I can't lose you

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She was leaving, and Bellamy couldn't stop her. She had once given him forgiveness when he was planning to leave, and he had said the same words to her now. But she was set on leaving, and he hated that he couldn't say or do anything to stop her. He would worry for her every second of every day she was gone. It wasn't safe out there. But alas, she was walking away and Bellamy could only helplessly watch her. "May we meet again," he said in a low voice in response to the parting words she said to him after the farewell kiss. This was not going to be easy without her. Though he had never said the words, he needed her. He relied on her in so many ways and now . . . he felt more alone than ever before.

He had pulled that lever so that she wouldn't have to bear the burden alone, but she said she couldn't look at their faces every day. He knew the feeling, but he couldn't vocalize that. He just wished she would stay. He turned to face the gate they had made when he suddenly paused from making any movements. Something didn't feel right. Hell, he hadn't felt right for the past several days, but he figured it was the desperation to save his -- their -- people and the adrenaline that came with it. But now, it was feeling really overpowering. To the point where his vision started to blur. He blinked several times as if trying to see clearly but it was to no avail. He tried to lean to the side to grab on to something so he could maintain his balance, but that also failed. Instead, he staggered the next few steps before falling to the ground, darkness completely taking over.

[Clarke Griffin]

She had to leave. She needed to be away from them. They did not need to see her. They needed to be allowed to heal, the monster he had become, she could not stay and let them face her every day. It would make it impossibly harder for each and everyone of them to cope, to move on. If it meant for her to be out there alone, on her own, so it should be. Even though she felt the pain of this, leaving, being alone, if it was for the best, it was for the best. Every step felt like ripping a hole into her already broken and shattered heart and soul. It would take ages to heal, if she ever could.

She heard a crash behind her, but didn’t think much of it. Some people would collapse from the nerves alone. It was someone screaming a name, this one name that made her stop and turn around to see. She saw a figure in a white shirt – his white shirt on the ground, people coming to his aid already. Before she knew it herself she was running, running back to Camp Jaha, to him. Even if it was a move for the others, her idea of leaving, she could not leave seeing him on the ground, not knowing what happened of him. She had done unspeakable things and part of them were to give him his best chance at survival. Now she could not leave him behind.

She almost crashed to her needs by his side, fingers immediately finding the pulse on his neck. It wasn’t strong enough, but at least he wasn’t dead. It didn’t take long for her to find marks on his body. Oh damn it. Clarke ordered for people to fetch her an infusion and whatever else she needed. She gave orders to her friends regarding a tent on the edge of the camp, figuring he would need a quiet place to rest and heal. They worked, fast, forgetting their own exhaustion as they got Bellamy into the tent, got him undressed to his shorts so Clarke could work on him and figure out what to do with him. 

Clarke fixed him up with an IV, got him as comfortable as possible on one of the beds and then waited, constantly checking on him. Eventually she changed the IV and the waiting continued.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy hadn't regained consciousness for a second as he was moved, changed, and tended to. He wasn't sure how much time had passed but soon enough, he felt himelf slowly coming back. Darkness was all around him still but he was starting to become aware . . . somewhat. He felt groggy, weak, finding it almost impossible to open his eyes. But something compelled him to do so. He slowly opened them, unable to fully make out his surroundings due to the haziness that clouded his vision.

He did feel something poking him, something on his arm. It was an all too familiar feeling and it caused him to suddenly jolt, abruptly sitting in an upright position as panic took him over for a moment. The last time he was being poked and prodded, he had woken up to find himself hanging upside, having who knows how much blood drained from his body. That rush of fear in being similar circumstances gave him the burst of energy it took to it upright and attempt to pull the IV out of him as he tried to get his bearings. "What the hell," he breathed out, clearly disoriented, his voice weaker than he would like to admit, and his body protested at every move that he made.

[Clarke Griffin]

Clarke had only left the tent for a few minutes at a time to take the food their friends brought and her clothes. She had meant to leave, now she basically moved herself into the same tent as his, but she couldn’t leave him, not when he was like that. How did she not see how exhausted he was? How did she not notice or make the deduction that he hadn’t slept or eaten or anything? How had she not even seen how he was less than good? She was too busy worrying about herself and all the others, too relieved to see him alive, that she didn’t pay attention to the rest. Well now she would. Now she would not move from his side until he was 100 % okay again. She owed it to him in so many ways. 

