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One month passed since the hundred had landed, a month of fighting and bickering and setting up camp and getting sick. She knew there would be disease when they landed, knew that not everyone's bodies would be able to handle the difference in pressure, the difference in gravity, the germs in the air and the burn of direct sunlight. She had tried to prepare, had taken all the information she could from her mother on diseases past and present. But that didn’t keep some from getting sick, some from dying.
The usual things were easy enough to handle, unclean water, sunburn, a couple kids had even caught a form of the plague. But they were all smarter now, they had the technology, had all had their shots, she had her information. And the plague died out quickly without taking any victims.
“You can’t take those off!”
Bellamy glared at her, swiping his knife under the bracelets the ship had provided all of them before floating them off. The knife made a sharp noise, his wrist tugging a bit with the tension and the bracelet broke, its remnants falling to the ground in a soft thud. “I’m sorry princess, what were you saying?”
“They’re obviously on us for a reason. It’s irrational to-” Clarkes words were cut off, someone in the crowd of children shouting above her.
“You’re not in charge down here princess!” A few more murmurs went up and suddenly more bracelets were dropped on the forest floor.
“I’m not trying to be in charge, I’m trying to do the smart thing. We can't survive down here on our own with no communication to the-”
“They floated us!” Bellamy’s face was filled with rage. “They put us down here knowing damn well we might die. If these bracelets are a communication to them, let them think they won.”
“Bellamy please-”
“No one has to listen to you down here princess. Don’t you get that?”
His words hadn't stung that much, she expected as much, being who she was. She just hadn't expected everyone to be on the same side so quickly. The same side of hating her.
It was Octavia who had shoved her out of the way later that day when the rain was falling. Clarke had asked everyone to find containers to collect the droplets. The brunet girl had shoved her, hard, smirking as she crossed her arms. “Let the privileged do a little work. Down here, we won't let you forget what your family did up there. You sure have a fucking lot to make up for.”
She had stayed away from them to the best of her abilities. Refusing to call it sulking as the month ticked away and she ate her food away from the group, collecting things and writing down information. Bellamy was quick to take the lead. He was charismatic and full of energy, voice low and commanding. He demanded to be heard. Part of her was happy someone was leading the kids, someone was making smart moves to collect firewood and set up camp. She hadn’t even said anything when he finally came to her, asking her to share the rainwater she had collected.
Two months passed and everyone was slowly getting used to their roles. The camp looked better now, more put together, they had found weapons and started planting things. They knew they weren't alone anymore either.
“You can’t attack them Bellamy, do you honestly think we’re prepared for this?”
He turned to look at her, some of the boys following him shifting uneasily. “Clarke how many fucking times do I have to tell you, you don’t run things down here. They have our people, and I’m getting them back.”
“By force!? You don’t know peace isn't an option.” Clarke was aware the whole camps eyes were on them.
“Because they took us peacefully? I’m done playing into your happy delusions. Things down here aren't the same as they were on the ship. Just because you say something won't make it true princess. Otherwise, your dad would be alive and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
She had shut up after that, blinking hard against her tears as his group left the camp. People were still watching her, some glaring as she retreated back to the dropship. Hands shaking as she worked on cutting more cloth for when the inevitable happened.
Month two continued to pass, Bellamy had been successful, in his eyes anyway. Dragging himself back to camp, the campers the grounders had taken in tow. He was still missing four other boys. He hadn't said anything to her as she addressed his wounds, hadn't said anything as she put together what he had taken apart.
One of the boys who had been brought back had taken up residence in the dropship, his wounds more severe than the others. Even he wouldn’t meet her eyes. On his last day he dragged himself off the cot, throwing his jacket on.
“Why are you even helping me when you voted to let me die?”
She had jumped slightly, barely catching the jar of aloe she had been putting away. “Excuse me?”
“I know you didn’t want Bellamy to come get me. So why the fuck are you even helping me if you wanted me gone so bad.”
Her eyebrows scrunched up, she could feel the blush rushing to her cheeks and she tried to stammer out an explanation. “I-I didn’t. That’s not what happen-”
“Really? Because to me, and everyone out there,” He pointed to the exit of the ship, towards their camp. “it seems like you don’t give a fuck about your own. Oh, that’s right. You’re still above us. You’re not in the sky princess. Stop acting like it.”
Her eyes stung after that, wondering how her intentions could get so misplaced that everyone thought she had betrayed them.
No one mentioned it to her outright but she could feel the shift in the air, the silence that greeted her when she tried inserting herself into conversations.
She hadn't said anything as she dug into the hard ground, making space big enough for four dead children. She hadn’t said anything as Bellamy had shown her where the bodies were, helping her drag them back to camp, back to her cemetery.
And when Bellamy went back to the grounders, peacefully this time, and returned with everyone in his group unharmed, she still said nothing. He refused to meet her eyes for days after that, but took up sitting next to her around the campfire, silently handing her food or cups of tea. She silently accepted them.
Three months passed and she started breathing a little easier, wondering if the worst was over, knowing it wasn’t. They hadn't even changed seasons, and with the turn of the leaves would come new things, new aliments and atrocities. New things they might not be equipped for.
“How do you know so much about all of this?” Bellamy was leaning against one of the walls in the dropship, arms folded, gun resting on the table beside him.
“My mother mostly.” Clarke grunted a bit as she ground some more leaves into a fine powder. “Reading too. Lincoln has been a huge help though. I don’t know half the things in these forests.”
“I’m sure we would have survived without him.” His tone was a bit snarky but she could tell most of the bite had worn off.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” She looked at him quickly before going back to her things, smiling at his puzzled look. “It’s from a book I read on the Ark. There’s a lot out there, more than we can imagine or even think of. We need all the help we can get.”
Clarke had stopped arguing with Bellamy mostly, even in her head. Resigning to sighing quietly when he made a spur of the moment decision, when someone came back to the camp hurt and he could only throw her a scathing look that told her to not say a word.
She was content helping the sick, content following Lincoln around the surrounding forests and hunting new plants and mixing new concoctions with Jasper and Monty. Content with sleeping on the outskirts of camp, drawing in detail what Lincoln had shown her earlier that day, cramming as many notes on the side as she could.
“You know, for someone who tried to be leader you’re very antisocial.” Bellamy heaved down next to her, the campfire illuminating his smug grin.
Clarke crushed the feeling in her stomach and turned her food over. “I never wanted to be leader.”
“Oh? Is that why you fought me on almost everything?” His tone was light.
“I was just trying to help. I know you’ll never admit that some of my ideas were actually useful.”
He didn’t say much to that, making a faint noise in the back of his throat before getting up. She could see him stretch in the corner of her eyes before he walked past her, his fingertips ghosting her shoulder. The touch was so light she could have imagined it if it weren't for the tingling sensation that went down her arm.
Four months passed and the weather got warmer. They had lost a few kids in the group, but not nearly as many as she had predicted. Bellamy continued building their home and expanding their parameter. The grounders weren't their enemies anymore, not all of them anyway.
