Moving On

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Things hadn't gone entirely according to plan . . . for the plan did not involve Bellamy's capture. He could only think that he had done enough to get Clarke in here to finish the job. That everything else would go as smoothly as it could. Bellamy had already been harvested and now was apprehended by the Mountain Men. He was with the others in the room, and they were not wasting a second with him.

 He had been beaten at first to ensure he didn't struggle while they sedated him -- only enough to get him onto the table. Any effects of the drug were now gone. They had not taken his role lightly; impersonating a guard, but really, killing those he had and working against Cage. His punishment came out in the form of drilling. He was strapped onto the table, feeling his heart beat faster with pure fear.

Because, yes. He was afraid. Being hung upside and drained was bad . . . this was going to be far worse. The same words repeated over and over in his head though as he tried to derive some strength from them: better me than them, better me than them. For as long as he was on the table, the others were not. It would buy them some time for Clarke to come because he knew she would. He swallowed, his breath becoming shorter and faster as he braced himself. The sound of the drill sent chills down his spine -- a sensation that he didn't know may the last his spine would experience.

He closed his eyes, the sound growing closer and closer until it finally pierced his skin. He didn't know if he was yelling out in pain or not. All he knew was that it hurt like a bitch, and he wasn't sure if it was better or worse to pass out from it. He was trying to remain as conscious as he could . . . in case the others came. Yet it hurt, unbearably. It tore through his skin and went straight for the bone. His eyes squeezed shut, the pain making him feel nauseous . . . better me than them, better me than them.

[Clarke Griffin]

She had shot Dante in a last desperate attempt to get Cage to do what she wanted, to let her friends go. Monty was visibly torn as Clarke spoke her threats to the man. He had to understand that she would go to all lengths, that she would do whatever it took to protect her friends. If this was what it took, she would go that way. She had so much blood on her hands already. She felt paralyzed as Monty and her had to watch everything escalate. They were trying to stop them, understandably. She would, too, but Clarke had offered them a deal, a way where they would all come out of it alive. She had offered it, yet they decided not to take it. It was Montys gasp that made her look up at the screen. Bellamy. They had him! For this second her conviction faltered. Her mind raced, trying to find another way. She needed to stop this. She needed to end this. For this moment, as she could only watch them put Bellamy on a table helplessly, all she could hear was Montys fast typing on the computer. The beginning knocks at the door and anything else drowned out. Cage, she noticed grinned up at the camera triumphantly, as if he knew exactly what this could mean. He had no idea. He had no idea that Bellamys scream almost made her sink to her knees, as if it was inflicting physical pain on her. Clare felt tears run down her cheeks, she heard Montys sobs, but she also still heard the typing despite the screams and drilling. 

“You made your choice, Cage.” Clarke spoke into the radio, announcing to him that now there was no turning back anymore. With growing horror she had to watch her mother be put on another table. She had to watch Jasper being captured, as well as Octavia and Maya. It had to stop. Right now. The blonde was convinced she could not take another scream from Bellamy. Just then Monty announced that he did it. All she had to do was pull one lever. One simple pull and it would be over. Everyone, but her people, would die. But the pain would stop. Their people could go home. They had every chance to stop it, Clarke had offered it. In wonder Clarke watched Monty place his hand on hers, but she removed it. He had put enough guilt on his shoulder by making it possible for her. She still held onto his hand and he squeezed hers in return, trying to show his support. She pulled the lever.

Everyone was dying, yet the two of them still held onto each other only letting go as they moved out of the control room as if in a dream, in trance. The blonde didn’t stop to listen to Jasper. Maybe should have stayed with Monty, but even if she wanted, she couldn’t have. She needed to get to Bellamy and her mother. The first thing she saw was her mother. Every instinct, the pain in her heart told her to go to her, to hug her, to cry in her arms, but before she could even move her teary eyes fell to Bellamy. There was time for hugging her mother later. She was fine, but it seemed like Bellamy needed her more.

