Author: Shorter, but with more movement and bellark~ get pumped for tomorrow's episode.

The Person (I should have been)
Chapter Twelve

"Some things you can never leave behind. They don't belong
to the past. They belong to you."
Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave

Nanjemoy doesn't have patience as Doug lags behind to trace his fingers over the wires of the drop ship again. Wight punches Ricky on the arm. They both smile, a friendship built over making fun of each other with cloth over the mouths and see who can find the hottest piece of metal from the fire. Clarke had to treat them both for several burn on different occasions. Bellamy griped about needing to learn lessons, but he didn't resist calling the boys over to show off a patch of smoldering coal Bellamy found under a melted mess of plastic.

Having the extra help scavenging allowed Clarke to focus on preventing infection from setting into her patient's wounds and gave Bellamy an extra two hours sleep so that he could function during his waking hours. But they don't have any food except for their stores on the third floor. It was supposed to be for winter. Miller broke into the hatch and brought down the salted meat, dried roots, and pickled turkey eggs.

Bellamy wants Lincoln to report to his leaders so that the 100 can garner support in tracking down the taken ones. (A tiny part wants to stop sharing their food. The larger part has to do with Doug's persistence in being around Clarke.)

"Thirty nine," Bellamy sighs. How did we lose thirty nine people?

"But why only thirty nine?"

"What, that's not enough for you, princess?" They wave off the Grounders. Octavia tails them to the edge of the camp and stands there until the fog of the morning embraces them.

Clarke's the first one to stop waving. "They had the opportunity to take us all, so why not?"

Bellamy doesn't like this thought. He doesn't like the idea that he might have had the chance to be with his people, wherever they are. Instead, he's stuck on the outside trying to figure a way to them and there are too many unknowns. He hopes Ulric will be able to keep those idiots alive long enough so that they can figure out a way to break them out. Break them out of what, he does not know, but at least he has a goal, a place to start. (Considering them already dead is no place to start, so he doesn't.)

It feels like he is stalling, doing little things that need to get done. But last night, they did need to sleep. And they still need more information about where the hell these Mountain Men are holed up and Doug promised he would call a gathering, but Bellamy doesn't like the idea of waiting, waiting, waiting.

Maureen is no longer bound up, but despite pressure to work, she refuses and sits on the ramp to the drop ship, staring out. He doesn't like how drawn her face is, how her cheeks sag and she sinks her head between her knees. It has been hard on all of us and Bellamy is having a difficult time understanding why the girl thought betraying everyone was worth it. Like Finn said, there has to be a reason why…but Clarke has not gotten through to her, so he sure as hell doubts he will be able to.

It's Monroe who figures it out. Bellamy works on putting up a low wall with the several hands willing to crawl out of the drop ship. Clarke boils rags in a pot. It is raining. Monroe grabs Clarke and announces, "Little missy is pregnant." She pulls Clarke back to the drop ship. Bellamy cuts them off.

"What does that have got to do with anything that's going on?" He stops Clarke from going forward because they need to talk about this dammit. Clarke just sees a patient that needs attended to when really, they can't forget that Maureen's the one that endangered them, too.

Monroe doesn't hold back as she divulges the fears Maureen has, "She thinks that you would make her get rid of the baby. She thinks you will kill her like you killed Donna so you won't have to worry about the hassle or a crying infant."

Bellamy steps back. He sees Octavia and Ricky working to get some meat cooked. It is easier to feed twenty-eight people, but all he can think about right now is the softness of a baby's cheek, the curve of their bellies, their snores…but Monroe is talking about Clarke, not him. The realization bursts in his stomach and up his throat. Maureen thinks those things about Clarke (like he did). Her cheeks and forehead are red while the rest of her face is white. Her eyes are steel gray and he doesn't stop her this time when she moves forward, but only takes away the stick she was using to stir the pot. She glances at him. The steel in her eyes isn't just a color.

He stops Monroe from proceeding forward, though. He hands off Clarke's stick and says, "We've still got work to do."

He hears yelling as he goes back to work, but it's not Clarke's voice that's raised. Finn watches the door to the drop ship, a bundle of wood in his hands. Bellamy doesn't understand why he waits. Clarke will let them know if she needs their help. Okay, that's a lie. She won't let them know. Anyways, the wood is getting wet.

