I can't lose you

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

He heard her say it was evening. He'd slept through the day and yet, didn't feel better. Maybe he was still adjusting to everything? He didn't know. She seemed to pick up on the fact that something was wrong and . . . he didn't want to worry her further. "I'm alright," he said as if trying to catch his breath for a moment. He closed his eyes, feeling the strain of swallowing.

"I think I need some fresh air." Maybe that would help. He didn't want to leave, but he was fairly certain he was going to vomit. He glanced to the side at the IV, but couldn't tell if the bag was empty or if it was still going. "Can you take this out of me?" He asked. Not out of defiance, but out of necessity. He didn't want to rip it out himself like last time. He felt himself growing short of breath as he swallowed again. Maybe it was the food and abundance of rest. That was a thing, right? Perhaps a walk would be good. He wanted her to come with him . . . but at the same time, didn't want her to see him hurl. Last thing she needed was another reason to grow concerned. He felt bad enough that he'd worried her as much as he already did.

[Clarke Griffin]

Like hell he was alright. He didn’t look good at all and that made her suspicious. Was this really just this. Had they done something else to him? Maybe she needed to run some more tests on him,, though how would she explain it to him? Well for once with the blood loss, but was that it? Hardly. It would appear her mission to nurse him back to health continued. Fresh air was actually a good idea. But she’d not let him go out alone. Not when she had the nagging feeling that something was very, very wrong. If only she knew what it was. If only she knew what they had done to him in painful detail.

Clarke took the tube out, but let the needle stick in his arm. She took a bandage to cover it up while outside. “I’ll leave the needle in for now. It might prevent us from having to poke you with more needles, if you need injections or blood. Hopefully it will be unnecessary.” But somehow she thought it would become necessary. Clarke moved to put on her boots and then she simply put on his. She just wanted him to be okay and her worry showed. “Ready? Bell you don’t look so good.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Fortunately Clarke was quick in her actions to remove the tube and then bandage his arm, leaving the needle in so that they could reconnect him. She pointed out that he may need blood, though hoped that would be unecessary. Yeah. He sure as hell hoped that too. He didn't want others to put themselves at any risk giving it to him. He noticed her begin to put on her boots. She was coming with him. Well of course she was, that was Clarke. Caring, nurturing . . . wanting to make sure he was alright. He was attempting to reach for his boots but she put them on for him. As she did, he casually looked to the side, noticing her sketchpad, but noticing more what she had drawn. He didn't say anything, but he sure felt something seeing that. When she secured his shoes, he turned back to her.

"Thank you," he said hoarsly, feeling like a damn invalid for not being able to do it himsmelf. But right now, he was needed to be quick and she had helped him acheive that haste. He then turned to grab his jacket, her noticing all too well that he wasn't feeling good. "Just . . . fresh air," he stated as he staggered outside. He purposely wanted to place a little distance between him and Clarke, needed to regain his composure. He went toward the back of the tent where it was more secluded, the darkness helping to avoid drawing any attention to himself. He placed a hand on the trunk of a tree to keep himself braced up, realizing he was placing quite a bit of his weight against it.

That nauseous feeling was really causing something to surface. He raised his hand to his mouth as he coughed, heaving up something. As he pulled his palm away, he realized what it was. Blood. Well, that couldn't be good. He stared at his hand, holding back the fear that filled him over seeing what was coming up. Hearing Clarke's footsteps, he quicky wiped the blood away from his hand and half turned his head to face her -- as his back was currently toward her. "Yeah. I just need some fresh air. I'm already feeling better," he said, forcing a smile on his lips. He couldn't tell her. Not yet. Not until he figured out what was going on. Maybe it was just a one time thing. Maybe this was part of the healing process.

[Clarke Griffin]

Just fresh air. It could have sounded so innocent, so easy, but it wasn’t. Not to her ears. To her it sounded more than alarming, him almost fleeing the tent was more than alarming. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right at all. What had those monsters done to him? Had there been a failsafe to ensure the subjects would die either way, whether of the blood loss or of whatever they gave him? No. Impossible. Otherwise what they gave him would have gone to the system of whoever had gotten blood from him! They would have killed each other and themselves this way. And when they took his blood, they had not yet gotten the idea that he was the enemy, not in the way it was.