The blonde slipped her hand into his while her other ran through his hair, trying to get his attention. “I’m here, Bellamy. It’s over. I’ll take care of you.” Though at first glance she could tell what they did had caused damage. They obviously never cared for those they drilled. Maybe they caused more damage to him on purpose as her mother seemed to do just fine. But Bellamys wound was bleeding. “Get me that.” She instructed, pointing at an injection with anesthesia – why the hell did they not use it? It would be painful without and given what she had done that day already, this would at least be something she knew to deal with. With her mothers help she could do it. “It will be okay, Bellamy.” She said again, squeezing his hand softly just as she sank the needle into his skin. “You’ll be fine. Octavia is fine. You will get home soon. We all will. It’s over. Bell?”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

The pain was overwhelming. And he could hear movement, forcing his eyes to open and force his gaze on Abby, who they were dragging to a table as well. Bellamy was trying to struggle free from his current position, but he wasn't sure if the act was simply a mental one rather than his brain carrying the message to his legs . . . for he still felt the drilling. A drilling that had altered from the initial task and when somewhere that put Bellamy deep into denial. He couldn't accept it. He wouldn't accept it. But then, something changed. With his eyes still open, his vision hazed over with the agonizing pain started to clear, and he could see the men's skin start to transform. What was happening?!

It wasn't too long after until he heard the door open, and Clarke was quickly at his side, her hand in his. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, knowing she was here, and that she was safe. Which in turn . . . meant that the others would be too. They had done something to expose the others, that had to be it. The comforting touch of her hand in his, her fingers moving through his hair . . . he felt his rapid breath starting to calm, but there was a numbness within him.

He knew where that drill had done, and it wasn't limited to the initial assumed target. Her words were as comforting as her touch, telling him she would take care of him . . . that he would be fine, that Octavia was safe. That it was all over. He hadn't even realized that at some point, his eyes had closed. He was trying to get off the table; trying to will his legs to move. To fling over the side and set themselves firmly on the ground. So why wasn't he moving? Why did he still feel the cold metal of the table upon his back?

Deep down, he knew the answer. But he couldn't admit it . . . not to others, not to himself. Yet, what choice did he have? His mind raced with possible alternatives. Maybe it was extreme weakness. Maybe they had injected him with something else? He knew the truth though. Because this was the first time, he couldn't recover from an attack. He had been beaten by Dax, and was able to move. He'd been hung nearly to death, and he had been able to move. He'd survived Grounder attacks, and he'd been able to move. He'd been decontaminated, and hung upside down as the blood was drained from his body, and he'd been able to move. But now, in this moment, he couldn't. And that terrified him. "I can't move, Clarke," he involuntarily breathed out, his voice hoarse and raspy. If there was anyone he could tell this to, it was her. Besides, how long could he leave it unknown? "I can't move," he repeated, a tone of defeat in his voice because he knew. He knew deep down, that they had drilled right into his spine.

[Clarke Griffin]

The problem was obvious the moment he seemed to show the intention to move only nothing ever happened. Hopefully it was just due to what he had been injected with. If not his spine was damaged. Clarke felt her throat tighten at the idea that Bellamy, of all people, could come out here with permanent damage. She was too late. She was honestly too late. If he was paralyzed it was on her, because she had not been fast enough. This was her fault, only her fault. But she couldn’t tell him, not yet. Maybe they could fix it, in the station. They owed him to at least try. Until then she would not call it by their worst case scenario, she couldn’t because that might make it real for her too.

“It’s okay, Bellamy. You’re not supposed to move anyway.” She tried to soothe him. She needed him to stay calm and unmoving anyway. And she needed to explain to him as well as she could what was happening and what they had to do in an attempt to save him, if they even could. “From what I can see they drilled close to your spine. This might be just the anesthesia numbing the entire area and I just added to it with a second injection, which hopefully numbs the pain for a while longer.” Clarke ran her hand through his hair again. She needed to pack more of it in order to keep him as painfree as possible on the way back to camp. “I need you to not move. I can’t see the full extend of your wound like this. I’ll bind it, okay? And then we will get you onto a stretcher and take you home to Camp Jaha with us. There Jackson, Mom and I can look at it properly and fix it if they hurt something badly, if we can. Okay? You just have to hold on.” She had known the moment he brought up the idea that he could get hurt. She feared it, feared losing him. Now it appeared it came true. What if they couldn’t fix it? She didn’t want to think about that. Instead Clarke reached for disinfectant and what cloth she could find to bind the wound.

