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CHAPTER TWENTY SIX;

I BET ON LOSING DOGS.

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HAVEN WAS CERTAIN THAT HER RAGE WOULD BE THE DEATH OF HER SOMEDAY. It coursed through her veins like magma, seeking refuge in every crevice of her being—her chest, a volatile cauldron of wrath; her jaw, a vice grip of pent-up fury; her knuckles, bleached white by the strain. With each passing day, it became harder to harness, especially in a world where every breath seemed to test her patience.

        Tension was tenfold within the ammo tent. Currently, the source of her disdain stemmed from the mechanical click of bullets sliding into place along their assembly line. The sound grated against her nerves like nails on a chalkboard, serving as a constant reminder of their perilous situation. To make matters worse–she found herself wedged uncomfortably next to Jasper, his presence serving as a prickly thorn in the already tense atmosphere.

        Every time Jasper cast a glance in Haven's direction, his mouth would part as if he intended to speak, only to snap shut before any words escaped. It was as though he teetered on the edge of an apology, yet faltered each time. Or maybe–he simply didn't want to.

        "There's five to a clip," Bellamy's voice emerged as a thunderclap amidst her thoughts. "Let's go. We need to get these guns on the wall."

Itching for a distraction, Haven glanced up at him, absorbing the way his fingers curled around every bullet before seamlessly slotting them into the chamber. It was no wonder he was entrusted with the crucial insertion step of the assembly line; his skill and speed were unmatched, transforming a mundane task into a captivating spectacle.

Monty peered up from where he'd been tasked with measuring the proper amount of gun powder per bullet. "Why just five?"

"We're running out of gunpowder," Raven responded, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she inspected another bullet before swiftly discarding it into the dud pile.

        Haven could hardly suppress her frown. Honestly, the notion of exhausting all of their ammunition to equip children–barely able to stand–felt like a dire omen, a surrender before the battle even began. However, as she racked her brain for alternatives, nothing else emerged. With the looming threat of an impending attack, they had no option but to suck it up and brace themselves for what lay ahead.

        It was moments like this where she wished she were smarter, more capable. Monty, Clarke, and Raven always seemed to conjure up viable solutions when chaos ensued. Bellamy possessed the courage to execute them–by any means necessary. But what did Haven have? The wrath she walked with, hand in hand? The heart that could hardly beat amidst the perpetual cycle of breaking and mending? All she could offer was clenched fists, the glint of her blade, and a blind hope that maybe, just maybe–it could be enough.

She felt fucking useless.

        Harper heaved a defeated sigh, a pained wince etching across her face as she groaned from the other side of the work table. "Oh, we're so dead."

        "Don't worry," Jasper flashed her a reassuring smile, smoothly loading another magazine into his rifle before reaching for the next one. "I got your back."

        Monty scoffed. Loudly.

Whirling on his heels, Jasper's gaze pierced through the air above Haven's head, fixing Monty with an exasperated glare. "Got something to say?"

"I do," Haven interjected, her voice sharp as she shoulder-checked Jasper aside, moving past him to retrieve the next tray of ammo. "You sure you should be making bullets?" she challenged, "Must be pretty hard to see straight with your head up your ass."

Jasper frowned.

It felt alien to unleash her tongue against the scrawny boy Haven had always known as her shit-eating little brother. Their arguments had always been lighthearted banter, but now–she was tired of being the bigger person. Despite the inner pull to restrain herself, the incessant clicking of the bullets, the stifling atmosphere, and the weight of Jasper's stare was far too overstimulating.

        "Guys–stay focused," Raven's glare zeroed in on Jasper with an intensity that could freeze fire, before softening as it flicked towards Haven. "We're doing good. We need as many rounds done by dawn as we can."

"It won't matter if there's no one left who can shoot."

A rustle in the tarp near the entrance heralded Finn's arrival, allowing fleeting glimpses of sunlight to filter into the tent alongside him. Halting between Bellamy and Harper, he leaned forward, his palms pressing flat against the table as he locked eyes with Raven.

"What do we need to build a bomb?"

A bomb?