It was safer. So Clarke continued going farther and farther into the surrounding area, sometimes bringing Lincoln, sometimes not.
“You didn’t think it was important to tell me you would be gone for four days?” Bellamy was seething, arms crossed as he tried to keep their conversation as private as possible.
Clarke removed her bag, popping her shoulders as she removed her coat and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She smelled awful. “I don’t understand why you care. It’s not like it was my first time.”
His eyes seemed to bug out even more, jaw clenching. “What?!”
“Bellamy, we have to collect as many things as possible. We have less than four months till it gets cold, really cold. We’ll be coming into a new season. Lincoln is helping as much as he can but even he doesn’t know what we're susceptible to.”
“It’s not your job to singlehandedly care for all of us.”
She ignored him, reaching for the jars of plants and substance in her backpack. She didn’t bother responding, knowing her answer would only anger him. If it wasn’t her job, then whose?
“Clarke, I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger for this.” He had reached out, hand briefly touching her shoulder before she stepped away, going back to her herbs.
“Bellamy there are more things in heaven and earth-"
"Really? Now is not the time."
She sighed and continued anyway. "The grounders don’t know everything. Lincoln told me ten years ago they lost half their tribe to something that hit them out of nowhere. Half. We can’t afford that.”
He watched her pick at things and put them away, watched as her hands wrapped around dried leaves, watched as she jarred sticky substance with her back to him. He sighed, kicking the floor and looking away. “Fine. But take someone with you next time. You’re getting close to our boundaries. Lincolns tribe may be playing nice but that doesn’t mean everyone else is. And for fucks sake, bring a gun with you next time.”
She started a bit as his hand came into view, his body inches from pressing into her as he slammed his gun on the table. She didn’t move as he backed away and made his way out of the ship.
His voice echoed in the hall as he called after her. “It’s fully loaded. Find me when you need more bullets.”
Four months continued to pass, the air a little less bitter wherever she went. Still, only a handful of people talked to her.
“You’re not what I thought you would be.” Raven grunted as Clarke applied a balm to her knee, wrapping the entire thing in a bandage.
“How so?” Clarke’s hands worked quickly.
“I kind of thought you were a cunt.”
She didn’t respond, knowing that’s what everyone thought.
“You’re not though. Sorry.”
She finished the bandage, patting the girl's leg gently and letting her know she could pull her pant leg down. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
Raven slumped off the table, straightening and giving the girl such an intense stare Clarke wondered if she was about to be kissed. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for either.”
Five months passed and the mornings at camp were getting colder and colder. Clarke didn’t want to move her tent closer to everyone else, but she might have to.
“Aww Princess, you don’t have any remedies for cold weather?” Bellamy passed her a cup of warm tea, the leaves still floating on the top.
She crinkled her nose but took the cup anyway. “Why do you let the leaves float around?”
He shrugged before sitting down next to her, the fire in camp was at a full roar thanks to Clarke. “Makes it stronger.”
They were silent for some time, the camps inhabitants slowly stirring, tents zipping open as wondering teens made their way closer to the warmth. Clarke sighed, knowing her time alone was coming to an end.
Bellamy spoke up, almost as if reading her mind. “How come you don’t talk to anyone?”
She took a sip of his tea before answering. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“You don’t eat meals with us, you don’t have any groups you go off too. Don’t think I don’t notice how quick you are to leave in the morning once everyone gets up.”
She bit her lip, glancing around as more people made their way towards them, towards the fire. “I have things to do. I can't sit around forever.”
Miller walked up then, sitting opposite them and asking Bellamy about the day's activities. Clarke stayed quiet as they exchanged words, not making eye contact with either of them. Miller walked off and the boy next to her got up. He stood in front of her, forcing her gaze up at him, her eyebrows threading and forcing herself to look annoyed. She opened her mouth to give a retort but he was quicker.
“You know no one hates you right?”
Her mouth snapped shut, eyebrows bouncing up. She could feel the stupid tears at her eyes, blinking harshly and looking away from him. Octavia's words from their first month floating to the surface of her mind. You sure have a fucking lot to make up for.
“I’m sorry for how some things went down the first month but we’re all past that now. You may be a princess but you’re one of us. I’m sorry Clarke. You’ve been right the times it counted and everyone gave you shit for it. You do belong here; you know that right?”
She refused to look at him, knowing as soon as their eyes met that the waterfall in her pupils would overflow. He stayed in front of her till she finally cleared her throat and nodded, hoping he understood.
He made a soft noise in the back of his throat, hand reaching out and ruffling her hair.
Clarke pretended to be annoyed but could feel herself leaning into his touch, relishing the warmth to her scalp, tempted to finally meet his eyes.
Someone cleared their throat and she jerked back.
Five months continued to pass, Bellamy’s words always sitting at the front of her mind. She had tried to be more social, had tried to talk a few times, had even smiled and relaxed her face. Not everyone was as quick to forgive as Bellamy was though.
She had honestly expected it to be Murphy, the boy’s eyes following her wherever she went, the constant weight of his gaze all to present. He never glared, but his unwavering look was unreadable and it brought an itch to her throat. She had expected it to be him that threatened her, him that made her scared. It wasn’t.
“Are you okay?” She had looked up at the sound of someone coming into the dropship, a boy with long hair and a cocky grin. A name floated in her mind but she didn’t want to speak it allowed in case she was wrong.
“Just fine princess.” He shut the door then and something in her stomach dropped a bit.
“What are you doing here then?” She kicked herself for leaving the gun in her tent, backing up slightly, eyes searching around the room for something that could be used as a weapon.
He raised a brow, stepping closer to her. “Oh, I’m sorry, do I have to ask your permission before I go anywhere?”
She didn’t bother responding, knowing anything she said would fuel his fire.
He got in her space then, hand reaching out quickly and surrounding her throat, fingers pressing hard and cutting off her oxygen. “You know,” He dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning in closer as she struggled, hands clawing at his arm. “I could fucking kill you right now and half the camp would thank me.”
Her leg went up, aiming to connect with something, anything, but he was quicker, other hand coming down to block as the hand around her throat got tighter.
“Didn’t anyone tell you to fight fair?” He got even closer if that was possible, his breath washing over her face. “I wanted to let you know you’re only alive because you saved Andrew when he came back from the grounders.” His hand got tighter and she started seeing stars, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. “Did you know I’m only here because your fucking mommy got me floated? My mom was dying and your mommy saw me as a delinquent who was taking her precious things. Things that were just lying around not being used.”
She could hear herself gasping, knew her face was turning red as her legs continued to kick air, her hands reaching out and pushing his face.
He continued like nothing was happening. “I’m never going to see my mom again. Don’t you think it's only fair Abbigal never gets to see her kid either?”
The edges of her vision were going black, her legs kicking less, hands barely grazing her face.
Someone banged on the dropship door and the boy immediately released her. She slumped to the floor and took in deep breaths, hands cupping her neck as she blinked back the water in her eyes.
