Lost Love Found [ #Wattys2015 ] {Bellarke}

A Leader's Keeper

Clarke's POV

Bellamy was doused in a layer of sweat and blood, his shirt stained with fear and pain. Clarke's face contorted as she gently stroked his damaged face. No doubt the Grounders had roughed him up before bringing him to this tent in the middle of their temporary encampment. They hadn't even bothered giving his wound a proper dressing. The makeshift gauze was bound with a sloppiness that made Clarke's blood boil.

The fact of the matter was that the Grounders wanted Bellamy to die. And they wanted it to be painful. And they wanted it to be slow.

They never intended to bring him along. That was why they tried to kill him. In their eyes, Bellamy was nothing but an annoyance - a bug to be exterminated. The Grounders didn't believe in co-leaders, only in a supreme commander.

The man lying in a mangled heap before her opened his eyes and lifted a shaking hand. Clarke took his into her own and pressed it to her tearstained cheek. The skin upon his hand was scarred and rough, but it reminded her of the resilient warrior who still existed within Bellamy.

"Clarke?" He asked, his voice low, for it took all of his energy just to speak a few choice words. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

To see Bellamy like this - it broke Clarke's heart.

"I won't let you." She whispered back, her thumb stroking the backside of his hand.

Bellamy shivered and, afterwards, immediately cringed. Clarke could practically see the pain reverberating through his entire body. He cried out in anguish, his body arching off the bed.

"Shhh," Clarke murmured desperately, rattled by Bellamy's current state. "I'm going to fix it, okay? You're going to be alright."

He cast a sideways glance at her, his eyes glazed and full of disbelief. He was still grasping onto her hand as if his life depended on it - which, coincidentally, it did.

"Do whatever you have to do," Bellamy grounded out. "But I swear, if you don't have any alcohol -"

"Look, we're going to have to do this the old fashioned way," Clarke began and pulled a bullet out her back pocket. "You're going to have to bite the bullet."

Bellamy's head fell down against the pillow. "Always the bearer of great news..."

Clarke rolled her eyes.

"Come on, sit up, you're going to have to help me out. We don't have much time." She explained and lifted him up. She noticed Bellamy resist the urge to scream out in obvious pain. She noticed his hands curl against the cot. She noticed the sharp intake of breath as he sat up straight.

"Take off your shirt."

"Moving rather fast, aren't we?" He teased darkly, speaking in coarse tones. "No drinks. No walk through the woods - just bite the bullet Bellamy, take off your shirt Bellamy."

"Shut the hell up before I change my mind and let you die." She snapped.

"Ouch, that one really hurt," he replied. "And here I thought Clarke Griffin actually had feelings for me."

Casting a look of imperative warning, she was able to quiet Bellamy with nothing but her eyes. He muttered something under his breath, something about Clarke being a stubborn automaton. She chose to ignore his callous statement.

He slowly brought his legs over the side of the wooden cot and faced her reluctantly. And because Clarke was sitting so close, her legs and knees touching one another, Bellamy had to spread his on either side of hers. Reaching forward, she fingered the hem of his shirt. Getting the shirt off would be a challenge, not to mention awkward, especially after their earlier escapade in Mount Weather. Clarke hesitated for a fraction a second and her knuckles unintentionally brushed his stomach.