Chapter Text
8. “Everything go okay?” aka the one where Clarke goes solo
“Okay,” she says- as she stands with her hands on her hips, looking over what had once been an intricately stacked and organized mountain of firewood. “Okay- I’m going to ask one last time and I’m not even mad,” she lies, “really. I just want to know what happened.”
Jasper is standing next to her, his head bowed, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he’s starting to get a headache. Somewhere on the other side of this catastrophe is Raven – checking to make sure no one is buried under the wreckage.
“What exactly do you mean?” Dylan asks, he’s one of the three man-children Clarke is currently interrogating.
“What do you mean, what does she mean?” Jasper asks – so loud that Clarke is reminded that despite his occasional goofiness, Jasper has very little patience for perceived unintelligence, “how the fuck did the firewood collapse?! What else could she possibly mean?”
“Well to be fair, it didn’t all happen at once!” Dylan defends. “One part fell- and then it hit another- which hit another.”
“That’s not what she’s asking about!” Jasper yells, “That’s basic science. She needs to know who the fuck knocked over the first part!
She holds a hand out to steady Jasper- who may actually be trying to become Bellamy, “Calm down,” she tells him.
“No, you can’t be calm,” Jasper says, “these idiots don’t respond to calm.”
Bellamy’s injuries had truly taken a toll on everyone. His massive boots had to be filled and Clarke couldn’t do it on her own- not with her own boots to worry about. So she’d expected others to step up. Raven had been working with Miller to keep the guard rotation organized, Octavia was helping with hunting and scouting trips, Monty had learned to keep one eye on the main fire the entire day (the way that only Bellamy could), and Jasper- well Jasper had taken to being Clarke’s Bellamy Soundboard. He helped in his own way of course- because he was a subtle kind of intelligent that often went unappreciated, but lately he’d been following Clarke around with a surly look on his face. Trying to help her keep that balance that was failing in Bellamy’s absence. In a way it was extremely strange, but in another, bigger way, it was incredibly sweet and oddly comforting.
“The important thing,” Clarke says- trying as hard as she can to maintain her diplomatic tone despite wanting to kick the kid in the shins, “is that we know what happened so it won’t happen again.”
“Fine,” Dylan says. He shuffles around on his feet and looks over at his friends, “there was a bee.”
“A bee?” Clarke asks, “a bee toppled the firewood?”
“No,” he says, “a bee attacked us and-“ he lets out an embarrassed sigh, “we accidentally knocked it over.”
“So,” Jasper says, “in your hurry to run away from a bug, you ran into a five foot stack of firewood- and then just stood here and watched as the whole thing fell?”
All three of them start rambling about it being an accident, and the bee being huge, and maybe being, allergic. Clarke squeezes her eyes together and takes a few deep breaths. Beside her Jasper is laughing, “My God you are lucky Bellamy got shot,” he says, “because if he were here, you’d probably be dead.”
“Jasper!” Clarke chastises.
“What? I’m being honest. This is going to take days to fix- not to mention how easily someone could have gotten hurt- this would have been a classic tyrannical King-style Bellamy freak out.”
“The key words are would have,” Clarke says, “Bellamy is resting – and that means that currently, this is none of his business.”
“But we need him to-“
“No, no, no,” Clarke says quickly, “you don’t need him to do anything. He’s busy regaining use of the lower half of his body. You three- along with everyone else assigned to work lumber this week- are going to work with Raven to get this back up.”
“But-“
“Why would you argue with me?” she questions. “What about this could you possibly find confusing? I gave you and order- you follow it. This was your fault, so you fix it.”
Dylan and his friends open their mouths like they’re going to continue to argue so Clarke turns her back on them. “Jasper- can you stay here and help Raven get this started?”
He glances over where Raven is cursing under her breath in Spanish- she knows very little Spanish, only the curse words her mother had passed down to her. She’d broken them out very few times over the years. It seemed to make Jasper very weary.
“Just do what she asks and slip away when she gets distracted,” Clarke pleads, “mostly I just need to you to keep these idiots in line until more people show up to help. I have to go meet the hunting party and head off Octavia before she see’s Bellamy-“
“Are you still drugging him?” Jasper asks.