Raven regarded him warily, knitting her brows as she considered his question. "Depends on what you're trying to blow up."

        Finn's lips curled into a slight smile. "How about a bridge?"

A faint crease manifested in the center of Bellamy's forehead as he shifted, his hands finding their way to his hips. Briefly, his gaze flickered towards Haven, only to find her mirroring the same perplexed expression as his own. "What are you talking about?"

"Murphy says he crossed a bridge on his way back here from the Grounders' camp." Finn swept his eyes over those present during the recent attack. "Sound familiar?"

Bellamy crossed his arms. "Yeah, so what?"

"So the virus is fast. He's already getting better..."

        At once, Haven caught on. "You want a deterrent," she answered. A slow, knowing smile crept across her face as Finn nodded in acknowledgment. "If we blow up the bridge, it stalls the attack–which gives us more time to recover. We have a far better chance if there's more of us who can fight."

        Finn nodded once more. "Exactly."

        "Holy shit," Haven breathed, her astonishment momentarily eclipsing the great divide that had lingered between them. "That's the smartest thing you've ever thought of. Like, ever."

        Internally, Finn winced at the backhanded compliment, a twinge of discomfort prickling beneath his skin. Externally, he forced himself not to grimace. "Thanks, Hav."

        Beaming, Haven eagerly turned to gauge Bellamy's reaction, only to find him unmoved. His arms remained rigidly crossed over his chest, his jaw clenched in contemplation as the gears in his mind audibly churned. Somehow, he seemed even more stressed out than he was before. So, without hesitation–she swiftly maneuvered between him and Raven, her fingers instinctively curling around his forearm.

        "It's true," she exclaimed, maintaining a soft tone in spite of the death grip on his jacket sleeve. "This could give us a chance, Bell."

        Beside himself, Bellamy found himself irresistibly drawn to Haven's earnest eyes, captivated by the way they shimmered with something other than unshed tears–for once. Gone was the weight of the perpetual frown that had burdened her throughout the day, replaced by a radiant optimism that dared him to entertain thoughts beyond their impending doom.

        Hope; that's what she had given him.

        Hope.

        "I've been hearing a whole lotta that recently," Bellamy huffed, his fingers momentarily skimming over Haven's in a tacit acceptance of her reassurance. "Even if Murphy is telling the truth–and that's a big if–that bridge has survived a nuclear war and ninety-seven years of weather."

        Raven set her jaw. "It won't survive me."

        So–they got their asses to work.

        In order to build the bomb, Raven informed them the group that they required a carefully measured concoction of gunpowder and hydrazine. With no alternative sources for hydrazine in sight, their only option was to salvage it from a leaking RCS thruster at the crash site.

        Haven had taken the lead alongside Raven on their journey there. The two girls were practically buzzing with determination, their spirits ablaze with a fierce resolve that snuffed out the typical dread that haunted them. Instead, it was replaced by an electrifying sense of purpose. And although their circumstances remained morbid–the presence of a tangible plan breathed new life into their weary souls.

        As the Mecha girls trekked onward, it felt invigorating to have a sense of direction, a concrete goal to strive towards. But more than that, the indomitable bond between them sparked a sense of solidarity and unity that had been sorely missed.

In the presence of her best friend and a viable plan, Haven's sense of inadequacy faded into insignificance. She watched with a smile woven from the very fabric of the stars as Raven skillfully collected the hydrazine at the crash site, clad in her spacesuit, while Haven sat by her side, helmeted and poised with a fire extinguisher. Upon their return to the ammo tent, Haven had moved with graceful precision, methodically emptying the remaining gunpowder into a mason jar.

And as Raven instructed her to wait in the tent's corner during the hydrazine transfer, cautioning against getting blown the fuck up, Haven couldn't help but feel a surge of nostalgia. It felt like a return to their carefree teenage days, eagerly aiding her best friend in daring exploits that should have ended in disaster.

Working together again felt like coming home.

"Okay," Raven's voice rang out, punctuating the tense air inside the tent as she diligently sealed the cap tightly onto the hydrazine container. "You can come in now!"

