Chapter 33
Bellamy awakes very early in the morning, and though he tries to make his exit as stealthily as a shadow, my eyes flutter open at the loss of his warmth.
''Where do you think you're going?'' I mumble sleepily, barely able to keep my eyes open as he's already getting dressed. He freezes and tenses at the sound of my voice with a ''damn'' under his breath.
''A lot to be done,'' he says, approaching to place a kiss on my lips, his hands still zipping his pants up. ''Not for you, though. You should rest more,'' he adds, stopping me with an arm as I make to sit up.
''Screw that. I can't fall asleep again anyway.''
''Lie around in bed then,'' he smirks, pulling on a shirt, ''Get your energy back.''
''You had no problems exhausting me last night,'' I try to fight off my dumb grin. He chuckles.
''Guilty as charged,'' he pulls on the boots, ''Which is why I'm giving you a day off.''
''I think you're forgetting you're no longer in charge here, rebel king,'' I tease, but still sprawled under the warmth of the blankets, not exactly dying to get up and leave the beauty of it.
''You're still a gunner under my command,'' he smiles, ''Aren't you?''
''Sir, yes, sir,'' I wink with a clumsy military salute.
He laughs, ''Stop being cute or I'll never leave this tent.''
''I'd tell you not to leave but...''
''Yeah,'' he says, adjusting his jacket, ''Get something to eat. Spend some time with your dad. But rest. And don't worry about Finn.''
*
''Can you hold it?'' dad asks as he inspects the insides of an Ark wall, checking the wiring, while I hold the metal panel up.
''Dad, I'm not as scrawny as you remember me, yeah I can hold it.''
''I'm sorry, I forgot my daughter's a warrior now,'' he teases, ''Tell me if that light blinks red.''
''What is it exactly that we're doing again?''
''This side of the station died with the impact; I'm trying to find the root of the problem, see if we can get power through again,'' he explains, ''Why are you so curious anyway? You always hated this stuff.''
''Well, I have to do something around here, while Clarke is trying to figure out how to get our friends back. Bellamy didn't want me to do anything today. We're so used to reporting to him I think we half-forget we're not in the Drop-Ship camp anymore.''
''Bellamy, eh?'' dad speaks, now half-inside the wall, his head so far in he needs a flashlight to see in the middle of the day, ''A good young man that Blake kid. Troublesome, but good.''
I don't know why I flush with some sort of half-pride half-embarrassment. I'm happy dad has a good opinion of Bellamy, but it's still a bit weird. He's definitely on to something, and I haven't told him anything. It's a good thing he can't see my reaction too. For a split-second I am back to being an embarrassed little girl.
''Yeah, without him we wouldn't have survived.''
''He shot Jaha.''
''He was desperate. And he was pardoned,'' I say instantly, ''I would have done the same.''
''I didn't mean anything by it,'' dad says, as though saying ''relax'', and though I can't see his face I can practically hear the smile, ''If he's cared for you when I couldn't, I'm grateful.''
Well, no official announcements needed, apparently. Dad knows. Which is great, having it out of the way. Even though he never showed it, dad was always wary of boys, ever since Cole. He always had an eye on whoever was around me, without me even able to notice it. The only boy he ever trusted was John Murphy, and that was no wonder. Back in the day, John would have killed for me. I would have killed for him too.
But I don't like the way dad had phrased that. Something about it just doesn't sit right with me.
''Bellamy is great, dad. And I care about him a lot,'' I say, still feeling a bit awkward about it all, ''He's cared for the hundred as a whole. He's done all he could to keep us alive. So did Clarke. So did I; so did almost everyone.''
I can see him nod, now twisting the wire around another, ''You proved to be tougher than any of us knew.''
''But I cared for myself. No one else. For a long while at least. You don't know what it was like in the beginning. I hunted, I fought, I slept with an eye open and a knife next to my head. I licked my own wounds. All me.''