He leaned over her, kicking her swiftly in the ribs, pulling her head to the side as he spoke in her ear. “Stay the fuck away from me and we won't have a problem.”
She had gotten up then, pulling the mask till it was resting under her eyes, watching as he made his way out, the door swinging harshly and banging against the ship's walls.
Bellamy had stormed in, a dark gleam in his eye as he took her in. “What was that about?”
She shook her head, clearing her throat. “Nothing.” Her voice was shaking but he didn’t comment on it. “Did you need something?”
“Harpers sick. Probably nothing serious. Do you have any of that mint stuff?”
She was shaking as she went through the jars on the ship, back continuously to the other boy. She hadn't met his eyes as she handed the ointment to him. Thankful he left without another word.
It was Bellamy who’d brought the same boy back merely hours later, dragging him by the scruff almost kicking him into the med bay. “Fix him. His fingers are broken.” He’d stayed in the room the entire time, arms crossed, his own fingers resting on the hold of his gun.
She hadn't asked what happened, wrapping and popping joints back in place as best as she could. Neither boy made eye contact with her as she did her work. When it was done Bellamy had taken the boy again and kicked him out of the ship. He’d shut the door then, but this time Clarke felt fine, no sinking in her gut as he got closer to her and gently pulled the mask off her face, pooling it around neck. She looked past him as his fingers gently ran over the bruising. Bit her lip as his breath tickled her cheek. She was grateful she could wash over the memories of earlier that day with him. It was Bellamy’s hands, not that boys, it was his breath, not someone who wanted her dead. He hadn’t said anything, fingers pressing gently around the dark spots. Almost as if catching himself he inhaled briskly, stepping back and walking out of the room. “Keep your damn gun on you Clarke.” His voice echoed through the hallway.
She watched him leave, not having enough time to respond before the door to the ship banged closed and she was alone.
Six months passed; the mornings came sooner as did the nights. The leaves on the trees had started falling, game was harder to come by. Bellamy and a group of his friends would go hunting every other day, going farther and farther to reach more animals.
The door to the ship burst open, Miller and Murphy dragging a nearly comatose Bellamy with them.
“Got a sec doc?” Miller deposited him on the makeshift bed.
“What happened?” She pulled her mask up, using the last jar of clean water she had and rinsing her hands.
“We were hunting a deer. Some happy trigger moron didn’t have his safety on.”
She inspected the boy on her cot, noticed how pale he was, hand pressed firmly to his shoulder. She could see the blood spreading through his clothes. “Can you guys get me more clean water?”
Miller nodded and was off, Murphy nodding and taking his own leave.
Clarke swatted the boy's hand away, helping him sit up and take his coat off. “You got shot?”
Bellamy grunted, using his good arm to peel his layers back, finally sitting back in nothing but his pants, dark spots of blood already sticking to his chest. “Not on purpose.”
She grabbed some spare cloths, pressing them firmly to the wound, ignoring him as he winced. “How did this happen?”
“Miller told you. Also, I’m fine.” He moved to sit up, grunting as she pressed more firmly, forcing him to lay back down.
“You’re in charge out there, I’m in charge in here. So lay down and tell me whether it went all the way through or not.”
He sighed, taking a deep breath through his nose. “It’s a through and through.”
She relaxed a bit, pulling his hand up and pressing it to the wound. “Hold that, hard.” Clarke turned around and rummaged through her things, pulling out the necessary items and laying them on the small table by the bed. “How long ago did this happen?”
“Thirty minutes ago, or so.”
“Have you been bleeding the entire way back?”
“That does tend to happen when you get shot.”
She was glad the mask was hiding her smirk, turning back to him and pulling his hand away, pulling the cloth up and checking the wound.
Miller popped back in, arms loaded with water which he placed around the room, nodding to his friend before dipping back out.
Clarke took a jar, pouring the entire content over his chest, taking a clean cloth and wiping the blood away. “You’re lucky this was such a clean shot.”
Bellamy groaned, closing his eyes as she went to work on him. “I’ll be sure to thank the guy who did it.”
“And who would that be?”
He opened his eyes and looked up at her, they were so close she could count his eyelashes if she wanted. “Just so you can say ‘I told you so’?”
“I wouldn’t tell someone who's bleeding out ‘I told you so’.”
He took some deep breathes, chest flexing as she continued poking at him. “Fine. It was Andrew. I know you didn’t want me taking the younger kids out but they have to learn eventually.”
She had told him, over and over how the younger kids were more reckless, more sustainable to causing injury. To be careful when handing them firearms. She had told him there was no need to get them involved in hunting, not yet anyway.
Clarke chewed on her lip, nodding her head. She threw the dirty rag on the floor, reaching behind her for a clean one before pressing it against him once more. “I told you so.”
“What the hell!” His voice was almost a whine.
“You’re not bleeding anymore.” She finally looked away from his chest, making eye contact, knowing he could see the smile even with her mask up past her nose.
“Are you this kind to all your patents?”
She cleared her throat, turning away to grab the cinnamon and Anethum graveolens plants. “Just the ones I like.”
Month seven passed.
Clarke was grateful the grounders had granted her access to their library, as shabby as it was. She had poured over all the writings, dust ridden books barely held together telling the tales of cities rising and falling, deadly diseases and three headed cats that now walked the earth. Their leader Lexa had told her that even the books didn’t reveal everything, a glint in her eye as she told her there was more dangerous things in the air than just poisonous fog from Mount Weather.
Clarke had written down as much as she could, grateful they had shown her how to make her own paper.
“We don’t see the need for that really. Our stories are passed down by word of mouth.” Lexa had been patient anyway, showing her how to sift through the liquid, press it and let it dry.
Clarke was going over her notes, adding more that Lincoln had told her, more that Lexa had given her in snippets. It was cold now, no nicer way to say it. Each morning greeted them with a white frost that coated everything, the trees bare, the last of the leaves falling from any burst of wind. Against her better judgement she started sitting by the fires with the others, ignoring the jabs sent her way, not bothering to look up, even when the words were kind.
“Princess is out of the castle?” Bellamy sighed as he plopped next to her, his thigh dangerously close to pressing against hers.
She pushed the mask higher on her face, pulling the edges to cover her ears. It did little to protect against the bitter wind. “Princess is about to go back to the castle.” She didn’t bother looking up at him, erasing something and writing it smaller, hand at an angle so she wouldn’t smear the words.
“Is something wrong?” His voice was low, low enough that anyone else listening in wouldn’t be able to hear. She could feel him leaning into her side a bit, mouth dangerously close to her ears.
“No.”
“See, that’s what I mean. Where’s your spark? Yesterday I told everyone we were getting closer to the mountain and you didn’t have a single thing to say about that.”
“Should I have?” She still wouldn’t look at him but her hand shook slightly. She could feel someone watching them, glancing up quickly and scanning around the fire. Octavia was almost glaring at them, at her.