        Cautiously, Bellamy parted the tarp of the tent, abandoning his impatient vigil from outside. His attention was consumed entirely by the ominous pink liquid within the container, his senses heightened to its potential danger. Unbeknownst to him, Haven lurked in the corner, silently creeping up behind him with a mischievous grin.

        "BOOM!"

It took every ounce of Bellamy's willpower not to leap three feet into the air, barely managing to contain the reflexive startle that coursed through him.

"Cute," he huffed.

Haven pouted her lips. "Hey," she teased, noticing his shadowed expression and mirroring his earlier words with an innocent smile. "What's with the frown?"

"For starters, I'm not too happy about using most of our ammo for a single bomb," Bellamy gestured toward the hydrazine jar with a grimace, then shifted his sights towards Raven. "Plus–I don't wanna get blown up by your best friend."

Raven merely rolled her eyes. "Relax. It needs an accelerant–gunpowder," she reassured him, lifting the jar of lethal granules into the air before demonstrating the rest of the bomb construction. "Container of hydrazine," she began, outlining each step succinctly. "Put the gunpowder around the hydrazine. Hit the bull's-eye..." As she spoke, she swiftly marked an X across the tin can used for the bomb. "Win a prize."

        A weighted silence enveloped the group as they beheld their creation. It was no larger than a can of paint, its surface marred by dust and grime. Yet, despite its unassuming appearance, the latent danger it exuded was unmistakable. If they executed their plan flawlessly, the weapon had the power to wreak havoc for hundreds of yards.

        "It's the rest of our gunpowder," Bellamy noted, his voice laden with weariness as he swept a hand over his face, attempting to dispel his oncoming cold sweat. "Won't be able to make any more bullets."

"Tonight we need a bomb," Finn cut in, assertively dismissing Bellamy's concerns without daring to peel his eyes away from the weapon. "We can worry about bullets tomorrow."

"If we do this, and it doesn't work–we'll all be dead tomorrow."

Which, was also true. While they had faced moments on the ground where failure wasn't an option, none carried the weight of tonight's peril. Their lives hung by the thinnest of threads, dangling over the precipice of oblivion. If the bomb failed, the consequences were not just dire, but downright terrifying: the Grounders would unleash their wrath upon a camp filled with vulnerable teenagers, ravaged by a merciless virus, defenseless without a shred of gunpowder to shield them.

No fucking pressure.

"It'll work," Haven declared, contemplating the possibility that maybe by vocalizing it frequently enough–she could manifest its truth. "Raven could do this in her sleep. One time, she made a smoke bomb out of potassium nitrate and a ping pong ball."

Raven snickered.

Meanwhile, Bellamy knitted his brows. "What the hell did you do that far?"

       "For fun," Raven deadpanned, nonchalantly shrugging as Bellamy's eyes narrowed further, almost into slits. "What? Some Alpha station brat thought it'd be funny to tie Haven's shoelaces together during class one day. Gave him a good ol' thank-you present under his chair the next day."

        Bellamy's intense scrutiny slowly morphed into a crooked grin. "Fair enough."

        "Yeah–we've got this." Raven affirmed, her hands resting firmly on her hips as she gestured towards the bomb with a subtle tilt of her head. "To be safe, you need to be at least two hundred feet away to make the shot."

        "No problem." Bellamy knew he could do it blindfolded, though a fleeting uncertainty flickered in his gaze as he scanned the occupants of the tent. "Which one of you plants the bomb?"

There was an excruciating silence.

Haven felt her rage resurface once more as she glanced between Raven and Finn. It was impossible not to notice Finn's dead silence, as if he were oblivious to the fact that this was his idea, and that Raven had risked her ass to retrieve the explosive necessary to execute it. Now, he couldn't even step up to do his part–nor could he extend the same courtesy to his girlfriend.

       "I will."

        Daggers flew from the depths of Haven's eyes as her and Finn answered in unison. His initial hesitation, whether conscious or not, served as a cruel reminder of the person he had become: a cheating, deceitful bitch. And as he shrunk beneath her stare, recoiling in pure shame–it cemented his role for eternity.