Clarke stared at him. She heard him heave. She knew he had thrown something up, but he tried to downplay it. That alone spoke volumes. He had been through so much, yet he was still not letting her see the extend of what was going on with him. Her eyes urgently searched his body, landing on his hand. She saw the stain and then a remaining stain on his face. Blood. “You coughed up blood, didn’t you?”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Damn it, she knew. Then again, it was Clarke. Of course she knew. She was one of the most intelligent people here. It made him wish that she didn't come out here to witness it but at the same time . . . her close proximity was always a comfort to him. The latter reason was far more selfish of him, for he did not wish to cause her further concern. He wiped his lips and chin with his hand, assuming that there was trace of blood on them.

"It's nothing," he stated dismissively. Though also knew that he didn't have the expertise to make that sort of assessment. "Probably just part of the healing process," he added on. He paused for a moment, feeling another build up coming out as he coughed again, this time hunching over and aiming for the ground as more blood was emitted from his throat. It took him a few moments to catch his breath, staring at the now blood stained grass. He just wanted this to be over. He wanted to be fully healed and move on from all this. He'd allowed himself one day bed rest. He couldn't exceed that yet whatever was going on, may force him to. "Tell me this is nothing," he said looking at her, but he had a feeling that he alreay knew the answer. And it wasn't the one he was too eager to hear.

[Clarke Griffin]

This was not part of any healing process, that was a whole new problem in itself. But what kind of problem? He was immune to radiation, so it could be no radiation sickness, not even a low one as they long since passed the day of symptoms showing without him ever showing the slightest hint of a symptom. It was not the radiation. But what was it? Clarke rushed forward to steady him as he coughed. She had to call Jackson and her mother. This was something that needed testing. It was something that could easily be really dangerous, lethal even. She had to have him checked out. Until then he needed to rest. 

“I… I can’t.” She whispered. She wished it was nothing, she wished she could tell him differently, but she might not be able to. She might lose him. Had she left, she might have returned to a Camp without him. That could not happen. God. “Come, you have to get back to bed. Then I’ll run some tests. I’ll figure this out.” She had to, one way or another. She was not going to let this happen to him, not without fighting it. 

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She couldn't tell him this was nothing, which meant it was something. Bellamy felt a wave of irrtation suddenly flood him. She told him to get back to bed and that she would run some tests. "I've been in bed for over a damn day and its not getting any better!" He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. He shouldn't be lashing out at her. This wasn't her fault. In fact, she was the one taking care of him. She was helping him in more ways he was capable of saying. "I just want this to be over," he said in a calmer voice, a silent apology in them for snapping at her.

He felt another rush of nausea, coughing out a little more as he spit on the ground again before wiping his mouth. Coughing out blood outside wasn't a good idea. He didn't want to be seen like this. "What do you think it could be?" He asked. What sort of ideas could she give him on what this was? Would they have to bring in Abby and Jackson? Bellamy despised this. He felt like things were going from bad, to worse. "Guess there's only one way to find out," he said in a low voice as he began to make his way back to the tent. Running tests. Hopefully that would give some insight into what was causing him to suddenly cough out blood.

[Clarke Griffin]

“Hey. I’m trying here!” she pointed out. This was not her fault, she was sure of that at least. Nothing she had given him could prompt this. She had tried to allow him to rest, she had tried to give him what his body needed in order to recover as soon as possible and staying in bed couldn’t hurt him, sleeping neither, quite on the contrary. It was not the fault of him staying in bed, if anything it might have prevented things from getting worse. He needed the rest so his body could focus the remaining power on fighting this, whatever this was. “I know, Bellamy, so do I. But right now this is what has to be done.” 

And soon. She needed to run those tests as soon as possible They had to run a blood sample immediately. Clarke waited for him to finish, before leading him back inside their tent. If they hadn’t joined beds last night already, she would have done now, so she could watch over him. Guiding him to sit down, she pulled out an empty syringe. This was why she left the needle in him. This way she could take his blood easily, before bandaging it up again. “It could be anything, if we’re lucky it’s just the same virus we have in the dropship, so you’ll survive it.” She was hoping for that. So far the first symptoms matched. “Stay here. I’ll have Jackson run the bloodsample.” With that she dashed away with the blood to give it to Jackson. She told him it had to be priority as it could be contagious. 

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She was right. It had to be done. What other choice was there? He silently returned to the tent and took off his jacket so that she could access the needle beter. She then proceeded to draw blood from him. He just wanted this all to come to an end; to be fully recovered so that he could get back to doing what was needed for the camp. She suggested it being the same virus as before. Who knew that would actually be considered good news, since if he survived it once surely, he could survive it again. But that wasn't the more pressing thought in his mind. If it was indeed the virus, that would mean that Clarke was exposed too. They had slept in close proximity, held each other, and she was touching him now. The last thing he wanted to do was be responsible for her getting sick.