Finally he woke – panicked. Damn it. Of course he would. He would think of what they did to him in Mount Weather. For now his movements seemed to be still slow, disoriented, so Clarke took a nutrition pack and rushed to his side. She placed her hand over his to stop him from pulling out the IV: he really needed it. 

“Don’t pull it out, please. It’s meant to help you. You’re dehydrated and this will give your body back fluids you need.” Clarke held out the pack with mashed fruits like apples. “Here, you must be hungry as well and you need the vitamins so your body can replace the blood you lost. How are you feeling? What do you need?”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Just when he moved to pull out the IV, a hand stopped him. A presence stopped him. His eyes went to the face of the person who was here, causing him to blink a couple of times. Damn, he must really be losing his mind. He was trying to piece together most recent events and he could have sworn the last thing he saw before he blacked out was Clarke walking away. The last conversation being one where she had said she carried the burden so others wouldn't have to. But . . . she was here. Was he hallucinating?

It sure as hell looked like Clarke, sounded like her . . . felt like her. Seeing her here also somehow calmed him down faster than anyone else could have -- apart from perhaps Octavia. She was saying something about being dehydrated, needing the fliuds as well as the vitamins. He hardly looked at the food she offered before he lay on his back once again, closing his eyes for a brief moment and letting everything sink in.

When the panic wore off, the exhaustion and weakness sunk in. But no. He couldn't afford to be weak. He opened his eyes, still lying on his back but turned his head to look at her. "I thought you left," he said, his voice hoarse and reflective of how drained he felt. But, the words had to be said. Was he really just imagining her? It wouldn't be surprising he supposed. Her being here had been what kept him together, and losing that, losing her . . . well, he wasn't sure what he would end up as.

[Clarke Griffin]

Clarke closed her eyes for a moment once he sank back, leaving the IV where it was. It was overwhelming and he had clearly been through a lot, so he might need support even through that. Clarke would remain here through it all. He was just more important than that. Seeing him like this would probably haunt her for a long while. She was not used to Bellamy Blake being weak in any form, but if he didn’t have a right to be so after the hell he put himself through for them, who did? Certainly not Clarke. It was mostly her fault he was like that. So no, she did not allow herself to feel her own tiredness and weakness. He was her priority now.

“How could I?” she asked him. How could she leave when he was like that. Maybe she would once he was better, once she could leave him and know he would be fine, but she could not leave him knowing he wasn’t, not knowing what exactly was wrong, fearing the worst. It was why she felt his pulse first thing. Who knew what the mountain men had done to him after all. Given the puncture marks in him: a lot of things. “I heard you break down and all hell broke loose. How could I leave when I knew people were worried about you, when I saw you lying there when I turned around like you were dead, when I knew you were hurt because of me? I had to stay to make sure you’re okay.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She asked how she could leave when she heard him break down; when people were worried about him. Shit. That wasn't good. He shouldn't have broken down like that, so publicly especially. He needed to be strong for their people, not fragile. Not make them worry when they had enough to worry about already. Especially Clarke. He cursed himself for letting that happen, for letting it get to that point. "I'm ok," he assured her. She was staying to make sure he was ok, and it meant a great deal to him . . . but he also feared that it meant she would leave again, and he wasn't sure he could handle saying goodbye to her once more.

"I'm glad you're here, Clarke," he added on, grateful for her decision to stay, no matter how temporary it was. If he was a more needy person, he would drag out his recovery if only to convince her to stay longer . . . but he wasn't that type of person. And he wouldn't do that to her. He then attempted once more to try to sit upright, raising the upper half of his body. This time, it was prompted by less panic and done with a bit more ease.

"This isn't on you," he told her. She carried enough guilt and enough burdens, and he didn't want her to feel like she was one of them. Besides, he had suggested the idea, and she had just agreed to it. This wasn't on her. He looked down at the IV attached to his arm. "How long do I have to leave this in for? I need to get back out there." Show that he wasn't fragile and delicate. They had just gotten back and people would need his help to get settled in again. He couldn't afford to be this idle.