“I need help to put him on a stretcher.” She called out. Several of their friends came forward, two immediately coming to drag a stretcher with them. This would be hard. Maybe they could get a kart to transport him more comfortably. There had been some in the mines. They needed one of those at least. She could do it. If there was something they could save, they would. As the guys moved into position Clarke stopped them. “Be careful. You can’t, under any circumstances, move his spine, do you understand me? You have to take him over very, very carefully.” And they did. This was her fault.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She was assuring him that it was alright, that he shouldn't move . . . that this could just be a result of the anesthesia. That it wasn't necessarily permanent. He wanted to . . . no, he needed to believe that. Though hope was a dangerous thing. He wasn't sure he could endure the disappointment of the worse case scenario should it be true. What if, this was permanent. He took a few deep breaths in attempt to calm himself, her hand running through his hair certainly helping. He wanted to admit that he was afraid, just as he had to Octavia when he'd gotten sick. But soon enough, others came to his aid, starting to carefully move him onto a stretcher. A stretcher. A damn stretcher!

There were other who were wounded; others that should be carried and helped. And here he was . . . lying here. Physically incapable of doing anything to help. "Clarke," he stated, needing her near, needing to see her before they started to carry him out. She said it was going to be ok. She had bound the wound and said that she could fix whatever they hurt badly. He looked at her, trying to keep the fear from his eyes though it felt difficult to keep himself fully guarded in this moment. "It's really gonna be ok, right?" He just, needed to hear it again. The thought of losing the mobility of his legs -- or worse -- was terrifying. He just needed to hear her reassurance, though also knew that he couldn't hold anything she said against her. This wasn't her fault. But she was a person that he found a great comfort with. Someone who he didn't fear judgment from for asking a question, and letting a bit of that unspoken fear, reveal itself through his gaze upon her.

[Clarke Griffin]

For once in her life, the advice of a hypocrite was good advice. Right in this moment love was weakness, feelings were weakness. Bellamy was her closest confidant, the one she would give her life for, the one who would do the same for her, her best friend in many ways and that was a form of love. Right now this love was weakness. It made her wish, pray for a different outcome. It made her deny the possibility that was so clearly there: That they could not fix it. Damage in the spine had been hard to fix even on the Ark, sometimes impossible. Here things looked even worse, but for now she clung to the false hope that her mother and Jackson might be able to fix this, that all she needed to do was to keep his spine from getting damaged further. But his words shook her out of this thought set. She couldn’t lie to him. He didn’t deserve that.

“I don’t know. I can’t even tell how bad it is until I get a closer look. Maybe, maybe not.” Maybe it was even worse than the worst case scenario that was currently running through her mind. Whatever it was, maybe they could really fix it. She just wanted to hold onto hope, for him and herself. “I will do whatever I can.” She just wanted to reassure him. “I’d be very surprised if Bellamy Blake lets something like that stop him.” But maybe he had no choice. She’d do whatever she needed to do to stop it.

“Forgive me.” Clarke whispered before punching him, hopefully knocking him out. It would make traveling with him easier for a while, especially out of the mountain.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She was being honest with him, and he much preferred that rather than any lies or false hope. He knew the answer, and he knew that she didn't know just yet. It terified him. The thought of losing the ability of his legs . . . what use would he be? No. He couldn't think like that. As dangerous as it was, he had hope. He shouldn't. But he couldn't help it either. It wasn't completely over yet. There was a possibility, slim or not that this could be fixed. That his wounds would heal. That the Mountain Men hadn't been successful in their attempt to paralyze him. Her words of being surprised if he let something like this stop him gave him the strength to hold onto that hope. But it was also those very words that made him scared of the alternative.

He was powerless right now. He couldn't do anything to help the situation. He just lay here, like an invalid. Unable to move. Unable to help the others. Utterly useless. Hell, he felt glad when Clarke knocked him out. He couldn't bare to be conscious when carried back to the camp. He was the one who should be carrying others. He didn't know how much time had passed, before he slowly felt himself creeping back to consciousness.

He was waking up . . . and part of him so desperately hoped that the images he last recalled had just been a dream. A horrible, terrifying dream. That he hadn't been drilled, that he hadn't lost the ability to move his legs, that he wasn't at all injured and he could get right up on his feet as soon as he fully awoke. He slowly opened his eyes, vision a bit hazy around him as he impatiently waited for it to clear. He needed to stand up, or just needed to move a foot. Something, anything to prove to him that either it was a nightmare . . . or if it wasn't, that his injury had been healed.

[Clarke Griffin]

Clarke was glad Bellamy was out of it for most of the journey. It made immobilizing easier, it did not raise questions of why she was holding his hand. While he was out, she tried to keep him in that state with medicine. With the help of that and their friends carrying him back, they managed to get him to Camp Jaha in no time. A lot of people, like her mother, were in trouble, but Jackson and her could take care of that sufficiently for now. Octavia assisted with the minor injuries, taking care of them almost singlehandedly so Jackson and her could operate on Bellamy, to try and fix what they did. Once they were in, both of them gasped. Had she not operated on him, she would have probably collapsed there and then, but she was in doctor mode, it helped her. They tried to do what they could to fix the damage done to his spine, but even as they worked, Clarke just knew there was no use to it. She wanted to save what she could, hoping against hope for a miracle.