        "Easy," Bellamy began, "Finn, you're doing it."

        Haven parted her lips in protest. "I–"

        "Somebody else can put their life on the line today," Bellamy interjected, the edge in his tone carrying the certainty of a gavel. Then, he shot a skeptical side-eye towards Finn. "You won't pick up a gun, but blowing people up–that you're okay with?"

        "We're blowing up a bridge," Finn corrected, "There's not gonna be any people on it."

        Scoffing, Bellamy tightened his jaw. "Finn, we have one bomb," he emphasized, attempting to hammer some semblance of logic through the Collins boy's thick skull. "We need to use it to kill as many of those bastards as possible."

"But they don't know we only have one bomb." Finn countered, offering Bellamy a casual shrug, seemingly unaffected by the intensity of his glare. "If we did, why would we waste it on the bridge? I'm talking about deterrents." He nodded his head with unwavering conviction. "Peace through strength."

        At the far end of the tent, Raven's jab was succinct and cutting. "The appearance of strength, you mean."

        Unfuckingsurprisingly, Finn remained blissfully unaware of his own hypocrisy–yet again. He simply responded with a resigned sigh. "Yeah."

        "Men who built the A-bomb thought they were peacemakers, too," Bellamy retorted, though his voice sounded noticeably strained and weak, a stark contrast to his usual ire. "How'd that work out for them?"

        Finn's eyes abruptly bulged in horror.

        Panicked, Haven seized Bellamy by his chin and forced him to face her, fingers quivering as she frantically scanned his face for the cause of Finn's reaction. The first thing she noticed was the sickly pallor of his skin, drained of its usual vitality and unnaturally cold to the touch. The second was the crimson trickle of blood, seeping from his nose like a slow omen of impending doom.

        He caught the virus.

        "Bellamy," Haven breathed, her voice a mere whisper, barely audible above the hushed silence of the tent. Her heart twisted and warped within her ribcage, every beat resonating with the weight of disbelief and dread. With trembling fingers, she slowly withdrew her hand, as if recoiling from the harsh truth. "Bellamy."

        Not him. Not him. Not him.

        Raven went rigid. "Don't touch anything."

Shakily, Bellamy lifted his hand to his nose, the ruby stain on his fingertips serving as the morbid confirmation of his fate.

        Finn gulped. "Who else can take the shot?"

"Appreciate the concern," Bellamy grunted, leveling Finn with a contemptuous glare before taking a step back. "Make sure the bomb is packed and ready to go in ten minutes."

Then, he vanished through the exit.

        Haven was already in motion as the tarp fluttered closed behind him. A suffocating lump lodged in her throat as she beheld him staggering a mere few steps ahead, every movement a desperate struggle against the invisible force siphoning his strength at an alarming rate.

        "Bell," she pleaded, reaching for his forearm in a futile attempt to steady him, "Let me help–"

        "Don't touch me, Haven," Bellamy hissed, practically flailing himself backwards, evading her grasp before she could make contact. Just as she extended her hand to make another attempt, he reached out for a nearby tree branch, his fingers grasping it tightly for support. Straining for breath, he beckoned over a familiar figure in the distance. "Jasper! Come here."

        A few yards ahead, the firepit flickered dimly, its feeble glow casting eerie shadows on the surrounding ground. Huddled around it were a handful of delinquents, led by none other than Jasper Jordan. They shot Bellamy a few odd looks, thrown by the coarseness of his tone, yet the obscurity of the night concealed the telltale signs of his illness.

        Jasper approached with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyeing Haven woefully before turning to address Bellamy. "Hey. You need me to go with you to the bridge again?"

        In a fleeting, ghastly flash of light from the firepit, the shadows retreated–unveiling Bellamy's anguished features. Blood trickled from his nose, its crimson trail illuminated by the flickering flames, while a sinister scarlet halo outlined his eyes. "I need you to take the shot."

        Unparalleled horror flickered across Jasper's face as he absorbed the stricken sight of the camp's co-leader. Then, as quickly as it came, he futilely attempted to mask it. "Yeah," he breathed, stealing a quick glance towards the onlookers gathered around the firepit. "I can do that."