He gave a small nod as he watched her leave. Letting out a sound of annoyance he leaned back against his pillow, hearing footsteps approaching at which point he sat upright and stared at the tent flap. It was just Miller, bringing him a freshly made juice that one of the others had created. Bellamy thanked him and took it, not in the mood to talk and so gave laconic responses to Miller's questions of his well being. He admitted he was tired and Miller was more than understanding.

He made his leave, while Bellamy drank the juice in one large gulp. It was refreshing, but didn't make him feel any better. Instead, he just started coughing again, setting the empty cup to the side. He suddenly felt like as if he couldn't breathe, as if he was suffocating, so resorted to lying down on the bad, his chest heaving as he just focused on inhaling and exhaling. Soon enough, he was starting to calm himself down until he steadied himself and his breathing leveled once more. Was the episode just due to anxiety? No. He knew it was part of what was going on. The sooner they got the test results, the better.

[Clarke Griffin]

For what it was worth, Clarke was grateful to find an ally in Jackson in this. He promised to run the tests immediately and promised to keep everyone away from their tent until they knew exactly what was going on with Bellamy. For the time being she, and a few selected members of their group, who they knew were immune, could go close to their tent. Funnily enough, though, Clarke knew, instinctively that it wasn’t the virus. If it was, she would feel it. She had symptoms within a few hours, Bellamy had to be sick longer than that. Mathematically she should be showing symptoms now, yet she wasn’t. Whatever it was, it wasn’t that, but it was dangerous. The full danger to it, almost slapped her in the face when she returned. It was slowly getting dark outside, so she had grabbed more candles for their tent, since it looked like she would be staying up all night – she wouldn’t let him talk her out of that one. When she came in, even she could see how bad it had gotten now. He was lying there, obviously concentrating on breathing. Clarke immediately turned back around and walked away from the tent. She radioed Jackson to tell him to bring her sedatives, tubes and a bag, just in case she would have to assist Bellamy with breathing. He was to do it secretly so neither the people found out, nor Bellamy.

With a heavy heart, she returned to the tent. While she hoped she would have no reason to sedate him, give him painkillers or start assisting him with breathing, something told her she might need to, soon. With how fast it seemed to get worse, she’d rather help him too soon than to leave it too late, but the stinging in her eyes were tears. Clarke just thought it might all be over. Instead she had to sit down on her bed and reach for his hand in order to take his pulse. Just by that she felt how his blood pressure was low. “I’m assuming you won’t let me take you to medical, right?” Knowing him, he’d rather stay here, away from the eyes of their friends as to not worry them, even if his health was getting worse and worse. “They should be finished with the tests, soon, then we might have an idea what’s going on. Until then, Bellamy, I need you to tell me exactly, in every detail how you feel. I need to know every symptom.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

He could have sworn he heard Clarke enter the tent but then leave just as quickly. Maybe he was finally losing it. It did give him the opportunity to try to regain his stability, and avoid another episode . . . though feared he had no control of when the next one would come. He hated that. He hated not having control of any of this. The last time he had been sick, he admitted to Octavia that he was scared. Because he couldn't physically do anything to protect himself.

At this stage, it was too late for that. He couldn't fight, shoot, or even talk his way out of this. Whatever skills he had or developed, were rendered useless right now. And that was what scared him above all else. He heard her enter the tent once more, feeling his pulse he guessed, and then assuming that he would not let her take him to medical. "Damn right," he agreed without even having to think about it. Besides, there were others who may need to be there and he wasn't about to make a big show about his current . . . situation. He opened his eyes and to face her. He saw her eyes slightly wetter than usual. Damn it. He didn't want to make her cry; he didn't want her to waste her tears on him.

It wasn't worth it. She was saying that they should be finished with tests, that she needed him to tell her what he was feeling. "Clarke, if I'm contagious and I got you sick . . . " He didn't even want to finish that thought. What if this was lethal? What if he was killing her? "Are you feeling ok?" He added on, needing to know that before he answered any of her own questions. The fact that she was asking him how he felt meant that she wasn't experiencing the same thing. Not yet. But did she feel any weaker or any sign of illness? "Are they running tests on you too?" Just to be sure. He didn't want to go into detail about how he felt until he could have some semblance of knowledge that she was going to be ok. Or maybe that was just too much to ask for.