After that Clarke did not allow herself to rest. She needed to focus on working, on helping so she would not have to deal with the thoughts and memories that came hand in hand with what she had done, with how she had been too late. Clarke noticed the change in Bellamys vitals just before he woke, so she went to his bed and reached for his hand. “Bellamy? How are you feeling?” With her free hand, she reached for a bucket, in case the medicine did not go well with him.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy slowly woke up, taking a few moments before he opened his eyes. His vision was blurred and the brightness caused his eyes to sting a little, but he forced himself to adjust to them. The first thing he saw, was a hazzy figure though he seemed to know exactly who it was. The blurry splash of blond, the voice, the feel of her hand. Bellamy focused on her, urging his vision to come into focus and soon enough, it did. He knew that wherever he was, he had to have been in a safe and secure location . . . because Clarke was here. His mind worked to recall the recent events, the last thing he had rememberd before he was consumed with darkness.

He almost wished they weren't memories. He wished they were part of a dream. A horrible nightmare that just couldn't be true. Reflex made him try to move his leg, but he couldn't tell if it was actually moving or not due to his lacking energy to look down or even attempt to move from where he was laying. Instead, his gaze was completely fixated on Clarke. How was he feeling she asked. Well, he would have a better answer to her question when she answered his.

"Did it work?" The surgery. He assumed he had already been through it, though he wasn't even sure how long he had been out for. The felt sick to his stomach, and it wasn't just the medicine that was making him feel that way. It was his fear, Clarke's potential answer. He was terrified to know, and yet he had to. So all he could do was wait with bated breath. God, let the procedure have worked. Let them have been able to fix what he knew was drilled. He was silently begging for it, deperately pleading. He swallowed back the nausea that threatened to come up, needing to hear her answer.

[Clarke Griffin]

The struggles he had to come back to consciousness were well known for Clarke. She had seen it in a lot of patients before. But this patient she cared about more. In the end his pain was a bit part of why her decision happened so fast. She needed this man to be alive. His pain caused her almost physical pain. And now she might have fucked up. Clarke waited, holding his hand gently in hers, as he slowly woke up. She did not want to disrupt the process. After she spoke to him, his reply was delivered in typical Bellamy manner. Of course he wanted answers first. That was just Bellamy. She couldn’t blame him, though.

“As far as the surgery is concerned, yes. We tried to fix the nerve endings as best as we could. We would have had equipment to check if they are working on the Ark, but not down here. So we have to wait to see if we managed to save them. They have been reattached, but that doesn’t mean they’re functioning again.” Clarke hated the fact that she always wanted to be as honest with him as she could. She couldn’t lie to him about his health. “We will have to wait and see how it all turns out, I’m afraid. I am hoping for the best.” But she was still fearing the worst. It was much more likely, unfortunately. “Sorry for knocking you out. I thought it would be better and easier.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Her answer was . . . honest. That was what he had wanted. An honest answer. Nothing less. But, that didn't mean it was reassuring. There was a glimmer or hope, but things down here hardly ever worked out for the best. They were often given worst case scenarios to deal with. Even still, Bellamy didn't think his mind was ready to accept the cold, hard truth. It was dangerous to have hope, but it was tehre. He knew he should be dealing with reality, preparing for the worst outcome . . . but this was his mobility.

This was his ability to walk. This was, his entire purpose of being here. He was better off dead than paralyzed from the waist down. What good was he if he couldn't even walk?! He felt a wave of nausea once again, unsure if it was from the anesthetics they gave him or just from the overwhelming fear over losing the use of his legs. He tried to swallow it down, closing his eyes, focusing on her lastly spoken words.

"You got one hell of a punch, princess," he teased, though it was also spoken with truth. "But then again, I never doubted you would." She didn't have to apologize to him for it. It was better that he not be conscious, having to witness his weakness. Having to watch others carry him as he remained utterly useless on the stretcher -- or whatever they carried him back in. Bellamy opened his eyes, forcing his head up so that he could look down at his legs.