        Trailing Jasper's sights to the prying eyes in the distance, Haven screwed her lips into a scowl. "Stop fucking staring!" she fumed, inching closer to Bellamy on instinct, as if shielding him from their invasive gaze. "Don't you have jobs to do?"

        Startled by the intensity of her tone–they hastily scrambled into the shadows.

        "If you miss, if that bridge doesn't blow–we're all dead," Bellamy rasped, staring at Jasper with dead eyes and swallowing thickly against the taste of copper tainting his tongue. "You got that?"

Jasped nodded jerkily. "Hey, why me? I mean, you've got twenty shooters."

A harrowing stretch of silence lingered in the twilight between them. Bellamy's unsteady form swayed on his feet, finding momentary stability in Haven's reassuring touch, only to falter as he weakly wrenched himself from her grasp once more. By the time their eyes met again, Jasper had already gleaned the answer.

        "I'm the only one not sick, right?"

        "Right," Bellamy sucked in a labored inhale. "Don't miss."

        With resolute strides, Jasper set off, burdened by the weight of his own existence. But before he could move any further, Haven's death  grip on his forearm brought him to an abrupt standstill. They stared at each other soundlessly. Knowingly. Apologetically. In the depths of his wide eyes, doubt flickered and danced, though its presence was overshadowed by an unmistakable sense of remorse.

        "You can do this," Haven assured him, her voice a fervent plea to the cosmos, urging them to infuse her words with undeniable truth. "You have to."

        Jasper parted his lips with a fragile whisper. "Hav, I'm so sorry. I'm so–"

"Don't," she interrupted, silencing him with an irritated shush. With a firm yet tender grip, she guided him by the shoulders, directing him in the opposite direction. Tears welled in her eyes at his apology, shimmering like glass–but there was no time to dwell on it; they had a mission to fulfill. "Go make me proud."

Jasper didn't dare look back.

Shoving aside the ache beneath her ribs, Haven cast a quick glance at Bellamy, only to find his eyes drooping in defeat. He swayed again–far more violently this time–stumbling into Haven's torso before collapsing backwards. She lunged forward, desperation gripping her as she tried to grasp his shoulder, his arm, anything—but it was far too late. He collapsed against the tent's structure with bone-jarring force, tearing the tarp down with him in a cacophony of chaos, sending dirt and debris flying.

"Bellamy!" Haven cried. "Fuck, fuck–!"

Jasper's head snapped around at the sudden clatter, his mouth gaping in sheer terror as he took in the dizzying scene before him. Haven was already on her knees, partially entangled in the tent's tarp, frantically checking on Bellamy's consciousness. Without hesitation, he moved to assist, but his movements halted abruptly as Bellamy waved him off.

"No. Stay back–both of you," Bellamy wheezed, coughing and choking against the fresh torrent of blood in his sinuses. "Make the shot. Find Finn," he ordered weakly, mustering the last of his strength to bark out the command, noticing Jasper's hesitation. "Go!"

Haven paid no mind to Jasper as he hurried off into the night; her attention wholly absorbed by the boy wilting beneath her touch. Every sinew of Bellamy's face was marred by excruciating agony–as if he were being mauled by invisible jaws from within. Fresh blood trickled from the corners of his lips, sticking to his teeth in an awful display of crimson as he fought to rise.

Adjusting her stance, Haven rose to her feet, extending trembling hands to grip Bellamy's forearms, her grip a lifeline amidst the oppressive darkness. "Hey, just take it slow," she soothed, bracing herself as she shifted to haul him upright. "Come on, Bell. I've got you–"

"I said stay back." Bellamy sputtered again, blood splattering against his jacket as he miserably fought against her hold. "Haven–I'm begging you."

        "Beg someone else."

        "I don't want to get you sick–"

        "I don't care!"

Haven's words erupted from her with a force she hadn't expected, the admission pouring forth raw and unfiltered. It was the unvarnished truth; she couldn't care less about the risk of contagion, the potential consequences, or even her own safety. Not when it came to him. And though she knew she couldn't shoulder his suffering, couldn't absorb it into her very bones and bear it for him–the least she could do was help him stand.