“Just surprising that you would roll over without a fight.”
She maintained eye contact with the girl across the fire. Raising her voice slightly so she could hear. “I guess I just know I sure have a fucking lot to make up for.”
Octavia blinked and looked away quickly, Clarke dropping her own eyes to her paper. Bellamy stayed quiet for a moment.
“More than me?”
The pencil in her hand stilled, she turned her head to look at him. The fire was dancing across his face, even in the darkness she could see his freckles. “What do you mean?”
It was Miller who broke the conversation, the boy running full sprint at them, leaning over and panting a bit, interrupting whatever Bellamy was about to say. “Clarke, you need to come quick. Monty’s sick”
She glanced at Bellamy, throwing her notebook at him as she jumped up. She half ran half jogged past grumbling kids, getting to her tent and grabbing her med kit before making a dash for the boy's tent. She knew he hadn’t been doing well for a while now, the lanky teen coughing and spluttering almost every time she had seen him. Diagnosis and ailments went through her head as she unzipped the boys' tent, pulling the mask a little higher and stepping inside. “Monty?” She noticed him sitting at the edge of his bed, taking that as a good sign as she got a bit closer. “What’s going on?”
Through the dim light of the fire outside his tent she could see he had a concentrated look on his face, eyebrows bunched together. He couched again, bringing his hands up to cover his mouth. When he pulled them away, hands gently cupping something, did he finally look up and meet the girls' eyes. “I think somethings wrong with me.”
Clarke’s eyes were drawn to his hands, mouth dropping open behind her mask as her own fingers reached out and touched the substance he was cradling. It was petals. Soft dark green petals nestled in his hands, tiny drops of blood sticking to them.
She had left his tent quickly, ignoring Bellamy’s concerned face as she ran back around the camp, back to the fire and the dark-haired girl who was no longer glaring as she approached. “Where’s Lincoln?”
Octavia at least had the decency to look surprised, eyes snapping between the blond and her brother. “I don’t know?”
“Monty is really sick. I don’t want to trudge through the forest in the dark all night to reach Lexa. Can you just please tell me?”
Bellamy stayed quiet, watching their exchange.
The other girl sighed, looking away as she waved her hand dismissively. “He’s down by the river, on our side, where the old bunker-”
Clarke took off again, glad she’d kept her gun on her as she swung the med kit over her shoulder.
“Hey!” She hadn’t even realized Bellamy was calling her, the boy practically jogging to keep up with her. “What’s going on?”
She pursed her lips, the condensation already collecting on the inside of her mask, and breathed through her nose instead. “Something new.”
“What? Clarke, hey.” He grabbed her upper arm then, slowing her down as they exited the gates of the camp. It was harder to see out this far, Bellamy’s face almost entirely dark. “We can wait till morning.”
“You don’t know that.” She wiggled her arm but his grip only tightened. “Something is seriously wrong and I need to find out if it’s contagious or if we can do anything or-”
“Hey calm down. Okay. We can go get Lincoln, but for god's sake, let me at least grab some supplies first.” His grip finally loosened. A gentle tug instead of a restraint. “Can you wait five minutes while I grab some stuff?”
She nodded, watching his dark figure deflate a little. He whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ before running back to camp, leaving her standing just outside the gates. It was after his retreat that she noticed her body was shaking, her hands cold and clammy where they held onto the straps of her bag. A knot in her stomach. Her mouth felt dry as she ran her tongue over her lips, something was tickling the back of her throat.
Bellamy appeared in the same manner he had left, silently and suddenly. She would have jumped if she hadn’t been looking for him, hadn't spotted his shadow running through the tents. He reached her and clicked something on, a beam of light illuminating their way. And they were off.
The usual trek to the river took about thirty minutes but Clarke swore they arrived in fifteen. Her lungs burning a little, a spot in her leg stinging from where her bag kept hitting. Finding Lincoln wasn’t as hard as she expected, the man had made himself fairly obvious, tent of twigs and bush almost hiding his small fire entirely. He’d looked surprised at their approach, eyes glancing nervously at Bellamy before taking in Clarke’s sullen eyes.
“There’s a boy in our camp who’s sick.” She didn’t bother sitting down or even greeting the other man, words coming in spurts around her lungs as she tried to breath. “He’s been coughing for a few weeks now. Today he started throwing up. Flower petals. He’s throwing up flower petals.”
Lincoln’s face changed then, he waved them to sit down, throwing a couple of twigs on the fire. “Hanahaki.”
“What?” Clarke squatted where she stood, refusing to make herself comfortable till she knew what to do, till she knew how to fix this.
“He has Hanahaki disease.”
Bellamy hadn't made a noise, hadn't said anything as he stayed standing, towering over the two. When Clarke looked up at him his face was set, eyebrows together as he took in the information. She whipped her face back to Lincoln, patience growing thin. “What is that? How do I treat him?”
“You can’t treat it.”
Bellamy sat down then, sighing heavily through his nose as he got closer to the fire.
Clarke stayed silent then, letting the words sink into her.
“We’re not really sure where it came from, or how long it's been around. The word itself means to throw up flowers. My people say that when there is a love so strong and powerful, a love that is so pure that even the stars feel it, the gods have to intervene. The love cannot go unbalanced. That there’s no way a love like that can exist and be one sided. They say the gods bless someone with a flower that grows inside them. It grows for that love. If the love is unreturned, the flower continues to grow until it blooms and you can no longer breath. If the love is returned, the flower dies and all is right.”
“So I can treat it.” Clarke was chewing on her lip, she could taste the copper of blood, thankful her mask was still on. “The flower can die.”
“The flower thrives on unrequited love. The only way to treat it, is if the person with Hanahaki tells the person of their affection that they like them, and only if that likeness is returned will the flower die.”
“Is it contagious?”
Lincoln shook his head. “Not in the way a cold is. It’s the gods who chose.”
Bellamy finally spoke up, sidestepping religion, clearing his throat slightly as he stared off into the endless staring sky. “So if Monty doesn’t tell this person he likes them, then what?”
“The flower inside his chest will continue to grow. If today was the first day he started throwing up petals, he should have a while longer. It’ll get worse though, over time the flower will continue to bloom inside him. He will cough up more and more. Eventually it’ll get harder for him to breath. Once the petals are brighter and there is more blood he will-” Lincoln stopped his sentence, making direct eye contact with Clarke.
“He’ll die.”
He nodded.
“All he has to do is tell this person he likes them?”
“It has to be mutual. The flower knows if its unrequited. They both have to like each other.”
“The other person, will they get the flower as well?” Bell finally looked at Lincoln, crossing his arms and leaning closer to the small fire.
“No. Only one person is blessed.”
“That’s not a blessing.” Clarke stared into the fire, her throat clenching slightly.
Month seven continued to pass. Monty continued to cough, more petals erupting from his mouth.
Clarke had begged Lexa to take a whole book from their village, had promised over and over that she would bring it back. The girl had granted her request when she saw what book it was.