Bellamy's back aches. The pain reaches down into his legs. He isn't ready for this type of labor, but then again, Clarke's wrist keeps cracking and bleeding and he's still not convinced that it was only a flesh wound because her left fingers twitch too much.

When Finn sits with Clarke at dinner his hand goes to her knee. She brushes it off, shaking her head, but not moving away. Bellamy tries to keep his back on them as much as he can. He needs to get out of this place of gray walls and gray ash and gray eyes. He needs green and blue and their people. Clarke goes to sleep before Bellamy's guard shift is over at dawn, but he pushes her over and falls asleep with their shoulders and hips touching.

Lincoln doesn't come back for another three days and Bellamy argued with Clarke a dozen times over things he can't remember. He still doesn't know what Maureen said to her. He isn't sure that he should know because he needs to protect Maureen and her baby, but he needs to protect Clarke, too and those two things haven't been matching up. (Could he choose?)

But he likes it less what Lincoln tells him, "They agreed to meet in five days."

"No," Bellamy says. Clarke stands by his side. She cradles her wrist today. His back twitches. He would really like hot water or rocks on his back, but he isn't sure how to ask for something like that.

Doug smiles, his forehead wrinkling too much. He doesn't understand. Bellamy hates how he came with Lincoln. Doesn't he something better to do?

"We can't wait," Clarke clarifies. "If these Mountain Men are as bad as you say, then we need our people out of there as soon as possible."

Doug shrugs. Bellamy wonders if all Grounders are tall. Aside from Bernard, he hasn't seen any other short grounders. Even the women are above average. Then he remembers Clarke, who might be shorter than him, but impresses him for other reasons than her height.

"You leave now, you will wander, and you will die," Doug says. He hovers over Jasper who tries to repair the radios Raven made. Jasper glances up at the imposing grounder too much to be making any progress. He twitches and touches his nose, giving away his discomfort.

"We wait and they die," Clarke reminds Doug, taking a seat beside Octavia who braids her hair to hide the grease and tame the frizz.

Finn purses his lips. "We're no good to them if we can't save them," he chimes in. He's right and Bellamy hates the logic of it because it doesn't align with the tremors of his body or the churning of his stomach. He needs to move and keep moving forward because this standing still with ash around his boots and his fingers numb from the cold isn't okay.

Doug hones in on Monroe when she brings in a platter of meat. He reaches for a piece, but Monroe slaps his hand away. "Try asking nicely," she sneers.

"What?" The hood of his cape is crumpled against his back so that the head of the fox is indiscernible from the rest of the fur on his body.

Monroe rolls her eyes. "Manners."

Jasper snorts, hands still over the electronics. "That's Mahogany!" he mimics in a high voice. They laugh while Doug frowns, looking away and angling his body to Lincoln. Bellamy smiles, watching how the Grounder slipped from a composed hunter to a grumpy teenager who didn't understand a pop culture reference (even if it's a century old).

It's midday and too cold to be standing outside. Bellamy is by the door so he can get the strongest cross-breeze. She smells it, too. He sees it when Clarke closes her eyes and sniffs at the air. The pine needles and the mud overpower charcoal and ash in random intervals.

Maureen sits outside. She hasn't moved and sometimes Bellamy hears whispers of "They promised. They promised. I did everything they asked, didn't I?" The hair raises on his neck, and he rubs his arms to try to get feeling into them. He gave his coat to Rachel who was sleeping in a t-shirt when they were attacked and lost all her clothing in the fire. It's easy to excuse it as an action to warm up.

"There has to be a way to move faster," Clarke insists. She hasn't touched the food in her mess kit, but she is drinking whatever tea they boiled over the fire. Bellamy supposes that's something. He keeps chewing the meat, spitting out the gristle when it grinds between his teeth.

He eats to keep his mouth full so he doesn't talk. His mother taught him better than to talk with his mouth full and right now Clarke can be more polite. Well, maybe she is just as irritated as him, but she wouldn't punch anyone. Okay, she hasn't given him any reason to believe that she would at least. Either way, he trusts Clarke to do what is necessary.

Doug repeats everything that Lincoln already told them about the Mountain Men. Clarke's lips are in a tight line and Bellamy keeps on chewing. He flexes his fingers. It's too cold not to have gloves.