His brain was desperately trying to command them to move, but he saw nothing. He was getting frustrated by the lack of movement. But what had Clarke said . . . wait and see. "How long will it take, until we know for sure?" How long did this sort of thing take? He was impatient. He didn't want to wait. He wanted to walk. He wanted to move. He needed to check on the others and do what he knew best. But instead, he was stuck in this place like a damn invalid. And he was hating every second of it.

[Clarke Griffin]

“Hey. It’s not the first time I punched you, just the first time I really wanted to knock you out.” Before that she had no reason to. They had thought, but Clarke hadn’t wanted to knock him out, just inflict a bit of pain. Plus she had indeed gotten better, she had to with the war going on all the time. Maybe now they would get some peace and rest together. Maybe they could all recover. Under any other circumstances really, Clarke would have left. There would have been no way she would have been able to face the wrath of all her people. But as it was she had better things to do than to deal with them. As long as Bellamy couldn’t move, he needed someone to be there for him, to help him and Clarke was more than willing to be that one or to be one of the people helping him. There was no way she would be the only one. There was Octavia, there were Monty and Miller and others. 

“I honestly don’t know, Bellamy.” She replied with all the honesty she carried in her. It was the only answer she could give. “It depends on how quick it heals, how fast the swelling goes down. Everyone is very individual with this. You could heal fast, given how stubborn you are.” Or slow, because he has been through so much now without a moment to rest. Maybe with a bit of rest it would heal, but she felt the dread twist her stomach. What if that wasn’t the case? How would they handle it? They had methods, technology, but there was a limit to it. “We just have to wait and see what your body decides. Until then you should totally enjoy having us at your beck and call.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

It made sense that she would need to knock him out. It was better for him not to experience all that. But now, it was hitting him and hitting him hard. His expression moved from any form of humor in his initial statement, to the realization of his condition. They didn't know. He didn't blame her, but he was frustrated. With himself. With his damn body. He would be useless like this. What the hell was he supposed to do? Raven at least was able to still function despite her injury. Besides, for her, she had the mental intellect that proved to be valuable. His entire value was based on his ability to move.

How the hell could he help their people, lying around like this? He clenched his jaw, unable to look at her as he stared up at the ceiling. He was pissed. To lie here like an invalid for an indefinite amount of time. Part of him just wanted to reject it and attempt to move out of this damn bed . . . but the other part fo him, feared that he would just humiliate himself because he wouldn't be able to move. And he'd end up falling in front of Clarke. It was the fear that trumped the hope right now. But that was far from acceptance.

"This is bull shit," he bluntly stated, his anger in his tone of voice without him raising the volume of his words. "What am I supposed to do, just lay here until my body decides its ready to move?" He was asking her a somewhat rhetorical question. He didn't want the others to be at his beck and call, though he knew Clarke had said it just to cheer him up; to help lighten the mood. But he was too irritated. Too angry. Too . . . terrified. It was that latter emotion that caused all the others. He was scared, and this was how he was expressing it.

[Clarke Griffin]

“Actually, yes.” Clarke answered. What other choice did he have? His spine and nerves were damaged. They needed to heal in order to regain function. If they didn’t, then this could remain permanent. “You literally have no other choice.” Maybe that would make him understand, that the choice was out of their hands. It was horrible, she knew. She couldn’t even begin to think about how he must feel and didn’t think she could even remotely relate to it, but she knew, no matter how hard this was, she would be there for him. She would carry him if she had to. She probably did have to, but there were ways to get him mobile within Alpha station. That would probably give him some relief, make him feel less useless. She would have to make sure he would get that. But for the time being, she needed him to rest. 

“Look, here’s what this is, Bellamy.” She knew he would appreciate facts over fiction here. “What moves your legs are nerves that transmit the signals in your brain to the legs. They can still move, but due to those nerves being damaged, they don’t get the order to move. Those nerves were damaged during the drilling because they didn’t care. We care. And we tried to repair the damage. But, as you know from a broken leg: Something damaged takes time to heal. You can’t just put it back together and then expect it to work instantly. The nerves have to grow back together before we can tell if they can transmit the orders from your brain to your legs again or not. Until then it simply won’t work.” She hated this, because there was a good chance it wouldn’t work, but they had to try. “Now you’ve been through a very invasive and very painful surgery. You have to rest. And the best thing you can do for your body right now is exactly that. I know you hate it, Bellamy. I do, too. Imagine what this feels like? I know you as active, a force to be reckoned with. This is weird to me as well, but it’s for the best for you. The more you rest, the faster your body can heal.”

Bellamy Blake