[Clarke Griffin]

Clarke was glad he was still refusing that. Once he stopped refusing professional medical help, she really would be worried. Once he was okay with being treated in medical it was really really bad and then things would be out of even her control, because then they needed her mothers knowledge to save him. That thought alone, to have absolutely no control over it anymore scared her to death. Right now she knew what she could do: Figure out what happened to him, try and help him with the symptoms and then heal him, but once he needed assistance with breathing things changed. He had to hold on. 

“No.” she answered, trying to keep her voice as confidently as possible. She needed him to see that she was confident about not being infected with whatever this was. Maybe she was and it was just without symptoms, but there was no indicator, she developed symptoms last time. “For the simple reason that it doesn’t seem to be contagious.” Clarke knew she had to explain how she came to that conclusion. “Here’s why: The first possibility for you to catch it would have been Mount Weather: Being drained, but that would have killed the people in Mount Weather over time as well. That didn’t happen, so it wasn’t standard procedure. Had you been infected in Mount Weather, others would have shown symptoms by now, too. But the others are clear. On the way back, I would have symptoms right now, too. Even if you picked it up just yesterday, by now I would have developed symptoms. I’m clear, Bellamy. It’s most likely not contagious.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Clarke first answered his question with the one he was hoping for. Furthermore, she went into an expalanation that would explain why she didn't believe it to be contagious. It made sense. And was just the logic he needed to know so that he wouldn't be overly paranoid that he had infected her or anyone else who had come into his tent. "Good," he answered simply, but with strong sincerity. "Last thing we need is another virus spreading through this camp." Especially when there were those who were still healing from Mount Weather. Those who had been drilled.

He had to give her an answer to her own question, as she had responded to his with the detail he'd needed to hear. But then, she knew him well enough to give him that. A simple 'no' would have not sufficed. "I couldn't breath. I felt like I was, suffocating or something," he admitted. He hated sounding so weak but at the same time, if this was going to help them figure out a cure . . . then it was worth making such an admittance. Besides, this was Clarke he was talking to. "My insides feel like they're on fire," he added on. "And coughing out the blood only seems to make it worse." It didn't provide any relief. It just seemed to be a result of whatever was going on within his body that he couldn't figure out. "What the hell does that mean?" He asked, still looking at her. His question was somewhat rhetorical though, because he knew she wasn't entirely certain either.

[Clarke Griffin]

While a part of had still worried about the measures she was going to, what he said, put those at rest. The way I sounded, she would be more than grateful to have thought ahead like that in a short time, if she was correct. Feeling like he was suffocating, coughing up blood, those were clear indicators, that something was wrong with his lungs. If it was getting worse, she might not only need to help him to breathe, ultimately, she might have to help her mother and Jackson to put him on a ventilator, if nothing helped. Now that made it impossible for her to hold back tears. The pain could mean a lot, it could even be related to that or something attacking his nerves or his insides directly.

“Whatever it is, at least part of it happens in your lungs. It sounds like symptoms of a lung infection, Bellamy. But the pain in your insides doesn’t exactly match. At least we know to watch your breathing now.” She still felt tears fall down her cheeks. Now she knew there was no way she would close her eyes tonight. She had to make sure he was still breathing, help him if necessary. Clarke faintly heard rustling close by, before something knocked against the tent. This could only have been Jackson. So just in case she had what she needed. “I can’t lose you, Bellamy.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

A lung infection. That was curable, right? That surely wasn't something totally rare. It could be treated, coudn't it? He gave a small nod, acknowledging her words. "Well that doesn't sound so bad," he said, his tone mixed with both sarcasm and truth. He saw the tears fall down her cheeks at cursed at himself. He hated being the reason she was upset. He hated being the cause of her tears. "Don't cry," he said in a low voice, his words holding a softness to them . . . as much of a softness as his natural voice could hold. Her next words made him wish he could swear to her that she wouldn't.

But he would say whatever he could to ease her mind. "You won't. Not if I can do anything about it," he told her. He would fight as hard as he could to beat whatever the hell this was. He could hear rustling outside the tent, wishing he could say so much more to Clarke . . . trying to remind himself of what he had to lose at this point. He was just looking at her, soft intent in his gaze, having to force himself to slightly change the subject.

But not necessarily one of less importance. "Is it safe to see Octavia?" He asked. He didn't know what was going to happen, if he was even going to survive through the night . . . and he wanted to see his sister before things went from bad to worse. But if there was still a risk that it was contagious, then he wouldn't. So he had to ask whether it was safe or not. "I just want to speak to her for a minute," he added on. While he was still conscious and had enough strength.