Clarke narrows her eyes, outraged that she still has to defend her completely ethical actions, “I am not drugging him,” she says, “I’m giving him a natural sleep aid, that’s helping him rest so he can heal. Even Octavia agrees-“
“You’re trying to keep him unconscious so that he doesn’t hear about shit like this and come hobbling out here. I get it Clarke. I’m just joking,” he says with hands raised in surrender, “trying to lighten the mood.”
She shakes her head and storms away from him, “I don’t have time for that Jasper- this place is fucking falling apart.”
It’s not really. Nothing is happening that doesn’t happen all the time- but this week has been an absolute week from hell and without Bellamy shouldering some of it, Clarke feels like she’s drowning.
There were six pretty severely injured people when they came back to camp- all from some ambush in the meadow near what used to be Mount Weather- where Lincoln said they believed a northern clan had been raiding weapons bunkers for years. The bullets she’d pulled out of them looked much different than the ones they’d used. That on its own was terrifying- even if Lincoln had assured her that their lands were secure for now.
While all that was going on, there was an unsanctioned fire in camp that did some damage to three tents, which meant three people needed to be relocated.
An animal had gotten into one of the gardens and destroyed their turnip plants.
One of the older girls is pretty sure she’s pregnant.
John Murphy is feuding with the kid who keeps trying to build a rockwall around his tent.
No one is drinking enough water.
It seems like there is an infestation of bees somewhere in camp.
And Clarke can’t get Bellamy’s blood stain off of her favorite shirt.
The worst part of it will be organizing funeral services for the two kids they’d lost, but she knows Bellamy would never forgive her if she did that without him.
She’s never walked so defensively through this camp. With every step she waits for someone to tell her that something horrible has happened, it feels like their giant walls are actually closing in on her. She wants to sit out in the quiet of the forest for a while, but there’s no Bellamy to leave things to. There’s no one watching- and everyone who had her back before is picking up slack in other ways.
Every once in a while it hits her- that this would be her life if he had died. The thought makes her legs feels numb.
“Clarke!”
As she approaches the main gate she sees Octavia waving to her- looking like a fucking warlord dressed in her hunting gear. She’s the only one standing in the group- the rest are crouched down on the ground surrounding something. Clarke increases her speed and prays that someone isn’t dead.
When she breaks through their circle, there’s a dead boar on the ground- a massive dead boar.
“I thought Bellamy told you to stay away from the boar?” she asks Octavia- because in their slow struggle to return to normalcy the hunting parties were still a few people smaller than they should be.
Octavia rolls her eyes- the way she always does when she’s underestimated. “It wasn’t exactly at full strength,” she says- pointing to the underbelly of the boar where’s there’s a large black spot covering the skin. As Clarke walks around the group to get a better look at it, she’s hit with a smell, much worse than your general dying animal kind of smell.
The people on the ground are starting to take steps back now- it actually looking like the spot is growing as they watch it.
“What the hell is that?” Octavia asks.
“I don’t know,” Clarke says, “could be some kind of bacterial infection or something. It’s certainly not edible.”
Octavia lets out loud groan, “Well then we’re fucked.”
“Octavia,” Clarke scorns- looking around at the others who can hear them.
“This entire area has been a warzone for weeks. Animals don’t stick around when there’s gunfire Clarke. It’ll take months for things to go back to normal.”
“We’ll make do,” Clarke says- it sounds more like a warning than a reassurance. “Just- someone get this thing out of here- carefully. Bury it somewhere, don’t leave it for something else to eat. The last thing we need is some kind of bacterial disease spreading through here Black Plague style.”
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Octavia asks, “shoot rabbits from the wall?”
“Just- do what you can do,” Clarke says, “has Lincoln mentioned anything else about those chickens?”
Octavia shrugs, “They’re still a mess,” she says, “I’m sure the deal is still on, but it’ll probably be a while.”
Clarke nods, “Alright- can you just- make sure that gets out of here? I have to drag Monty to the gardens and see what’s edible.”
“How’s Bellamy?” Octavia asks.