"I don't care," she repeated, far more delicately than earlier. Re-centering herself, she drove her heels into the soil, channeling every ounce of determination into the tug on his arms. "You can't walk on your own. I'm...helping... you..." Each syllable was punctuated by the effort she exerted, her teeth gritted against the strain. "Deal...with...it."

Still, Bellamy resisted. "Hav–"

        "Enough." Haven halted his objections for good the moment she hauled him back onto his feet. "Don't let go."

        By some fucking miracle, she defied all odds, refusing to buckle under the weight of Bellamy's dependence. It was as though he had finally surrendered to the inevitability of accepting her care, his stubborn resistance relinquished at last. Shakily, she slipped beneath his arm, allowing it to settle across her shoulders, fearlessly entwining his bloodied fingers with her own.

        Bellamy's voice cracked. "I won't."

        He meant it.

Staggering into the dropship felt like entering hell all over again. The cramped space was now overrun with sick teenagers, the once sparse quarters now bursting at the seams. Blood splattered beneath their every footfall. From the shadows, anguished cries and pitiful moans echoed, each one a chilling testament to the relentless onslaught of disease. But there was no time to discern the living from the dead, not when Bellamy's desperate gasps for air cut through the misery–choking on his own blood.

Haven erupted into a shriek. "OCTAVIA!"

Octavia Blake rarely flinched in the face of danger. However, as her wild eyes locked onto the haunting effigy of her brother, her knees nearly gave out beneath her.

        "Bell? No," she croaked, her voice stripped entirely of its usual vigor. Abandoning her post at Clarke's bedside, she turned to the nearest delinquents in sight. "Murphy, Jones–clear some space! Help her lay him down!"

Time warped into a infinite blur as the boys leaped into action. Murphy raced off to fetch a spare cot, while Jones's steady presence provided Haven with the support she needed to lower Bellamy onto it. The sequence of events unfolded in a disorienting haze; she couldn't  distinguish one moment from the next. She couldn't hear Octavia sinking to her knees beside her. She couldn't feel her heart, only a gaping emptiness where it once beat, as if it had been ripped from her chest and placed in the palms of the dying boy before her. The chaos was spiraling far too fast, far too disastrously.

        And by the time Bellamy started seizing– every single one of her senses had already abandoned her.

        The girls forced Bellamy onto his side as he began to convulse violently, the blood that had bloated his lungs spewing out in a vicious jet stream of scarlet. Thankfully, the convulsions ceased as abruptly as they had begun, but the agony writhing within him remained unabated.

With tears glistening in her eyes, Octavia delicately rolled Bellamy onto his back, her heart capsizing as she wiped away the blood that marred his once vibrant face. "Hey, big brother."

Bellamy lay before them, a hollow echo of his former self, ravaged by the relentless onslaught of the virus. His eyes blinked dazedly, pupils blown wide with terror, darting frantically between his sister and Haven as if pleading for deliverance from his anguish. Beads of sweat clung to every curl on his head as he weakly lifted it into Haven's lap, the act in itself requiring a gargantuan effort that sent stars shooting across his red-veiled vision. Every breath, every blink was excruciating–as if he had suddenly become a vessel for unending torment.

        He choked out his next words torturously.

        "I'm scared."

        "I won't let anything happen to you." Octavia vowed, "I promise."

Somehow, Bellamy found it within himself to muster a breathy laugh, uncaring of the ache it stirred within his chest. "That's what I said to you the day you were born."

The Blake girl offered him a weak smile. "I know. You told me that, like, a thousand times."

        Bellamy's hands trembled as he reached out, one hand seeking Octavia's, the other seeking Haven's. His vision blurred once more, tainted by feverish tears, but the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable. "I-I'm glad you're here."

They sat in silence for a while.

        Nothing could be said as Bellamy reeled against the aftershocks of his seizure. Once his breathing became less erratic, Octavia resumed her care at Clarke's bedside–entrusting Bellamy's weary head to to sanctuary of Haven's lap. With an innate gentleness, her fingertips traced soothing paths through his dampened curls, a quiet anchor amid the chaos engulfing them.

