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Bellamy holds back a groan of pain as Clarke treats the wound in his side. She makes a small, disapproving noise when he shifts. He knows he’s supposed to stay still, but he’s in pain and his body aches. Despite this, he keeps still as she cleans the wound with some on Monty’s moonshine, the feel of her warm hands settling him down.
The wild boar had put up more of a fight than expected while out hunting. One of the horns had cut Bellamy in the side. It wasn’t too deep or serious, but it did burn and bother him enough that he felt Clarke should at least look at it. When he had stepped into the medbay, limped slightly as he used his hand to cover the wound, she looked at him questioningly. When he had taken his hand away from his side, she didn’t try to mask her worry as she saw the significant amount of blood around the torn area of his shirt. However, it quickly disappeared as she slipped into doctor mode, telling him to take his shirt off and then to lay down on the cot. And here they were 10 minutes later.
“How’s it looking, princess?” he grits out, glancing down and only seeing blonde curls covering where she was diligently working.
“It’s not as bad as I thought,” she mutters, still focused. “When I saw the blood I thought the wound was larger or deeper.”
Bellamy smirks, despite the discomfort he’s feeling. “You worry too much about me.”
Clarke glances up at him then, clear blue eyes staring into his dark ones. Her fingers pause, brushing ever so lightly on the skin surrounding the wound. “You don’t worry about yourself enough. You’re gonna get yourself killed one day, being so stubborn about getting help. And then who’s gonna lead all these damn kids with me.”
He forgets his wound, laughing freely but stopping almost immediately with a wince. “That’s all you want me around for? Help you lead the kids?”
Clarke rolls her eyes at him, the corners of her lips pulling up. “They already call us mom and dad.”
Bellamy smiles. Of course he about it. The only reason they still called them that was because he let them. He liked it, and could tell from Clarke’s smile that she did too. When the camp found out that Clarke and Bellamy had finally gotten together, there were various reactions, but the most common one was, “It’s about fucking time.” Since then they were referred to as the parents around camp.
Clarke bites her lip, her face contorting in a way that makes Bellamy weary. “What is it?” he asks.
“I need to stitch up the wound,” she says. “I already disinfected it, but the stitches are just to make sure that nothing gets inside the wound past the bandage.”
He nods his head, understanding. He prepares himself for the pain as Clarke pours some more moonshine over the wound, making it burn. He tenses as she begins to sew the wound up, his side aching and begging for relief from the pain. He bites his bottom lips to contain the yell of pain that’s trying to fight its way up and out of his throat. The only thing that keeps him stable and sane is the feeling of Clarke’s fingers as she uses the hand void of the needle to lightly swirl circles on his hip with her thumb, trying to help alleviate some of the pain. It’s a reminder that even as she’s focused on healing his wound, she’ll do the best she can to support him. It’s all he’s ever wanted from the world, he thinks. Someone to always stand by him and support him.
When it’s finally done, there’s a sheen of sweat covering every each of his skin from how much work he put into not making any noises of pain. Clarke smiles down at him softly, brushing away the sweat slicked hair from his forehead. The feel of it makes him sigh, his body relaxing. She holds her hand to his cheek, rubbing it with her thumb as she looks at him enjoying it. He’s getting sleepy, his tired eyes flutter closed as she continues her ministrations. She allows him this comfort, after all, he deserves it.
Bellamy’s breathing slows, his chest rising and falling imperceptibly. Assuming that he’s fallen asleep, Clarke leans down and plants a soft but solid kiss to his temple. She tastes the salty sweat from his skin on her lips as she pulls away, her hand still playing with his damp curls.
And without a doubt in her mind or a second thought, she whispers, “I love you, Bellamy Blake.”
That’s when she notices he hadn’t fallen asleep yet, because she watches as his entire body tenses up again, turning to marble underneath her fingers.
She stands there, hands still in his hair, frozen and unsure of what to do. She doesn’t regret her words, refuses to take them back. But she can’t help the small pang in her chest, that very much reminds her of hurt, as she stares at his unmoving body.
Clarke clears her throat, looking down at where his eyes are still closed to her. “I mean it, Bellamy. I love you,” she waits for a reaction, but gets none and continues. “I’m not gonna take it back or act like it was a mistake. You don’t have to say it back, or say anything at all really. That’s not why I said it in the first place. I just said the first thing that came to mind while I was looking at you.”
They’re swallowed by silence once again. Clarke gets antsy as she looks down at Bellamy, who still hasn’t moved an inch or cracked open an eye. She bites her bottom lip, worrying away at it as the seconds go by in tense silence. Finally, she realizes she really isn’t going to be getting any kind of response from him, not a single word, so she pulls her hands out of his hair.
She instantly hears a groan of protest as her hands leave his hair, and suddenly one of her hands is caught in one of his. Her small, delicate hand is trapped in his large, steely grip, keeping her from moving towards the doorway of the medbay. They stay like that for some time, just him holding onto her hand tightly, the rest of his body unmoving, eyes still closed. She notices that his jaw is clenched tight and that the muscles in his arms are taut. She’s about to pull away again when his eyes slowly open.
She stares down at him, at his dark eyes that are a pathway to his soul. She sees that he is scared and vulnerable. His eyes plead with her to understand, to not hate the words he can’t say back. To stay with him, despite it. She sighs, understands too well, nodding at him. He brings their joined hands to his lips, kissing her hand softly with chapped, trembling lips.
“I’m sorry,” he manages to say hoarsely.
Again, she nods at him. She leans down and kisses their joined hands, and then his forehead, and finally his lips, barely brushing hers to his. That’s when she feels wetness, but can’t decipher whether they’re her tears, his, or both.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Bellamy!”
Clarke runs as fast as her feet will take her, reaching the other side of the clearing with one thought in mind. Save Bellamy.