“Good,” Clarke says- happy to discuss some good news, “no infection yet. He had some broth last night. He’s resting again today, so he’s probably not very lucid.”
She nods.
“And the firewood stacks fell over this morning so I need him to stay exactly where he is until they’re back up.”
“Wait the stacks- as in all of them?”
“Domino effect,” Clarke says bitterly.
“Okay,” Octavia nods- slipping back into business-mode, “we’ll deal with the boar, and then I’ll head back to the main fire- make sure that didn’t topple over too.”
“Thank you,” Clarke says in relief.
“Sure thing,” Octavia says- calling out to remind her to eat as she rushes away. It sounds so much like he brother that Clarke catches herself smiling.
She doesn’t make it to the gardens without incident. Fox stops her- timidly apologizing for the interruption. They’re running low on material for clothing, blanket, and tent repairs. Clarke wasn’t surprised by this at all- but it was still another harsh reminder of how important trade agreements are going to be in the oncoming months.
“Just be as sparse as you can,” Clarke tells her, “we’re working on it- I promise.”
“I know,” she says, “it’s just- with the tent damage.”
“I know, I know – I have a shirt I can donate,” she says, “it’s just- I mean, it’s covered in blood.”
Fox smiles, “That doesn’t really matter- half of Harper’s tent is made of the blanket we got from that old car. That has stains of every shape and color on it.”
It’s good that she can find humor in it. That’s honestly the best way to survive down here- you have to laugh at some point, at something. Which is why when Clarke finally makes it to the Gardens and see’s Monty with mud splattered all over his face she can’t help but let out a laugh.
“This is not funny,” he says, “I’ve chased off three of them today. We need to figure something out.”
Clarke sighs and looks around. “We can’t even find the spot they’re getting through on the wall. Murphy told Bellamy he’d patched one, but obviously that was bullshit.”
“Well- then while we’re relying so much on this we need to station someone here.”
“To guard against Rabbits?”
“If you want cabbages- yeah.”
“Speaking of cabbages,” she says, “we need something for tonight and tomorrow morning.”
Monty looks at her with wide eyes, “I thought the hunting party was back-“
“It didn’t go well.”
He groans. “I mean- yeah we can figure something out but people are going to hate it.”
“It’s temporary. We need to eat to survive, it doesn’t matter if it tastes like hot water and dirt.”
“Which it will.”
“Monty.”
“Fine, alright- I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you.”
“You talked to Bellamy today?”
“Not since early this morning, why?”
“Just wondering if he heard about the wood-“
“No, and I want to keep it that way.”
She leaves Monty in his garden and drags her feet across the ground to clear her shoes of mud. Her next stop should be Bellamy. He’s probably awake by now- growing restless and angry, especially with no one around to bitch at.
She’s right of course, and when she pulls back the plastic she’d used as a divider to give him some privacy – he’s leaning up- trying to get a look at his bandages like he was planning on ripping them off himself.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
He jumps a bit, and the rolls his eyes and settles back onto the cot. “Looking for blood,” he says.
She checks his bandages- they’ll need to be changed soon, but the wound appears to be healing. His coloring looks better also, and when she holds hand to his forehead he doesn’t feel any hotter than usual.
“I need to bath,” he says.
“I brought you water yesterday- you’re fine.”
“My hair feels fucking disgusting,” he groans.
“Yeah- well it sort of is.” She sits down on the rickety stool next to him and takes a deep breath.
She’s trying not to let her exhaustion show- but even in the dim light he sees it. His eyes narrow at her.
“Everything going okay?” he asks.
She should tell him that it is. She should tell him that everything is going great and he has nothing to worry about- but they made that agreement to never lie to each other and she feels so fucking overwhelmed that all she can do is fall forward and rest her head on the arm he has laying at his side.
His skin feels warm, his arm smells like that herby soap Monty had given him to use. She breathes in and out a few times. His hand rests against the back of her head- tangling in her already tangled hair.
He calls her name, but she ignores him. Being near him, hearing his voice, it’s regenerating her somehow – like a divine reassurance that the way life is right now is only temporary.
Then he starts to move- like he’s trying to rotate his hips to swing his feet out of bed, and Clarke puts a hand on his knee to hold him down.