She had taken the writings to Monty, filling him in on what Lincoln had said.
He had looked awe struck as he turned the pages, dainty drawings of flowers littered the lines, barely legible words describing what was happening to him so faint they were a whisper. “So I’m dying because I’m in love?”
Clarke had sat at the opposite end of his tent, her fingers itched around her mask, wanting to pull it up and hide, but she didn’t. “You’re not dying. You just have to tell this person.”
He had looked at her and rolled his eyes. “Telling or dying is the same thing Clarke. Have you ever loved someone so much it hurt?”
Clarke thought of her father, her heart clenching slightly at the boys' words.
“Have you ever loved someone so much that you lay awake at night pretending they’re next to you? You see them and it doesn’t take flowers in your chest to make you cough and ache? I’m glad I have this, because it makes my love that much more real. It makes all this pain worth it. I’m glad this stupid earth recognizes my pain and is giving me an ultimatum.”
“You’re happy you’re dying?”
Monty sighed and went back to the book, turning the pages carefully. “I’m happy that my pain means something. I’m happy the gods of this earth think my love is pure enough.”
She didn’t respond immediately, giving him time to look over the words and drawings. “Are you going to tell her?”
He continued flipping pages, swallowing loud enough that she could hear it. There was a small pile of petals at the end of his bed, she almost hadn't noticed them but their bright color amidst the darkness of fall stood out. “I have some time.”
“Monty.” Her tone was warning, even though deep down she knew there wasn’t much she could do beside pestering him into it.
“I know. Better to slowly die dreaming he could love me back instead of dying slowly knowing he doesn’t.”
“He.” The word was thick in her mouth, thoughts of all the male campers, their faces and names running through her mind.
“Yeah, he.” The boy suddenly looked up, finally looking scared, his voice dipping low, a childlike innocence as he addressed her. “Is that bad?”
Clarke got up then, deciding that Monty wasn’t as bad as everyone else. He was kind, had always been kind. He had never said a word of anger, not at her and not at anyone else. She knew he was around sixteen and a deep bubble of protection had her reaching her hand out to him as she sat closer to the bed. “No.” She let her hand rest on his shoulder, glad for once her mask was down and he could see the genuine emotion she pushed forward.
The kids' shoulders sunk a little, a watery smile gracing his lips.
Clarke pulled back, sniffing a bit as she pulled the mask back up. “But I’m going to bug you about this every day until you tell him.”
His laugh was contagious, ringing out in the cold like a spring bell. “I know.”
Month eight passed and Monty continued throwing up flower petals. By then the nature of his illness had gotten around camp, people giving him sideways looks wherever he walked. Everyone who happened to be in his bubble was the gossip of the camp the next day. Everyone wondering who he loved so strongly that a flower erupted inside him.
Clarke had stayed true to her word, every day she brought him a new tea, a new concoction hoping it helped ease the pain of thorns in his throat, helped with the blooming of love that was slowly suffocating him. Every day she would hand him a cup and watch as he drank the entire thing. The pile of petals at the end of his bed growing in size and color. “Are you going to tell him?”
And every day she got the same answer. “Not yet.” She didn’t press, although getting down on her knees and begging did cross her mind, as well as lining up every camp member and forcing him to profess his undying love. He could still eat and drink, he could still talk though his voice was getting raspier. So she left it.
Monty was the first to get Hanahaki, but he was far from the last. A week later another girl started coughing petals. Clarke had the same talk with her, she had shown her the notes in her own notebook, had explained the situation. The girl had turned a bright pink and nodded. Another week went by and the girl had stopped coughing, Clarke would watch her holding hands with one of the boys whose name she never remembered. Someone else had been coughing up flowers, but by then the antidote was known. Clarke would keep an eye on everyone coughing but knew there was little else she could do.
“We’re taking a few to go farther to the mountain, and before you ask, yes Lincoln is coming with us.”
She hummed her response, picking at the food on her plate as Bellamy continued the one-sided conversation.
“Octavia is acting like I’m stupid and don’t see what's going on and I’m glad she hasn’t said anything yet because I don’t want to strangle the man.”
“Lincoln is good.” She finally put in her two bits, hating that she had reduced herself to small short sentences.
“Yeah, I know that and Octavia knows that but Octavia doesn’t know that I know that. I’m still her big brother.”
“That means you have to strangle Lincoln?”
Bellamy let out a chuckle then, bumping her shoulder with his. “I forget sometimes that you guys don’t know what having a sibling is like.”
She ignored the tingle in her arm, the way her throat clenched around the food in her mouth, forcing herself to swallow without gagging. “What’s it like then?”
“It’s like having a second you. That you know will do the same stupid things your younger self did. And no matter what you tell the younger version of yourself they still make the same dumb mistakes. But,” he sighed, setting his plate on the floor and turning his body towards her, leaning his head on his hand. “you’ll still do anything to protect them, even if you want to kick them half the time.”
She had stopped eating, acutely aware of his gaze as she put her own plate down, sitting on her hands so she wouldn’t do anything stupid.
“You know she likes him?”
He laughed a little at that. “We spent our entire lives together. She couldn’t hide something from me if she tried. She does a terrible job of hiding it anyway.”
Clarke thought back to the day she had to ask the girl where Lincoln was, the way her eyes glanced between her brother and the other girl. “And if she knew you knew?”
“I would have to have a serious talk, and I’m not currently in the mood for a serious talk.” He stared past her for a moment, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. “Anything new on Monty?”
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes landing on said boy as he walked through the camp, Jasper and Miller close on his heel. She watched the way his hand brushed Millers briefly before they went to the dining tent. She hadn't told anyone of her suspicions on who his flower bloomed for. Not even the boy himself. It was private, for him and his love alone. “I thought you weren't in the mood for a serious talk?” She turned back, almost too aware of how close their faces were.
“Humor me.”
“His pile of petals is growing bigger. He won't tell me much; I know he’s putting this off as long as possible.”
“He doesn’t even know how long he has.”
“I know.” She was suddenly aware how close their hands were, hers resting on the log they were sitting on, fingers splayed a little. If she moved her pinky, she could touch his, if she stretched just a bit they would be connected. Something unfurled itself in her throat and she jumped up, clearing her throat. “I know. And I’m sure he knows that too. He’ll do it.”
Bellamy was looking at her, his face shut off and unreadable. "It’s Miller, isn't it?”
She had been preparing to leave, bending down and picking up their plates of the floor. Her eyes shot up to his, biting her lip. She didn’t answer but knew the look in her eye gave it away.
He took the plates from her hands, getting up and using his free hand to pull her along. “Do you think they’ll tell each other before one of them dies?”
She couldn’t help but follow the man through camp, unsure of what she was supposed to do, or say . “I hope so.”
Month nine was cold, colder than anything they had ever experienced on the Ark. Clarke had noticed tents were closer together, each few huddled themselves around a fire. She had noticed some people decided to camp together, whole tents left alone on the outskirts of the camp.