He drops the wires, turns around, and steps out. I close down the panel. He has some sort of broken look on his face. Almost guilty.
''You shouldn't have had to,'' he shakes his head, then places a hand on my cheek, ''You were just a kid.''
''Were,'' I repeat, emphasizing the point, placing a hand over his, giving him just a small smile because this isn't his fault no matter how he feels, ''The reason I'm still alive is that I no longer am.''
He frowns at that, hating it, I know - hating the reality of it. Because it's true; the kid in me is dead and gone, and he couldn't have protected it. He can't bring the kid back either. I don't need him to take care of me anymore; I don't need anyone. I can only decide to let him, but I don't need him, not in that way. What I need of him now is just to be there. To be there and be dad and stay alive because I love him and he's the last remaining thread of my past life that I can't even look back on anymore because it's too painful.
''I'm proud of you,'' he says, in spite of himself.
''I know,'' I smile, ''Now let's get back to work.''
''We can't,'' he says, taking a rag from the pile of tools he's brought to clean his hands, ''Not without Wick anyway.''
''Should I bring him?''
''He needs to check this entire side, because I fear we might need to completely re-design it.''
''Damn. That bad?''
''Yeah.''
''Monty would probably have some bright ideas,'' I smile, then almost shudder, ''God, I hope he's okay.''
''You were tough enough to survive this much,'' dad tries to encourage me, ''If that's anything to go by, I'd give the kids in the mountain more credit.''
I smile in appreciation, ''I'll go get Wick.''
*
''Raven!'' I call out - the room looks empty.
''Wassup?'' she peeks out of what seems like a big metal locker, some tools in her hands.
''You busy?''
''Eh, a bit of this bit of that,'' she shrugs, taking the stuff to the worktable. Her limp seems lesser than yesterday, but it's still there, together with the brace as a terrible reminder of all the damage John Murphy has done, ''Why?''
''Just checking on you,'' I shrug, ''I was actually looking for Wick.''
''Ugh,'' she rolls her eyes, ''Why do you need his annoying ass?''
I chuckle, ''Dad needs him.''
''He should be back soon,'' she replies, looking for something across the room, ''He always is. Never gives me a break.''
''You're getting around pretty well,'' I say, then instantly half-regret it. I feel bad for her, but I don't pity her and I don't want it to sound like that. After everything, pity is the last thing I could feel for Raven Reyes. Respect, admiration, fondness, maybe annoyance, and trust. Jealousy once too, but no longer. All of those things, but never pity.
Thankfully, she doesn't seem to take any offence in it. She even offers a smile, though it never reaches her eyes. She's still coping. She looks like she has it together, but it will be a while until that's really true.
''Dealing with it,'' she says, ''You seen Finn?''
''No,'' I sigh, ''I'm kind of avoiding the camp altogether. Been helping dad all morning. You?''
''Yeah. He's... dealing with it.''
''It's a whole lot to deal with,'' I reason, ''We should just let him, you know. Let him deal with it. Let him just... work around camp, and not be up on his ass. It might be more helpful.''
''Reyes, I'm going to blow your mind! Guess what kind of brilliant design I just- Oh. We have visitors.''
Raven rolls her eyes, but I can't help but chuckle at Wick's playfulness, straight from the door. There aren't many people around still making light of days and spreading positive vibes through some humor, be it lousy or not. Jasper used to be like that... And Finn, even. Not anymore.
''You're needed, Wick, leave the premises,'' Raven bickers.
''Dad's in the west ward,'' I explain, ''And it seems like you're gonna have your hands full.''
''Ouch,'' he frowns, ''That bad?''
''Yeah. I'd bring snacks if I were you.''
*
''You're pretty good with that,'' I hear Octavia say behind me as I unleash another arrow that gets stuck in the wooden post. We have a handful of those behind the Ark station, at everyone's disposal for practice. They serve well enough.
''Practice,'' I say, ''I've had a bit of it over the past days.''