“I’m fine,” she says- slowly sittiing back up, “seriously it’s all fine.”
He scoffs, “It doesn’t seem fine.”
“You just-“ she brushes her hair back into place with her fingers, “you have no idea how happy I am that you’re alive.”
“Clarke,” he warns, because he knows she’s keeping something in.
The problem is, she doesn’t know exactly how to say it without making it into more than it is. When you’re not out there everything feels different., I’m not myself when I can’t turn to you., This is bullshit and if you ever pull this again, I’ll end you myself.
Eventually she settles for simplicity. “We’ve got a good system around here,” she says, “when it gets thrown off things just get… difficult.”
“If it weren’t for you drugging me things would be back to normal-“
“I’m not drugging you,” she says, slamming her hands down on the side of the cot.
“Okay, fine,” he mocks, “This is necessary. How much longer?”
“At least three days here- and then another two weeks without doing any physical activity.”
He sits up a bit, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Did you not hear what I just said? We need you here- I’m not going to let you fuck that up because you’re impatient.”
“Clarke,” he says- intensely, “you look like you haven’t slept since we got back- you can’t do this by yourself.”
And of course he would make this out like she’s the one that needs saving.
“I’m not,” she says, “I have help.”
“It’s not the same and you know it,” he says with that arrogance that bleeds into his words when he’s not paying attention. “At least talk to me. Stop pretending like everything is alright and tell me what’s going on.”
She shakes her head, “I can’t tell you anything. You can’t go on a rage walk right now. What’ll happen to this room?”
“Stop acting like I’m a fucking werewolf,” he says, “ I’m a grown man, we’ve been doing this for a long time. Tell me what’s going on.”
She should. She owes it to him. If this was reversed and he was keeping things from her she’d be irate.
“Fine- “she says, “but if I hear one expletive, you’re done.”
He rolls his eyes, “Fine.”
“There’s a shortage of fabric,” Clarke says- starting off with an easy one, “but we knew that was coming. Murphy has been having issues with Kye Schaffer –“
“The kid with the rocks?”
“Yeah.”
Bellamy shakes his head, but he still seems relatively calm.
“They brought back a boar this morning-“
“What!”
“Calm down, it was already dying. It has some disgusting black spot that was spreading like crazy so I told them to get rid of it. Octavia said there wasn’t much out there so I guess we just have to hope whatever it was, was an isolated incident.”
“That’s just f-“ he breaths in, “that’s just great.”
“And other than that – it’s just small stuff. No one is drinking water like they should be, Monty’s battling those rabbits again, the firewood stacks collapsed, the rope ladder is getting extremely frayed-“
He holds up a hand to stop her, “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Bellamy-“
“The firewood stacks COLLAPSED what the fuck does that mean?”
She stands up. “You’re done.”
“Clarke-“
“No, you obviously can’t handle it.”
“Clarke do not walk out of this room.”
She stops the few backwards steps she’d been taking. “No one was hurt and we’re getting it back up as we speak.”
“Who did it?” he demands.
“That is not relevant to you at this time.”
She sees the red come into his cheeks. A good sign for his recovery – but he certainly shouldn’t be raising his blood pressure like that. “I swear to God if you walk out of this room-”
“Everything is going to be fine,” she says, “as soon as you get better. Please trust me.”
“I do trust you,” he says, “it’s them I don’t trust.” He points out at the camp and she steps back to his bedside.
“It’ll be fine,” she grabs his hand and squeezes.
“I’m still pissed,” he says.
She lets out a bitter laugh, “Oh, I’m pissed too- at you and everyone else, but we don’t have time for that right now.”
“You’re pissed at me?” he repeats incredulously.
She lets her face slip into a glare, “I can’t get your blood stains out of my favorite shirt,” she says.
He looks away from her quickly- quick enough that she knows exactly what that experience was like for her. “Sorry about your shirt,” he says
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
He just nods and stares up at the ceiling. “Alright, “he finally says- and it still sounds like he’s mocking her a little bit. “I’ll sit here and I’ll get better.”
“Thank you.”
As she walks out of the room she hears him mumble a few more curses and a “Stop keeping shit from me!”