Monty had stopped coughing flowers five days into month nine. She had saw the dying leaves on his bed slowly dwindle in numbers. He no longer needed her teas or ointment, instead beaming at her across the camp as he dragged Miller around. Their hands always linked. Life had gone back to the usual.
She was shaking so hard she thought her limbs would snap off, grunting softly as she threw her pencil across the tent, sitting on her hands and imagining how warm the earth once was. When they had been babies stepping off the dropship and letting the sun kiss them. Her fear then was sunburn. What she would give to go back to that, the heat seeping into every pore of her body. Even when it was too warm and sweat would pool on her neck and forehead.
“Are you fucking crazy?”
Her eyes snapped open, looking towards the entrance of her tent where Bellamy was leaning down, one hand still on the zipper.
“What?”
“Clarke, what the fuck.” He looked annoyed, gazing around her tent. “You’re going to die alone out here in this weather.”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t want to tell him she didn’t know where else to go, that no one probably wanted her. That Monty was too nice to say no even though his tent was full. That Raven had offered a month ago but she had turned her down and was too scared to ask again. She didn’t respond as Bellamy came inside, gathering the blankets off her bed.
“Come on.”
She opened her mouth to protest but the warmth was leaving her as quickly as her covers were. Bellamy already holding a huge lump of her comfort.
He eyed her expectantly, moving his head and telling her to follow him.
She did, stumbling almost blindly out of the tent, still bundled in every piece of clothing she had, feeling almost guilty as he carried all her blankets. Glad for once she had chosen to keep her shoes on. He led them through camp, not another soul in sight, everyone already bunkered down for the night, small fires lighting their way. He stopped in front of a tent, his tent, shifting his armload and unzipping the entryway, motioning her to go ahead. She did.
His tent was bigger than hers, just barely. He had placed his bed on top of some crates, a multitude of blankets piled high. There was a small table next to the bed, his flashlight was on, casting an eerie glow as she crossed her arms, unsure of where to go.
He followed her, throwing her blankets on his bed before zipping the tent closed, toeing his shoes off and huddling under the covers.
Clarke could only stand and stare, heart beating painfully in her ears as she tried to process what she was supposed to do.
Bellamy seemed to sense her hesitation, sighing and pulling the covers back for her. “Get in. I’m not letting you freeze to death because you're too stubborn. So just don’t say anything and get in.”
Her body moved on autopilot, removing her own shoes and slipping into his side, facing away as he pulled the blankets back up. She was too aware how close they were. He shifted around a bit, laying on his side, one arm pulling on her waist. She went like a ragdoll, letting him maneuver her until he was comfortable, arm resting over the dip in her hips.
“Relax. Pretend I’m not torturing your right now.”
She could feel his warm breath on her ear, thankful she was turned away as her own heat rose to her face. “That’s not-”
“Clarke, shh. Go to sleep.”
Month nine continued and although Clarke was expecting people to get sick from the cold, she hadn't expected herself to be one.
She opened her eyes against the light of the day, groaning and turning over in Bellamy’s bed, knowing he’d already left. He was always gone by the time she woke up, although how he wiggled himself from the walls of the tent and her without waking her up, she would never know. The light told her she’d probably missed breakfast, was missing her rounds, that someone needed to water the plants inside the ship, someone needed to go out into the forest and collect the only living berries that grew through this cold. But she couldn’t bring that someone to be her. Her throat was sore, eyes stinging and head pounding. She felt too warm and not warm enough. Her body was hot as she pulled the blankets closer, closing her eyes and going back to sleep.
“Clarke?” Someone was shaking her shoulders gently; a wet rag was placed on her head.
She saw Bellamy hovering over her when she squinted, heart dropping when she saw the tent was no longer lit up by the sun but rather the flashlight on the bedside table. She surged up, trying to push his hands away and kick the blankets off.
“Woah, hang on.” His arm was heavy as it held her in place. “You’re burning up, lay back down.”
Her throat burned as she forced words out. “I need to get the plants. The plants Bellamy.”
He pushed a little harder, her body sinking back into the bed. “They're fine, I had Monty and Jasper take care of them.”
“What’s going on?”
He gave her a quizzical look, running the cloth over her forehead again. “You’re sick.”
She struggled again. “No, that’s-no. Is anyone else sick? I have to go help; I have to-”
Bellamy’s hand stayed firmly on her and she was too weak to fight him off. “Lincoln and Raven are taking care of everyone else. You’re not in any condition to be out there right now.”
“What is it?” She closed her eyes, letting his hand gently brush through her hair.
“Lincoln says it's probably a flu. Happens all the time in this kind of weather.”
She let his hand cascade over her a few more times, heart beating erratically in her chest. “You would tell me, right?” Clarke opened her eyes and found his in the dim light, she hadn't noticed the tears dripping down her face till they collected in an uncomfortable pool by her ears.
He reached out and wiped them away, concern written all over his face. “Tell you what?”
If she had been feeling better the shake in her voice would have angered her, her lip started trembling and she had to take some deep breaths before she could speak. “You would tell me if I needed to help right? You would make me get up and help?”
He pulled the hair off away from her face, tugging some locks behind her ear. “Oh Clarke, I-” He stuttered a bit, wiping a few more of her tears away. “Just focus on getting better okay. Everyone’s okay, I promise.”
Her shoulders relaxed then, closing her eyes again as Bellamy’s hands lulled her to sleep. The tickle in her throat woke her an hour later, sitting up with all her strength and coughing until Bellamy brought her some tea. She drank as much as she could before falling asleep, a sharp thought in her mind as something lodged itself in the back of her throat.
It was less than a week till everyone was back on their feet. She had set precautions into place after their first plague, and she was glad to see Bellamy had actually implemented them. The camp had a handful of sick kids and it stayed to that handful, everyone wearing masks and separating till the flu had run through and left them. The only problem was, Clarke couldn’t stop coughing.
Month ten was still cold, almost even more so. Lincoln had told them the season would change soon, the sun would get closer and things would start growing again.
Clarke had started sleeping in the dropship, moving her blankets from Bellamy’s tent without his knowledge, pretending she was just keeping an eye on the plants. If he suspected anything he wouldn’t tell her.
It was the beginning of month ten that she had coughed up her first flower petal, a sinking feeling in her gut as she gently placed the foreign object on the floor in front of her. She’d felt weightless, hands shaking as she sat down and continued to stare. She had been breathing so hard, wondering how many more would dislodge themselves from her trachea, how many more tiny creatures would break free and make her life a nightmare. Suddenly everything Monty had told her made sense. She knew who these flowers grew for, of course she did. How many nights had she laid awake in his tent, memorizing the way his body pressed against hers, indulged in the feeling of his hands around her waist? All the while a poison was growing stronger inside her. Maybe it was her fault for continuing the thoughts, feeding them until they grew to start killing her.
