❝sometimes the people closest to you could be the ones holding you back the most.❞

-lydia martin, teen wolf

♛

FINN'S CONDITION IS GETTING worse with every passing minute that we are forced to wait for Medical. Every inch of his skin is coated with a thin layer of sweat as quick breaths fall unevenly from his pale lips. Every so often, his eyes will dart around beneath his closed eyelids, which causes me to feel even more uneasy than I already am.

"The blade is at a sharp upward angle, between the sixth and seventh ribs," Clarke explains to her mother after we are given the okay to do so. She stands close enough that she can see the knife protruding from his skin, but also keeps her distance at the same time. I can tell just by the way her hands move as she talks that she's incredibly nervous.

"Okay, how deep?" Abby questions calmly.

"I can't tell how deep it goes," Clarke replies with a sigh as she makes her way closer to Finn.

"I think it's about three inches, maybe four," I respond. Clarke sends me a grateful, deflated grin of thanks, to which I nod at and look away. I'm not going to forgive her so easily. It's progress.

It's taking every fiber of my being not to fall right asleep. I have to blink hard in order to prevent the world from swirling if I keep my eyes open for too long. My head is swimming. Clarke, Raven, Octavia, or anyone else have yet to notice that my knees are wobbling.

Abby releases a shaking breath. "Don't remove the knife yet."

Raven is getting more and more impatient the longer we wait. Her hands are shaking and restless, so she tries to rest them on her hips as she paces back and forth near us. Her eyebrows are pushed together in an expression that screams how worried she is.

"Hey, here," Clarke says, handing the bottle of Moonshine to her. "Sterilize your hands."

Raven takes the alcohol and sets it down beside Finn's head. She removes her woolen, fingerless gloves and tosses them aside, then brings the bottle to her mouth and swallows a heaping gulp of the burning liquid. She coughs at the taste and pours the rest on each of her hands.

"Can you see any fluid?" Abby asks. Her voice is getting less and less clear as the storm continues its mad act of destruction outside. The wind howls with ferocious blows that slightly rock the dropship every so often, causing me to sneak anxious glances to the ruined cloth that acts as a makeshift door.

Before Clarke or I can respond, a boy shouts, "Hey, watch it!" He shoves another boy with such force that it sends him bumping into Clarke.

"Damn it!" she exclaims as she sends the boy a glare, then turns to Raven. "Clear the room."

Raven nods before facing the crowd that's surrounding us, mostly respecting our space. "Everyone, upstairs! Now! Let's go!"

There is no complaint as the people shuffle to the ladder, murmurs swirling through the air. Clarke reaches over and lightly presses the back of her hand against Finn's forehead. "He feels a little warm."

"Okay, that's all right," Abby's voice comments lightly. "Fever sometimes accompanies trauma. Clarke, Fallon, I need you to tell me if there is any fluid leaking from the wound."

I lean closer to Finn's abdomen and blink hard, letting my vision come together. There is a coppery scent that wafts up my nose the closer I get to the knife embedded into his skin. Blood clots around it, mostly dry with time, but it doesn't stop me from cringing. "I don't see any, no."

Abby sighs in relief and mutters something to Sinclair. Her voice gets louder as she says, "That's good. Actually, really good. He got lucky."

"Hear that?" Raven asks an unconscious Finn with a slight chuckle at the news. "You're lucky."

Clarke presses her lips into a line and looks the other way. I wonder if she now understands how I have felt these past few days.

My knees buckle again and I feel my feet slip out from beneath me. Before I realize what's happening, I'm lying flat on the ground. The ceiling of the dropship is blending together and my eyelids are so heavy that they could close any second. Clarke and Raven rush to help me up after the noise makes them jump. They lift me back to a standing position, grabbing each of my hands and hauling me to my feet.

"What was that?" Abby asks frantically, probably thinking something went wrong with Finn. Her voice crackles in between syllables.

"Fallon just collapsed," Clarke yells to her mother in reply, before bringing me closer to her and immediately checking my temperature with her hand. "You're not fine. Why did you agree to help us?"

I sway on my feet as I sleepily reply, "Because Finn's life is more important than my sleep."

Clarke shakes her head quickly, concern filling her eyes. Just when she opens her mouth to speak, Abby does it for her. "Fallon, what's wrong?"

"Tired," I reply in a hoarse mumble. The only thing on my mind is slumber, no matter where I have to lie down to get it. "So, so tired."

"When's the last time you slept through the night?"

I blink hard again, trying to remember the last time I wasn't interrupted as I slept. "Um, I don't remember. Not since I came to Earth."