[Clarke Griffin]

“You’re not ok.” Well in the most basic definition he was, expect even then he wasn’t, not at all. So many people lost their lives yet here she was worrying about one person. She should feel ashamed for that. She wasn’t at all. She wasn’t ashamed for worrying about him, yet it held a secret, many actually. It held shame for things she had done and not admitted to. She would need to eventually, only how? How should she admit to him what she had done? And why? How she was torn inside. She watched as he slowly sat up, arms reaching out to see if he needed any help. As he sat, she moved the pillows to help support his upper body, to allow him to sit more easily and comfortable. It was easier to focus on something she knew instead of the guilt. She could focus on the IV, on the medical issues of him. 

“Until it’s empty.” Clarke replied softly. She reached up to check it again. That was at least another twenty minutes probably. But that was not all he needed to do. While this was against dehydration she needed him to drink and eat, too. “You can’t go back out then, Bellamy.” Maybe she would have to actually order him to stay here and she would use whatever authority she held as med student and his self appointed personal nurse. “You need to eat that as well and you need to drink and sleep. Your body has been abused severely, it needs time to recover or you’ll just faint again and again and again. Do you want that? To get out, announce you’re fine only to break down again because you’re not fine? So you’re staying here.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Until it was done. That was too ambiguous for his liking. He didn't fail to notice the way she moved the pillows to ease his comfort. He appreciated it, but also hated that he was so . . . weak. To the point of requiring someone's help. This wasn't what the people needed from him. Clarke continued to say that he couldn't go back out there, that he had to rest otherwise he would keep fainting and . . . if that was what he wanted. No. Hell no that wasn't what he wanted at all. It had bad enough that he fainted once. Where everyone had sene him do so. He remained silent for a few moments as he looked at her . . . really looked at her. She looked just as exhausted and he wondered how much rest she herself had gotten.

"What about you?" He asked. "Doesn't look like you rested much," he added on, making a point that she didn't seem to afford herself the luxury of rest either. They couldn't afford it, they never had been able to. It may only be a matter of time until she too collapsed. "How long has it been?" He further inquired, wondering how long he was out for. Had anything happened? Had the others gotten properly settled in? Were they good on food or did they need to hunt? So many questions filled his mind and he felt so damn useless just sitting here doing nothing. Yet at the same time . . . if it meant she was sitting as well, he supposed it wasn't all bad. Even if her sitting didn't exactly involve resting. Though he hated to admit how right she was; he didn't physically feel strong enough to move, though his stubborn mind didn't allow him to fully accept that.

[Clarke Griffin]

Good point. Clarke could ease his worries, even though she had no plan on actually resting anytime soon. As long as it eased his mind and made him rest up as he needed to. All she wanted was for him to be okay, because she still blamed herself. That would not change for a long time, despite his blanco forgiveness. Clarke just wanted him safe. Nobody, not a single one of them could blame Bellamy. She had noticed it in the way they sprang into action to help him. They weren’t distressed by it, they were eager to help, eager to show this community they had worked both ways, at least for him. 

“I don’t know for sure. A few hours. You were in bad shape, Bellamy.” He still was. It would take a while to nurse this stubborn ass back to health, but she’d sit it through with him, every step of the way. “I couldn’t rest, someone had to change the bag. It’s the second one you’re on. I had to wait for that and then I kind of anticipated your reaction to it. I saw the marks.” She reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. “I will rest, I promise. But unlike you I had food and drink in the last days, I’m less dehydrated and less malnourished than you are. And I already drank while waiting for you to wake up.” Clarke then pointed to the second bed in the tent, with a soft expression. “I will rest.” Eventually. 

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

A few hours. Well, that was better than days. Hopefully he hadn't missed too much, or wasted too much time here. She then said that she herself hadn't rested, having to change his bags, monitor him. He hated that she was tending to him like this when she needed to regain her own strength . . . but he was immensely grateful as well. If there was anyone that he could trust seeing him in this state, it was Clarke. It wasn't so much the fact that this was his second bag that came as a surprise but rather, her words about seeing his marks.