''Can I try?''
''Only if you train with me,'' I smile, handing her the bow, ''Lincoln taught you how to fight, right?''
''Yeah,'' she says, taking an arrow from my quiver, some sourness entering her voice at the remembrance of him, ''He taught me a lot. The basics of it, at least.''
''Then it's a deal,'' I say, ''Spread your legs a bit. Shoulders relaxed. Arrow at eye level.''
She figures out the rules of it immediately, and her posture is flawless. I'm almost jealous at how naturally talented she apparently is at everything martial. It had taken me much longer to figure out the perfect stance. She aims, and she releases, and the arrow flies past the post.
''That's great.''
''Great? It flew right past.''
''That's just a matter of practice,'' I explain, ''But you got the posture down to perfection. Just focus, when you aim. Relax and try not to think about anything.''
''So what now?'' she asks as she aims, not referring to archery at all, ''Bellamy told you anything?''
''No,'' I tell her, ''I haven't seen him since this morning. I don't think he knows anything either. We wait on the Council.''
''I don't know how much longer we can wait,'' she hisses and growls through her teeth as she releases the arrow, this one flying past the post as well.
''I know,'' I say, though calmly, ''But we'll get them out.''
She aims once more, anger seemingly gone and composure back - she's figured out how to rein in her anger quickly.
''Lincoln too,'' she adds, almost as an after-thought.
I don't know how possible that is or just what kind of trouble he's in, but I indulge her. ''Lincoln too,'' I nod.
*
Some sort of harmony always falls upon the camp with nightfall. Darkness does that to you - makes you light fires and do your last of day's work diligently and it makes you cling to friends and hope to God no boogeymen come in the night. Except that the boogeymen are very real now. And they could very well come.
With the Guard here we aren't completely defenseless in case of sudden retaliation but it still wouldn't be enough should the Grounders decide to unleash hell upon us. Finn has been cleared on the Council, but the threat of the Grounders' vengeance still looms above us all. We all know, somewhere, somehow, that it's a possibility. Not many say it out loud though.
I've seen Finn across the camp, going about, from one task to another, as though afraid to sit down and be alone with his own self. Keeping busy seems as good a technique as any, especially when the girl you love seems to completely ignore you, or - as Finn has said - refuses to even look at you. I understand Clarke, though. That doesn't mean it isn't heartbreaking to see Finn in the state that he's in. He doesn't talk to anyone much - that I see at least. The only person I've seen him with a few times throughout the day is Murphy. Murphy has to have seen me, but he seems to subtly be avoiding me. That means he still has some of his sharp wits about him. Best he stays away.
I tense when I feel two arms wrap around my waist, then relax when Bellamy place his head on my shoulder, his breath tickling my neck. I am too used to being on high alert.
''It's just me,'' he kisses my cheek.
''Old habits die hard.''
''Good thing you don't have a knife on you then.''
''Better hope my dad doesn't have one,'' I joke. He straightens up a bit, in mock fear. I laugh, wholeheartedly; he seems to really loosen up and have some fun around me, which makes me beyond happy. I am glad I can offer him that much with my presence, if only for a few moments.
''Is he watching?''
''He might be,'' I grin, ''Don't worry, though. He sings praises about you.''
''What- really?'' he turns me around, a frown of amusement on his somewhat scarred but still beautiful face.
''Yes, really,'' I smile, ''So you're off the hook.''
''What did he say?''
''I'm not going to quote my father, Bellamy,'' I chuckle, pulling on his hand, ''Come on.''
''Where are we going?''
''Anywhere I can't see Murphy's face.''
''Yeah, about that,'' he reminds me, ''We should talk about Murphy.''
''Right,'' I say, turning back to flash him a grin, ''But I'd rather not talk about him before sex. Fatal turn-off.''
He smirks, picks up the pace, only to lift me up and literally carry me into his tent to our left. If no one's seen that, I'm sure my squeal could be heard.