Clarke shares a grave look with Raven. I can see the guilt quickly filling her eyes, as if she thinks it's her fault that she hadn't noticed, as if I didn't already choose between sleep and Finn, as if she had been paying attention to me at all these past few days. I feel a pang in my heart that hurts more than usual.

Abby's sigh is cut off midway through. "Sleep deprivation. She needs rest, and lots of it."

Raven points to the ladder. "Go up to the third level. I don't care if Bellamy forbid you from going up there- tell him to shut up and deal with it."

I nod and promptly stumble when I try to take a step. When Clarke nearly dives forward to catch me, I regain my balance and hold a hand up to stop her. "I can reach the ladder by myself."

She hesitates, but nods and takes a step back. My feet feel like dead weights when I try and move them across the floor. It takes an immense effort to move my heavy body towards the top floor. I grasp the rungs tightly with determination, as if trying to awaken my nerves at the feel of the cold metal. I heave myself up it with my head spinning and darkness becoming more and more inviting.

When I push open the hatch, the first thing Bellamy does is yell at me. "Fallon, I told you to stay downstairs."

Without answering, I take a few more steps up and lose my balance, falling onto the floor with a thud for the second time. Since my legs are still below and I fall sideways, a pulse of pain shoots up my thigh where it presses into the hatch.

Miller jumps, putting a hand to his chest. "Jesus."

Since my hair covers my face, I can't see what's going on. It feels like a hangover without the throbbing headache. Every sound has been magnified, so the pounding of someone's shoes on the floor sounds like bombs rippling through the ground.

I'm lifted up by my waist. The person pulls me so all of my body is on the top level, then pauses before hoisting me up into their arms like I'm some sort of baby. It's really no question that it's Bellamy- none of the others would actually do this. I'm not complaining. His arms are much more comfortable than the floor.

"Why are you up here?" he asks somewhat harshly, but even my sleepy mind can tell that he's really just trying to keep up with the act.

I open my eyes halfway since that's as far as they can go. Bellamy is looking down at me, hair still slightly damp, and face now clean of mud. His jacket is gone and all he's in is a dark gray t-shirt, or maybe it's light gray but it's just wet. I'm not exactly sure, and I don't feel like debating on the color of Bellamy's shirt because my mind is beginning to turn to mush.

"Raven banished me," I reply, barely able to get the words out.

Miller scoffs. "What, did you stab another knife into Finn or something?"

Bellamy rolls his eyes and sends a fierce glare his way. "Shut up, Miller." He turns back to me, the harsh look evaporating from his face. "Tell me what happened."

I shake my head. "Too tired."

My eyes close and I fall asleep in the arms of Bellamy Blake.

--

When I wake up, I feel like I've slept for years. Time is nonexistent. For all I know, I could have slept for centuries. The only difference I feel is that I'm more awake than I've felt in a long while.

I've been stuffed against the far wall of the upper level, curled up on the floor with my back against the wall. It takes me a second to realize that I'm not alone. Distant voices sharpen into focus and I let my eyes blink open. Blurry figures stand a little ways away from me, two upright and one sitting down.

"--I just wish I could say we were getting some justice," Miller's voice says. I blink again, and realize that he's standing in front of the Grounder we're keeping hostage. The man is shirtless. His brown skin is marked with black, sharp lines that curl around his biceps and collarbones. His face is busted up, with a few damaged marks on his muscled abdomen as well. There are seatbelts tying his wrists down to ensure that he won't go anywhere. The sight of him like that gives me chills that spike down my spine.

"We're not killing him," Bellamy counters in a dull tone. Miller sends him an annoyed glance and puckers his lips, grabbing something from a bowl beside the hostage.

I sit up, suddenly dreading what he's about to do. My heart starts to beat faster. I'm not even aware of the jacket that slides off of me at my sudden movement or the fabric that has been my makeshift pillow.

"You were a lot scarier when you had that face paint on," Miller mutters darkly, standing about a foot from the Grounder. The latter refuses to look at him, only staring at the floor between their feet. Miller slides his hand across the Grounder's cheek and smears a thick paste of berries across his already red, bleeding skin. In response, our hostage jerks his head forward and hits Miller's skull hard, successfully sending him crumpling to the floor.

Bellamy does absolutely nothing to stop it, and the only sound in the room is Miller's groans of agony as he lies on the ground. The air is thick with tension as Bellamy simply sits and the Grounder stares off into space. He seems to be completely indifferent to what he just did.

I decide that this is the appropriate time to make myself known. After gently removing the jacket - of which I quickly identify as Bellamy's - I stand and stretch my arms above my head. The shuffling causes Bellamy to turn.

"Have a nice sleep, Amazon?" he questions with a raise of his eyebrow.

I yawn and nod, walking toward him and dropping the jacket on his head. "Yep. Thanks for the blanket, by the way. It was very comfortable."

