly enough.” He looked at her sidelong. “I saw you hand off your lunch to Taylor and Maya after just one bite. And I know you didn’t eat breakfast because we were out hunting at the crack of dawn.”
She opened her mouth to protest and he raised an eyebrow that seemed to say, Are we really going to do this?
After a moment, she gave him a wry smile and bit into the meat. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
He nodded, his eyes on the fire. “You should take more care. I don’t want to have to carry you back to camp tomorrow.”
Her light slap on his arm was half-hearted at best, but Octavia had heard the truth in his voice. I worry about you. After a few minutes, Clarke set down the remaining meat and wiped her hands on her jeans. Reaching into her pack, she pulled out an apple and put it next to the leftover food before stretching out next to the fire.
“For what it’s worth,” she yawned, “Monroe’s plate had double the usual helpings at lunch, and you conveniently disappeared to boss around the builders.”
You're not the only one who worries.
Octavia grinned to herself when her brother didn’t immediately have a comeback. His mouth hung slightly open in surprise before he managed to look away. She could always trust Clarke to find a way to make him speechless.
Clarke curled onto her side, her eyes already drifting shut. “That better be gone by morning. You’re far too heavy for me to carry.”
At Bellamy’s muffled laugh, her mouth curved up but she didn't open her eyes. He reached for the apple moments later.
III.
“Would you sit still?” Clarke’s beseeching voice echoed down the hall.
“Clarke, I’m fine. I need to go help Miller with-”
“Miller doesn’t have a bruise the size of a boulder on his head. Miller didn’t nearly faint after standing for more than five seconds.”
“I don’t faint,” came the grumpy reply.
Octavia could practically feel Clarke’s eyeroll as she neared the medical unit. Stopping by the doorway, she glanced in to see it mostly empty for once - except for the two figures arguing in the corner. Her brother was seated - not by choice - on the cot as Clarke stood in front of him, her hands combing through his hair as she checked urgently for further injury. Octavia blinked. With any two other people, the sight might have been mistaken for a romantic hideout.
“Only because you landed on me and Jasper instead,” Clarke was saying sharply. “If your head had hit the ground who knows what could have happened.”
She was trying to remain as objective as possible, but her voice kept catching and dipping in all the wrong moments. Because this was Bellamy, and she was Clarke, and objective was no longer part of a vocabulary that was filled with knowing glances and comforting touches and averted eyes. The silence was full of things she wasn’t saying out loud, all the ifs that were running through her mind.
Octavia decided to enter at that moment. If Bellamy was going to be his usual pig-headed self, Clarke could use any help she could get.
“How’s it look?” She called out.
Two pairs of eyes swiveled to look at her - one terribly worried and one frustrated. Clarke looked away first.
“I’m still checking but so far nothing too serious.” She leveled a glare at Bellamy. “If he would just stay put for longer than two minutes, then I could be certain.”
“This isn't the first time I’ve gotten knocked over the head,” Bellamy protested. “And it won't be the last.”
He gave her his best charming grin, the one he used when he wanted to get his way, but Clarke was immune to its effects and shook her head.
“Don’t even try.”
“I’m sure there are people that need you more,” he tried again. She looked pointedly around the empty unit and arched an eyebrow.
“Really? Name one.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but the reply got stuck in his throat. Octavia realized he had no idea what to say. I need you was what she heard in the ensuing silence, but why it felt like it was from Clarke to Bellamy, she didn’t know. She didn’t think it mattered.
Finally he took the strap of his rifle and lifted it over his head, handing it to Clarke with a bemused sigh. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly as she took it, her hand lingering over his for an extra moment before she set it in the corner. As she returned to her work, Octavia recognized the determined look on her face and hid her grin. Bellamy wasn’t going to be leaving that cot anytime soon.
IV.
Octavia yawned and stretched on her blanket. Lincoln was still fast asleep beside her, and for a moment she lay there, just watching him. Part of her still couldn’t believe that he was back, that he was alive and strong and breathing next to her. The nightmares came and went for both of them; some days were better than others. But they were both alive, and that was more than she could say for many others.
Slowly, she stood and dressed. She and Clarke were going to venture out later that morning to try to beat the oncoming rain. Clarke wanted to stock up on more medicinal plants, and Lincoln had been teaching them how to identify the useful from the harmful. It had become almost like a game for them to go test their knowledge. He still managed to find one or two that they shouldn’t have picked, but they were getting rather good at it.
When she stepped out of the tent, dark clouds were gathering in the distance and she sighed. They badly needed the rain after the recent heat, but it didn’t mean she wanted to get caught outside in the downpour. She headed for Clarke’s tent, knowing her friend would be awake already. The girl rose with the sun, just like Bellamy. Sometimes, she wasn’t even sure if Clarke slept (also quite like Bellamy). Stepping over the dry dirt, Octavia’s boots barely made a sound as she approached. She lifted the flap and strode in, already talking.
“Hey Clarke, it looks like the rain’s moving in, so-”
She stopped abruptly at the sight of two very guilty faces. Her shirtless brother stood in the tent, his hand on Clarke’s hip. His surprise turned equal parts sheepish and cheeky as he glanced at Clarke. Her face was bright red as she tugged at the overly large - and very familiar - grey shirt she was wearing, though she couldn’t quite hide her bright smile.
“Hey, O,” Bellamy finally laughed.
Clarke bit her lip and elbowed him as if to say, get dressed. His eyebrows raised pointedly as he looked her up and down - might need that shirt back, princess - and her flush deepened.
Octavia’s grin stretched so wide she was convinced her face had split open. Throwing up her hands, she laughed delightedly. “Took you two long enough!”