She poked at the petal, half expecting it to start moving, to burst into flames, to do anything. But the thing had the audacity to lay still, its dusty blue color mocking her.
“I get you avoid everyone else, but now me?” Bellamy had tracked her down in the deep parts of the ship, her hands dirty from working the inside plants.
“What are you talking about?” She wiped the dirt on her pants, refusing to look his way.
“I haven't seen you in a week. I know you’re avoiding me and I know you must be freezing your ass to do it too.”
She felt a twitch in the corner of her mouth, wanted to retort and start a game of who’s wrong and who’s right. But she didn’t have it in her today. He was right though she would never tell him that. She was avoiding him. Avoiding the way he would stare at her, the way his hands lingered on her shoulders sometimes. Avoiding him handing her a cup of tea in the morning, always briefing her on the day's activities even though they didn’t involve her. Mostly she was just avoiding the way her stomach tensed when he sat too close, the way she wanted to pour her day over him in detail, the way she wanted so much for his eyes to remain on her. She prayed one night he would get hurt or come down with something, just so she had a medical reason to touch him. After that night she started staying away.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Clarke.”
She knew the way he said her name warranted her turning around, the way he said it begged her to make eye contact. But she continued poking at the dirt and plants.
“You know I don’t hate you right?”
Her hands clenched around a tiny baby mint plant, she eased up, pushing her fingers in the surrounding dirt as she focused on breathing steadily.
“I don’t know if I ever properly apologized to you so I’m doing it now. I’m sorry, okay? You were right about so much when we first got here and I didn’t want to hear any of it. I-” His voice wavered and she had to pinch herself to keep from turning around, nails digging into her thigh hard. “I encouraged people to alienate you and I’m sorry. I see the effect that had now. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Her voice sounded hollow and far away. “It’s okay. We were all just guessing back then. It’s okay.” The tickle in her throat returned and she begged whatever god had given her this blessing to please keep it at bay for just five more minutes.
“So you’re not mad at me?”
She cleared her throat, the tickle turning into a burn. Oh god please please please please not now. “No, of course not.” She glanced over her shoulder and threw the most confident smile she could. “I hadn’t thought about any of that in a long time Bel. You shouldn’t either.”
“You’ll be at dinner then?” He didn’t look convinced.
Clarke gently shook her head, turning back to her plants. “Wouldn't miss it.”
She threw up five petals after her left, all of them coated in thick saliva, one had a faint trace of red attached to it. She buried them in her garden before looking any closer.
Monty looked surprised to see her, putting his weapon aside, leaning against the camp walls, eyes darting around. “What’s up Clarke?”
She was glad he was on duty, finally a chance to get him away from prying ears. “Can I ask you some questions?”
“Sure. Are you okay?”
She walked closer to him, mimicking his position and leaning against their defense. “What did it feel like? When you first got the flowers?”
He seemed to think for a moment, eyes wondering past her to the forest. “It was like everything else at first. My heart would beat really fast and I couldn’t catch my breath. I just thought it was-” he shrugged his shoulders. “you know, the normal being in love stuff. But then I started coughing and I could just feel something in my throat. Always. Even when I would drink something or cough something up, it continued to just sit at my throat.” He pointed to the bottom of his neck. “Sometimes I could feel something moving and that was really scary. My throat got really sore and then I started coughing up the petals.” He studied her for a moment. “Why are you asking?”
She blinked and looked away, deep into the forest. It was barely light, everything coated in snow. Their camp looked dirty from the dirt mixed with the white, but the trees, the bushes, everything beyond in the forest, everything that was untouched looked so pure. “Could you control it? If you wanted to, I mean?”
“Sort of. Not the coughing but sometimes I would feel the petals in my mouth and I would just leave them there. I tried swallowing a few back, wondering if that would do anything.” His harsh laugh cut through the air, a bird in a nearby tree took flight. “Clarke what-”
“And could you tell how long you had? Could you feel the flower?”
He sighed. “Yeah, I could feel it. I wasn’t completely sure how long I had but I figured from the way the petals looked. I asked Lincoln a couple times, what a petal would look in full bloom. He told me the brighter the petals got the shorter time I had. You can feel it blooming and pressing against everything inside.”
Her own flower thudded, she felt like her throat was breathing. “What made you decide to tell Miller?”
“The book you gave me.”
She looked at him then, squinting as the last bits of sun hit the snow-covered trees. “The one from the grounders?”
He smiled gently. “Yeah. It’s interesting to me that they talk about this as a blessing and not a curse. They call it a disease but that’s not how they see it at all. To them it’s like a gift. A chance, I guess. I thought it would be rude to give the gift back.” He shrugged again and turned away from her. “They say the gods favor the love two people have so much they can't stand to see it wither away. It’s so precious to them they would rather have one person die than to continue having that love be one sided.”
She pressed her lips together, eyes watering as her throat struggled to cough. She finally turned away from the boy, pulling her mask down and hacking until a dozen petals pooled at her feet. She kicked some snow over them quickly, ignoring the look Monty gave her. “Please don’t tell.”
“Are you going to tell your person?”
She could feel the smile pulling at her lips. “Are you going to bug me every day until I do?”
He smiled back. “I should.”
Month ten continued to pass as Clarke coughed up more petals. She had taken to wearing her mask all the time now, constantly worried there would be blood on her mouth, a petal sticking out. She felt like she had two hearts inside her, the flower thumping against her insides, swaying with her every breath. A continuous reminder.
The river by their camp had finally broken apart, the ice cracking and floating down as they all took turns hiking down with their fishing gear, getting as many as possible for the coming nights.
Bellamy had volunteered to go with Clarke, not leaving any room for arguments as the two packed their things and made their way in the light of day. It was cold but bearable. Clarke wondered how long she could go without tossing petals at his feet. She pinched her mask higher, hoping they would just rest by her neck if they demanded to make their presence known.
“Days like this make me really glad we got floated.” He laughed, offering his hand as they jumped down some rocks.
“Really?” She searched his eyes for a moment, only seeing the truth.
“Yeah, I mean. We only dreamed of this back at the Ark. Now we have all this land, all this freedom. Books don’t prepare you for how beautiful it really is.”
She stumbled after him, eyes downcast as she followed his footprints. They walked in silence for a while, the rush of water getting closer and closer. “Can I ask you a question?” The heartbeat in her flower started thumping.
“Yeah?”
She was glad he was in front of her, glad she was mostly hidden behind her mask. “Do you think I help at camp?” She saw his feet stop but that wasn’t enough time to keep her from bumping into his back, stumbling back a bit as his arms reached out and grabbed her, steading before letting go.
“What do you mean?”
She didn’t want to look him in the eyes. “Like. If I wasn’t at camp anymore, do you think people would be that effected by it?”
She felt his hand tugging at her chin, pulling her face up from the ground. He pulled her mask down and she wanted to reach for them, wanted to stop him, worried she had something, that he would be able to see, but she was frozen. Eyes watching him finally, as he cupped her cheek with one hand. “Clarke.” His voice sounded so choked, like even pushing one word past his lips had cost him his life. He bent his head forward and rested his forehead against hers.