Bellamy doesn't answer as he takes the clothing in his hand. I see him shake his head out of the corner of my eye. He has an amused smirk on his face.

Then I remember the Grounder. For the briefest of moments, his dark, almost black eyes flicker to me before they dart back to the floor again, almost like he didn't want me to catch him. I take a hesitant step toward him and sense no visible reaction.

"Careful," Bellamy warns as he sends a pointed look to the boy on the floor beside my shoes. "He's unpredictable."

I scoff and point to Miller. "He deserved that. I'm not going to smear food on his face."

On the table beside the Grounder, I notice an already blood-soaked cloth and a bowl of murky water. The cloth is rough in my hands as I dip it into the liquid, taking another step closer to the Grounder to test the waters. He doesn't look like he's going to hit me in the head. However, there's a certain mysterious, dangerous aura to him that I can't help but be nervous about.

I reach forward and take a deep breath before swiftly pressing the damp cloth against his face. Gently, I wipe away the clumps of berries and the stain of maroon juice from his skin. The cuts just above his eyes are dry, but he gives the slightest of winces when I touch them, so I know the wounds are relatively fresh.

It's silent while this happens. The Grounder still won't look at me, but I'm actually grateful for that because it makes me less uneasy. I can feel Bellamy's careful stare as he watches us with his guard up in case something happens. When I finish, I pat the Grounder's face dry and set the bowl down on the table.

I turn around to discover that Bellamy has, in fact, been watching the whole time. It gives me a strange sense of comfort.

"You can't fight fire with gasoline, Bellamy," I say lowly. "You need to confront it with water."

With one final look at him to make sure he gets the point, I walk to the hatch and climb down the ladder. Octavia sits on a chair just a few feet from the bottom. Her head is tilted back and she stares at the ceiling blankly.

"Is Bellamy still up there?" she questions, craning her neck to see me.

I nod. "Yeah. He'll be coming down soon, though."

Octavia tilts her head back up again and huffs. "Great."

I take that as a sign she's in a bad mood and start to walk out of the dropship. The sky is much clearer now that the storm has long passed, and I feel a slight burn as my eyes adjust to the impossibly bright sun. It's hotter than normal, but still chilly enough that my jacket comes in handy. I dig my hands into my pockets and hop down the ramp.

Almost immediately, I'm greeted by Clarke. She bounds over to me with an almost excited expression. "Hey, Fallon, how you feeling?"

It's weird to hear her say this after what felt like a forever-long feud, but it warms my heart that she's talking to me again. I even find myself raising my lips in half a smile. "Great, thanks."

Clarke comes to a stop right in front of me. "Good, because I need you to come with me. Any idea where Bellamy is?"

"He's still inside." I jerk my head toward the dropship. "Why? Where are we going?"

She sighs and directs her gaze to the ship behind me. "You'll see- it's better if I tell you both at the same time."

She brushes past me and heads inside, ducking through the new cloth they had set up while I was asleep. I quickly follow behind.

"The answer is still no," Bellamy's hard voice says as he attempts to walk right past us. "I'm not talking to Jaha."

"Hey, relax. That's not why I'm here." Clarke turns to face him as he nears the door.

Bellamy stops with a disbelieving expression on his face as he looks down at her. He doesn't seem amused. It's a strange expression for him to have considering how he had treated me before I fell asleep- he even rolls his eyes. "What, then?"

"The Ark found some old records that show a supply depot not too far from here," Clarke replies. She either doesn't notice how unamused he is, or is choosing to ignore it.

I shift my weight onto my opposite foot and tilt my head to the side. "Supplies? Like what?"

"Like the kind that might give us a chance to live through winter. I'm gonna go check it out. I could use backup."

"Why are you asking me?" Bellamy questions skeptically. Since he and Clarke aren't the definition of close, even I'm surprised that she's requesting he come along with us.

"Well, because aside from Fallon, I don't feel like being around anyone I actually like," Clarke retorts matter-of-factly with a simple raise of her eyebrows.

Bellamy blinks in shock and pulls his lips into a line. He swiftly directs his gaze away from her. I follow his line of vision to see he's looking at Octavia, who's still stationed by the foot of the ladder. "I'll get my stuff, meet you in ten."

Clarke nods and exits the dropship. Bellamy and I share a brief moment of eye contact before I follow her out as well, into the morning breeze and blinding sun.

And all the while, I still can't figure out just why Clarke refuses to see the good in Bellamy.

-------

what is this???? are clarke and fallon acTUALLY reconciling a little bit?? maybe, maybe not. it's progress.

but can we talk about how bellamy put his jacket over fallon like a blanket he's so cute bye

-kristyn