"You're too..." Bellamy's voice faltered, his throat parched and raspy from the strain of each breath. His eyes fluttered, on the brink of closing, finding brief solace in the tender caress of her touch. "You're too good to me."

        Haven reluctantly withdrew her free hand from his hair to reach for another rag. "Stop talking," she commanded, her movements delicate as she wiped at the fresh sheen of sweat gathering above his brow. Though she hoped the worst was behind them, his fever was horrifying. "Save your energy."

        "No," Bellamy rasped, "I don't deserve this. Go help someone who needs–" An agonizing cough wracked his weakened frame, each convulsion sending a fresh splatter of scarlet to trickle from his lips. "–it."

"Leave the self-deprecation for when you're not currently dying." Haven insisted, unflinchingly utilizing the cloth to clean the blood from his mouth. When stubborn remnants of crimson refused to budge, she switched tactics, gently dragging her thumb along the corner of his lips. "Please."

Never before had Bellamy been treated with such tender, selfless care. He knew he wasn't a pretty thing to hold–all jagged lines and no soft edges–he accepted it as an immutable facet of his being. Only the moon had come this close to embracing him so delicately. Yet, here she was, cradling him, intertwining her fingers with his ruby stained hands without reservation. It was a fragile form of intimacy, stirring within him a primal urge to retreat–to shrink back into the shadows before she looked too closely and fled.

        But then again: what could possibly be closer than where they were now?

He had carried her lifeless weight through the echoing corridors of the Ark, a relentless sprint against heaven's calls, time and time again. Every procedure, every examination, every handhold; he stood vigil by her bedside. His devotion to her was something he had never thought twice about. And now, as his own life hung in the balance–she mirrored his dedication effortlessly.

        Fresh tears stung his eyes.

        But it wasn't the virus that evoked them.

"Come on, Bell." Haven miserably attempted to swallow the righteous sob clawing at her throat. "Don't go soft on me now."

Bellamy cracked a half-grin. "Would that be so bad?"

"No," Haven shook her head, tucking away another unruly curl that dared to stray across his forehead and smoothing it aside with the rest. "But right now, you need to be strong."

True to his nature, Bellamy attempted to scoff, only to have it devolve into an exhausted cough. "I'm not," he whispered, wincing as a new wave of agony gouged through his internal organs. "I'm not like you."

"You're right." The Smith girl carried a thousand galaxies in her eyes as she peered down at him. "You're better."

         Tears slipped down his cheek, one after another, until they coalesced into an unending stream. Soon, Bellamy had lost count of the saltwater abandoning his body, stretching over his irises like glass before being wiped away by her thumb. With every blink, the world seemed to waver, his gaze obscured by the swirling haze of his own emotion.

        Through the veil–all he could see was her.

        "You're..." Three pulses echoed through her veins as he weakly squeezed her palm. "...perfect."

        Haven had always believed it was possible to feel everything at once, but here, now–Bellamy surpassed it all by a landslide. "So are you," she whispered, her hand shifting to cup the side of his face, fingertips tracing soothing patterns against his temple. "Even with blood all over your face."

        Bellamy mustered only a hoarse laugh. To her surprise—and his own—he gradually succumbed to the numbing embrace of sleep, his eyelids fluttering open and closed as he fought to capture one last glimpse of her.

"Get some rest," Haven lulled, "I'm not going anywhere–"

"HAVEN?! HAVEN–!"

The Smith girl immediately whipped her head towards the distressed shout in the distance. Through the billowing curtain of the dropship, Monty burst in, a whirlwind of panic incarnate, his wide eyes and tousled hair betraying the frantic pace of his sprint. Words tumbled from his lips in a desperate jumble; he was talking so damn fast that Haven could hardly understand him.

        "What?!" Haven shouted, futilely attempting to read his lips as he continued with his indiscernible explanation. "Monty–what is it?!"