It was not something he was going to tell her, or anyone. There was no need to. But she knew now. She knew that he had been harvested, and would have been sucked dry had Maya not helped him. Maya; someone who he had killed so that the others could live. He looked away from Clarke for a moment, closing his eyes once again. "What they did to people in there . . . " The flashes of the decontamination, to waking up in a cage, to being hung upside down and passing out as he felt the blood leaving his body . . . he clenched his jaw, trying to swallow back all the trauma that it had brought up. Damn it. He was being more weak than ever right now. He slightly shook his head, looking around for some sort of distraction and decided to focus on her other words. Her gently squeeze of his hand certainly helped comfort him; made him feel like they were safe -- or as safe as they could be here. "Good," he told her in response to her having eaten and drank. He glanced over at the other bed, a flicker of a smile crossing his lips before looking back to her.

"Thank you," he told her in a low but strongly sincere voice. "For staying. For, being here." For him. It meant more than he was capable of expressing. "Haven't had a tentmate for a while now," he added on a slightly lighter note, though the joviality was lacking in his voice. He looked at the food that she had offered him before, not feeling incredibly hungry right now. All he could think of was how it could go to someone else who needed it more. Which, brought forth another question. "How is everyone?" He asked, looking at Clarke. "Harper, Raven, your mom?" Those who had been subject to Cage's disturbing scheme. And well, the others too. Jasper, Monty, Miller . . . all of them who had been stuck there. Who knows what they had endured. They looked alright when Bellamy had last seen them, but he wanted to know if they were settling well in camp. He should have been there to help them, but instead he was lying here like an invalid. God, he hated that.

[Clarke Griffin]

Clarke moved her hand from his to his arm once he started speaking about what happened to him in Mount Weather. Now was not the time for it. It was fresh in his mind, his body was weak, needed time to recover from it, as did his mind, their minds. This was going to be a very long way, a hard path to walk on. She hadn’t even considered it, but he had scars she could not so easily take care of. She’d not leave until those were at least a bit better. She couldn’t leave him like that. Without ever making the conscious decision she reached up to brush her hand over his cheek softly, hoping to comfort him with just her gentle touches. But what if that made it worse? For she could cling to him, drown her demons in her task. For him. 

“Of course. There was no way I could just leave and let you lay there… from where I was you could have been dead.” And looking back it had made her scream out his name in shock and fear. She couldn’t lose him. It had been her problem from the beginning, the crippling fear of losing him to those bastards. Right now she wasn’t sure she could have survived that. She probably couldn’t have. “Then better pray I don’t snore. For now you’re stuck with me.” What would happen in the future? She had no idea. Only time could tell how they healed or not. For now they had each other. And he had the others as well. He was in for quite the surprised. 

“They’re settling in, Bellamy. They’re okay. They’re alive and… our friends have helped me set this up, to settle us in here. To quote Monty: ‘Time we take care of Bellamy, like he would take care of us.’ And they’re right, you know? You deserve to rest and have us take care of you for a little bit. You’ve saved us so often. You’ve not stopped one moment since we landed here. Let us take care of you for a bit, please.” She could have lost him. She could have lost them. She lost herself instead. Suddenly the pain of it all was there. Tears swam in her eyes. “We owe our lives to you, Bellamy. A hero deserves to rest sometimes.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Her hand on his cheek provided him with more comfort than he ever could have imagined. Her touch, her words, it always had that affect on him. But especially now. She was seeing him in his weakened state, and she was giving him more verbal and physical comfort. He wanted to do the same, he wanted to reach out to her . . . but he feared he would fail. And wasn't sure he could handle that disappointment. She feared he was dead, and well, he had feared so many times over that she had been too. But they both seemed to be pretty damn resilient. She added on a comment about being hopeful that she didn't snore, because he was stuck with her. "You won't hear me complaining," he said honestly. He felt like he was really lucking out. Selfish, he knew. That she was staying here with him, and being in the same physical space as him.

He needed her. He needed her support even if he couldn't say it. She knew what he did, and she didn't see him as a monster. She didn't judge him, or condemn him. She didn't see his mistakes as failures or his decisions as weak. Damn it, he needed her. Her next words caused him to pause, unable to properly bask in them, because he saw things so differently. He was meant to take care of others, not have them tend to him. He didn't care if this didn't happen frequently, that was his role in the camp. He didn't stop, just like she didn't stop. And yet, she damned herself for everything while calling him a hero. No. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Why should she punish herself and glorify him when he'd done the same. He lightly shook his head, the tears in her eyes being the only thing that stopped him from turning away again.