The tickle in her throat turned into a fire, she inhaled and felt something block her path, pushing Bellamy away and leaning over, heaving hard, coughing and trying to get air into her lungs. She could feel strong hands on her back, holding her steady as she threw the pack off her back, falling to her knees. Something scraped all the way up her throat, a handful of blue pedals caked in blood dropping into the snowy ground. She felt him kneel down beside her, saw his hand reach out in the corner of her eye. He gently rubbed the petal until the bright blue shone through, fingers coming away coated in blood.
“Oh.”
She looked back at him, wanted to get up the cold dirt and leftover snow soaking into her pants but she felt immobile. Throat clenching again. “Yeah.”
He shakily wiped the blood of his hand, turning a small pile of snow into a muddy red. “Are you going to tell?”
“I don’t know.”
He got up then, reaching his clean hand out, pulling her up to him. He didn’t let go once she was up, fingers wrapping around her hand, holding tight. “Clarke. Do you think you deserve to be at camp?”
She wanted to say no but her throat tightened again and she coughed a couple times, facing away from him, one hand still firmly clasped in his. She didn’t turn back when she answered. “I don’t know.”
He pulled at her a couple times, sighing and stepping in front of her so she had to look at him. “I do know.” He got close again, hand so tight she thought it might break. “I know Clarke. You deserve to be at camp, you deserve to be happy and to talk to other people. You deserve to take up space and not always be quiet. You deserve to be alive.”
She settled for looking at the color bone peeking out from his coat, eyes stinging from the cold, from the tears that were gathering. “Oh.”
“Please promise me you will.” He dropped his stuff, arm wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her into a hug, his face resting on her hair. “Please promise me you’ll tell them.”
She didn’t bother stopping the tears, grasping him tightly. “Okay.” Her heart was beating fast, the flower moving slowly. “Okay.”
Month eleven saw the greens of the trees starting to come back. The mornings were frosty, a bitter chill in the air that seemed to disperse as soon as the sun reached its highest peak in the heavens.
Bellamy went with her almost everywhere, holding her up when she started convulsing, petals falling from her mouth, some lodging themselves in her nose when her mouth refused to let more come out. He wouldn’t say anything, just plucking them off the ground, pocketing them or burying them in her garden. Their colors got brighter and brighter till they started matching the sky. Clarke knew her time was dwindling.
“Were you scared?” She had found Monty again at his guarding post, had managed to shake Bellamy off long enough to sneak to the outside of the camp.
“Of dying or of telling Miller?”
“Both I guess.”
“Yes. To both of those. But I was more scared to tell Miller. That’s why I did it. I realized I’d rather die than tell him.”
She crinkled her nose, shifting so the petals she’d coughed into her mask could drop past her chin, could tickle her chest instead of her mouth. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Doesn't it?” He laughed a bit. “I loved him so much I was terrified he wouldn’t feel the same. I was willing to die. But I realized I’d rather give it a shot than die without knowing. That’s why I waited so long. If he’d said no, I would die in a few days anyway. The pain wasn’t as bad.” He bit his lip for a moment, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You know what I realized? Lincoln never said anything about people dying because the love wasn’t returned.”
Clarke felt her heart stumble. “What?”
“Yeah, not once in any of the books did it talk about people not having the love returned. Like there was no case of that happening. And from what you and Lincoln said, the only people you guys talked about were those who didn’t confess. Maybe the gods give the curse knowing both people really do love each other. Maybe it is a blessing after all.”
Clarke’s head was rushing, Lincoln’s words from months earlier coming into focus. The love cannot go unbalanced. There’s no way a love like that can exist and be one sided. She thanked her friend and hurried back to camp, Bellamy seemingly finding her out of nowhere.
“Woah, where’s the fire?”
“I-” She was out of breath, coughing a couple times as Bellamy moved her closer to the dropship. A few people glanced their way but didn’t bother them. She sputtered a couple more times, spitting the flowers down her mask and holding onto Bellamy tightly.
“Do you need to sit down?”
She shook her head. “Can we go to the ship?”
He didn’t bother answer, placing his hand on the small of her back and softly pushing her towards the dropship. He closed the door when they entered, flicking a couple of the lights on as they walked farther inside. She tried breathing through her nose as the flower beat heavily against her chest, against her throat. Bellamy didn’t let go of her as he had her sit on her own med bed. Arms brushing her sides softly as she gasped around the petals.
“Oh my god Bellamy.” She could feel the tears in her eyes, pulling her mask down harshly, a barrage of blue spilling to the floor.
“What? Clarke what’s wrong?” He got closer, cupping her head and pulling her eyes to him. “Are you okay?”
She had started crying. “Oh my god.” She wrapped her arms around him and sobbed, each breath out accompanied by another flower petal. They stuck to his shirt, falling as she kept exhaling more.
“Clarke? Please tell me what’s wrong. I’m getting scared.”
She wanted to laugh, would have if her throat had let her, if the damn flower had stopped for a moment to consider its host. She just pulled him tighter, resting her face into the crook of his neck, not carrying what it looked like to anyone who might stop inside. She turned her head and coughed a couple more times before settling into his side. All the energy in her body leaving as she leaned heavily onto him. “Monty just told me something.”
His hands were still wrapped around her, rubbing up and down her back. “Okay?”
She clutched her eyes shut, biting down hard before she could cough again, struggling to get the words around the flower. “I love you.”
He stilled briefly, hands lying flat on her back. “M-Monty said he loved you?”
“No. Bellamy. I love you.”
He pulled her back and searched her face. She briefly wondered how much blood was sitting on her lips, wondered if he stayed this close would she shower him in blue petals. “You? Love me?”
She nodded slowly, tears still trickling down her face. She rubbed at them quickly, hand going over her mouth and chasing away the blood. “I love you.”
His hands wrapped around her face again, bringing her closer and closer until their lips touched. She could taste her blood, could taste the strange rubber of petals. But nothing compared to the taste of Bellamy Blake.
He finally pulled back, keeping her face cradled in his palms. Swiping her hair behind her ear and tugging her mask lower. “So what did Monty say?”
Month eleven continued, the days of warmth grew longer, split by cold snow flurries that disappeared just as quickly as they came.
The flower inside Clarke had died. She had coughed up wilting leaves, dry dead petals, until one day she just stopped.
Monty hugged her after he saw her holding hands with Bellamy and she had to thank him for giving her the courage.
“It was always there Clarke. Did you really think you would let yourself die?”
Bellamy had asked her the same thing on late nights, hands wrapped around her body as they huddled under his warm blankets. “Would you have died?”
And she would turn, kissing him hard before laying her hand on his cheek. “I didn’t though.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t love you back?”
“It hurt too much to think of that.”
He would pull her closer, inhaling her and placing gentle kisses along her neck. “I love you. I’ll never let you think otherwise.”