        "I need you! Now!" Monty deftly navigated through the throng of sickly teenagers, dodging outstretched limbs and eluding grasping fingers. "I saw her eyes, Haven. They're red! And now she's trying to take the bomb to the bridge–ALONE! Finn and Jasper are going after her–"

"Going after who–?"

"But if they're not fast enough–" His breath hitched. "Oh my god. If they're not fast enough...she's dead! We're all dead!"

Haven raised her voice to a thunderous octave that startled everybody on the first floor. "Slow down!" she demanded, barely registering the tightening grip of Bellamy's hand in hers. After Monty fell silent, she pressed further. "Who. Has. The. Bomb."

"Raven!"

At once–Haven stilled.

Of course, Raven would take the shot; of course, she'd attempt to handle everything solo. Raven Reyes was the epitome of reckless courage. Under ordinary circumstances, Haven wouldn't have flinched—her trust in her best friend's capabilities ran deep.

But this time, the situation felt distinct, ominously definitive. Finn had been assigned to plant the bomb, not Raven. And if Raven had taken it instead, infected with the virus, fully aware she couldn't make the shot from two hundred yards back—it could only signify one thing.

"She's going to kill herself," Haven gasped, the realization smacking into her with lethal certainty. Unfettered horror surged through her veins as she struggled to move her mouth. "She's going to kill herself."

Monty was already backpedaling towards the exit. "Not if we don't go, now! I–we can't let her die," he pleaded, every sinew of his face imbued with an unfamiliar panic. "Finn, Jasper...we can't let any of them die!"

With an urgent nod, Haven moved to gently lower Bellamy's head from her lap onto the cot nearby. "I'm coming."

        Bellamy stirred. "No–"

        "There's no time for this,"  Haven interrupted, her tone firm as she fought to wrestle his hand from hers. Despite his weakened state, his grip remained strong, almost agonizing. "Raven needs help."

      "No. Not you." Bellamy rasped, desperately curling his fingers around her wrist at the very moment she managed to free herself. "Don't leave, please. Y-You can't."

Never in the past five years, especially not since they'd landed on the ground this month, had Haven ever witnessed Bellamy beg anyone for anything. And yet, here he was, pleading with chapped lips–praying for her to stay. His eyes blazed with such urgency and unbridled need that it nearly immobilized her on the spot.

But she couldn't.

        He knew it, too.

        "I have to," she whispered, "I'm sorry."

        If Bellamy could summon the energy, he would have fought a thousand times harder–with every fiber of his being–but consciousness was evading him at an rapidly alarming rate. "Promise me you'll come back," he panted, "Alive."

        Haven blinked against the tears scorching her eyes. "I promise that I'll try."

        "Not...good...enough."

        "It has to be."

        Their eyes locked in a silent duel, each refusing to yield, as if breaking the gaze would solidify their impending separation. Time stretched out into an unbearable eternity. Everything felt so final, so permanent. If she left him–he could die without her knowing. If she left him–she could die without him knowing. Each moment was a cruel reminder of the invisible string that bound them together, navigating each interaction as though it were their last.

        Without hesitation, Haven leaned forward, pressing her lips against his forehead in a silent plea to the cosmos, praying that it would be enough.

"I'll see you soon," she offered his hand one, final squeeze. "Don't die."

And then, she was off.

Sprinting through the dropship's curtain. Hurtling into the inky darkness that threatened to consume her entirely. Devastatingly aware that with every step she took–her heart was no longer beating for herself alone.

        It hadn't for five years.

• •

HIIIII BESTIES! SURPRISE!!! happy early update<3

we are gonna be back to weekly scheduled updates next week lol but i couldn't wait to get this out. whats the point of waiting if its done!!! schedules help me stay consistent in staying ahead but fuck it 😏 MY BOOK MY RULES i would literally publish everything rn if i didnt have to go through and edit.

everytime a chapter is under 7k words i feel like its too short😗 lol but i reaaally wanted everything between bellamy and haven to be the focal point of this chapter. they are so soft! it is ripping me apart from the inside out!!! feelings are being FELT. i teared up writing this. but the next 2 chapters...good god i am a mess

i love u guys so much!!! i sincerely hope you enjoyed. ✨