Instead, he raised his hand to her cheek, but kept it hovering a mere inch where he would have otherwise touched her skin. Instead, he put his thumb under her eye, brushing away a fallen tear. "If I'm a hero, then so are you," he told her. "Cause none of this . . . " None of what he was. "Would have happened without you." He derived his strength from her, his confidence from her. "So why don't you give yourself a break, Clarke," he told her. They were a team. He could not take in her own assurance and give his mind, heart, or soul rest until she did the same for her own self. Which, was far easier said than done. "Don't give me that, 'you're a hero' bit unless you believe it of yourself." Because she was. If that was how she saw him, then it was how he saw her.

[Clarke Griffin]

She a hero? No. No so far from it. Suddenly his soft touch, so welcome earlier, felt like it could burn her skin. He had no idea. How could he know? How could he call her a hero with what she had done? While he had been out there, suffering to safe their people, she had been out there, crossing line after line. Like he said, there were lines people could not uncross. While they crossed one of them together, she crossed so many without him, the one they crossed together, he came out as a hero, she… she was something else. She saw her mothers face, that was what she deserved. She deserved their disgust, their hatred.

Clarke stood up, backing away a step, palms towards him as if the blood physically still clung to them, the blood of over 600 people, no over 900 people, nearly a thousand lives. She had killed almost a thousand people. How could he call her a hero, when all those deaths were on her? She was a monster. Nothing could undo that. Her own tears burned her, she did not deserve this or to be here in relative safety. She should be out there, away from them. This was on her. Clarke shook her head.

“How can you say that, Bellamy? I am no hero, I’m a monster. The blood of 600 people, no more than 600 people is on my hands. The things I’ve done… the things I was willing to do. I…. I almost killed your sister. I was willing to sacrifice her life, twice. I almost killed her, Bellamy. I killed 600 people. I killed some of our own people.” Tears were flowing freely now. How could she hold them back now? This was her fault. This was all her fault. She should have caught herself earlier. “So don’t call me a hero, when I’m a monster. Those lives are on me. I can never go back from that. I can never undo this. But you… everything you did. Everything you did was for them.” She turned around, she couldn’t face him anymore. She should not say this, but.. she could no longer hold it back. “Every step you took was to save them, all of them. You would saved them. I killed them. And you should treat me like your sisters blood is on my hands, because it’s not my doing that it isn’t. It was luck. I killed Octavia. That's how you should treat me.”


Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She backed away from him and claimed that she wasn't a hero. "If you're a monster, then so am I," he immediately interjected between her words. For he too had pulled that lever. She didn't have to do that alone, and that's why he had put his hand on top of hers, and done it with her. "That blood is on both of our hands." He knew that that was why she had wanted to leave. She would bear it so that they didn't have to. But she was wrong; because he beared it too. It wasn't until she said that she nearly killed his sister that he froze.

That all else she said was numbed. She was crying, turning away from him, but all he could focus on were her words of how she had almost killed Octavia. Clarke had lied to him about Octavia not being in the village, having wanted him to focus . . . but it wasn't something he'd held against her. He figured that had something to do with what she said now. The missile that they sent there . . . Octavia being there. What did Clarke mean?

He abruptly rose to his feet, the IV making it awkward so he ripped it out of his skin, tossing the needle to the side. "What are you talking about?" He demanded to know. "Clarke, what the hell are you talking about?" He said again, now fully standing. But the sudden motion caused him to feel dizzy; he was not fully recovered. He hated this. Feeling too dizzy to stand, he fell back onto the bed, sitting on it as he closed his eyes and tried to keep himself conscious, the haziness fading after a few moments of just sitting down.

There were some things he was sensitive to, and his sister was one of them . . . a major one. "Why would you say that?" He asked looking away from her, at the floor in front of him, his tone less demanding and angry and more . . . well, he wasn't sure what. Slightly defeated perhaps, as if he was afraid of hearing the answer. He had trusted Clarke with Octavia, and there were very people he did so. Lincoln being another one. He couldn't bear to hear that someone he cared so deeply about, was nearly responsible for killing Octavia. He asked the question, and yet feared the answer.