As soon as she gets to him, she lets out a strangled sob and drops to her knees. He’s laying on the ground, blood covering every inch of him, but she knows it’s a mix of his blood and the enemies’. His eyes are closed and there’s blood rushing down the side of his face, and she knows that’s his blood.
She pushes back the bloody and sweaty hair that covers his forehead, leaning down to examine his face. She can’t examine much however, due to the tears that are filling her vision and blocking everything else out. She lets out a frustrated yell, trying to wipe away her tears with her hands, but in doing so she feels the cold wetness of blood smear across her cheeks. She feels nauseous, that’s Bellamy’s blood on her face.
Clarke presses her shaking fingers to his neck and lets out a shaky, relieved breath of air as she feels a lagging heartbeat underneath his skin. She raises her hands to his cheeks, slapping them a few times, which garners a pained groan from him. She would rather hear that than hear no sound come out of him at all.
“Bellamy,” she rasps. “Wake up, please, you need to open your eyes.”
He groans again, but manages to slowly open his dark eyes. He stares blankly at her blue ones, which she’s sure are still wet from tears, and she she’s he’s pupils are blown wide, unfocused. She slaps his cheeks a few times again, panicking a little bit. She needs to bring him back to her. She needs him to be there, looking at her. Not looking through her. After a moment, his pupils dilate, and he seems to finally be alive, in a way he really hadn’t been moments before.
“Clarke,” he says hoarsely, as if her name is the only thing keep her tethered to world.
She lets out a sob, despite herself. Her eyes fill up with tears again, and fall onto her cheeks before she can brush them away. “Bellamy, we need to get you up and standing before they come back and see us here. We need to go meet up with the others.”
As she says this, she tries to bring him into a sitting position by grabbing his arms. Bellamy groans, shaking his head slightly, tapping on the hand closest to him to get her attention. When she looks down at him again, the tears have thankfully cleared and all that are left are the stains on her dirty and bloody cheeks. Her eyebrows pull together in confusion, staring down at him with frightened eyes.
“I can’t, Clarke,” he says, motioning to his legs. “I can’t move.”
Clarke immediately looks down, examining his legs. What she sees has a whole new wave of sobs shake her body, and she turns, throwing up the contents of her stomach onto the blood covered earth. She had thought the only damage had been to his head and face, but she was so wrong. And so stupid for not checking him entirely, making sure that everything else was in order. In that moment, she hates herself.
She didn’t notice it before, but she definitely notices it now. Bellamy’s left leg has been cut off at the knee, the other half of his leg unseen among the other body parts strewn across the clearing. She could only imagine the amount of pain he was in, the amount of blood he had lost from the wound. His right leg was no better, a bone sticking out of his calf. That could be repairable, but it took serious medical treatment that she knew he could only possibly get with the others, but he couldn’t move, let alone get to where the others had gone.
She shakes her head, her face scrunching up tight as the tears fall down her face. “No. No, no, no, no. I can do something,” she says, her voice breaking with the desperation in it. “I can figure something out.”
Bellamy chuckles lightly. “That would be a losing battle. You need to leave me and go to the others.”
“No!” she shouts, grabbing onto him tightly, as if that would solve anything. “I’m not leaving you. You’re coming with me. I’ll figure something out!”
He shakes his head, and Clarke notices the tears falling from his eyes as well. It makes her cry harder, knowing that he’s giving up on himself. On her. On them. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he says, pausing a moment before continuing. “I love you, princess. Never said it before, but it’s true. Don’t ever forget that.”
Clarke’s shoulders shake from the force of her crying. She’s crying into his hair, her heart coming out of her body with every tear shed. She had known he loved her, she had always known. She let him go by without saying it because she felt it in her heart. Of course she had always wanted to hear him say it, but not like this. Never like this.
He closes his eyes, feeling her tears pool all over his face, his own tears running down his neck, and continues hoarsely, “I never told you because I was scared. That something would happen to you or you would leave me. And it would be just another person I loved that got ripped from my life, from my heart. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“You can’t do this to me,” she sobs, her voice clogged with emotion. “You’re the one leaving me. Don’t leave me, please. Don’t leave me alone.”
Bellamy lets out a shallow breath of air. He’s tired and in pain. Everything around him is caving in and he feels himself slipping. “I’m so sorry. I know I don’t deserve to hear it, but grant a dying man his only wish, Clarke. Tell me you love me.”
Clarke shakes her head vigorously, her eyes burning from all the crying she’s done, continues to do, and will keep doing. “You can hear me tell you that when we’re back with the others, safe and sound.”
“Clarke,” his voice cracks, dark eyes pleading with her. “Please. I need to hear you say it.”
She’s crying heavily, hiccups taking over her body, shaking her to her core. She can’t see anything, can barely see his face, through the veil of unending tears that are pouring from her eyes. She’s cradling his head in her arms, kissing every inch of him she can with trembling lips. She kisses his forehead and his eyelids and his cheeks and his mouth and his temples and before she knows it her face is covered in his blood and sweat and she refuses to move, refuses to part with him, ever. She licks her lips, tasting his blood and sweat, savoring it, knowing that it means he’s alive, he’s alive, but for how long is the question. She can’t tell where he stops and where she begins, she doesn’t want to know either, perfectly content to be one with him. And she cries harder, knowing they won’t stay one for long.
When she speaks, her voice is scratchy and hysterical, full of ups and downs, but somehow every word is clear and understandable. Her lips are by his ear, trying to get as close to him as possible. “Bellamy, I love you so much. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life. More than I’ll ever love anyone.”
This is when he realizes that in fact, this is what he’s ever wanted from the world. To be loved unconditionally and wholeheartedly. This is the peace he takes with him as the darkness washes over him eternally.