"There has to be something else we're missing," she persists.

Someone screams, shouting for help. They all move, rushing out at once and tripping over Maureen who says, "They came!"

The shouting continues and Bellamy gets out in front of them all. Finn pulls back so that he's holding Clarke from moving forward, warning her it might be a trap. Bellamy knows she shakes him off, because she is there pushing him to his feet when he slips in the ashes. Her hair is loose today and he follows behind her as it flicks back.

They find them because they trip over them. Murphy clutches his legs and Raven is unconscious on a stretcher of metal and broken branches.

"What did you do to her?" Finn shoves Murphy into the ground, but it's not that far of a fall; he was already kneeling. Bellamy pulls Finn off, but his eyes are on Clarke, watching as she assesses Raven's condition. She doesn't say anything. Finn keeps asking her questions.

"Shut up," Bellamy tells him. "It's Clarke, trust her to do what she needs to do." Birds still chirp with the sun up and the Cardinal moves along the branches. Doug takes the opposite end of the stretcher when Clarke gestures him to and they heft Raven up together.

Raven shouts and then moans, but doesn't wake.

"Raven!" Bellamy lets Finn go to her side. He holds her hand that is purple and ashen.

"About time you found us," Murphy says and Clarke's laugh shakes as much as her hands do as they move back to the dropship and their inadequate medical supplies. Bellamy is left alone with Murphy who has tear tracts starting at the corners of his eyes, but nothing falling down them. His hooked nose looks broken and old blood is wet again from sweat.

Bellamy doesn't ask if he can walk. Instead he says, "Which side do you want me on?"

Murphy squints up at him, debating if Bellamy was going to shove him down once he helped him up. (He kind of wants to.) "The left."

It takes a while to get going because Bellamy's back still aches and having one of Murphy's arms latched on his shoulders just compresses the pain into a tight, radiating ball. Bellamy stops to let Murphy readjust and that's the only time they quit moving.

Bellamy heart beats fast as he drags Murphy up the ramp. Maureen is gone, but he notices that the way he notices the smell of his body odor now. Raven is on the table, her shoes off and Clarke is touching her toes. "Now?"

"No," Raven hisses. She looks straight up at the ceiling. Finn holds her hand, but he is looking at Clarke as she stands at the foot of the table, shaking her head. Not good news, then, Bellamy surmises. Marc gestures them over to a mattress against a eastern wall. He can't walk well with his injury, but eventually he will be able to. Raven might not at all.

Murphy lies down on mattress, prone and tells Marc to do whatever the hell he needs to do. He falls asleep as Marc is rolling up his pant leg. His ankle is swollen and red with dark purple splotches. Bellamy doesn't have to be trained to know that the way Murphy's shin bone presses upon the skin isn't normal.

"Get me something to prop it up, will you?" Marc used to have long, ratty hair, but he shaved it all off when it started itching (Clarke ordered him to really). Bellamy obeys, but is distracted when Raven screams as Doug and Clarke work to turn her to the side. The blood is not very bad, so maybe it is not as serious as he thought, but Clarke shakes her head again. Bellamy bends to pick up a pillow, but freezes on the way up, pain arresting him for a moment until he can take the time to breath and remember that the pain passes and that he's healing. It hurts to keep moving, though. He really needs the hot rocks tonight. Octavia rushes in and out with boiled water, preparing for whatever Clarke needs. Lincoln's stare keeps the curious remaining delinquents from crowding the space.

Marc holds two, short metal rods in his hand and a length of ripped up fabric in the other, but he does not move to fix Murphy's leg.

"Well," Bellamy says, "Waiting for a divine blessing or something?"

Marc doesn't get the joke. He looks right at Bellamy and says, "I can't do this on my own. I need Clarke. How can you expect me to do this on my own? With out her."

Raven cries again. Bellamy won't turn around. He focuses on Marc's broad cheeks and cleft chin and scars on his face he developed after the Fever. His green eyes are wide and he holds the splinting materials to Bellamy. "She has to do it," Marc insists.

We all need her, he thinks.

Bellamy pushes the fabric and metal back at Marc. "You can and you will do this on your own. She trained you for a reason."

"To only assist her!" Marc has the beginnings of a good beard growing that Bellamy doesn't have time to be jealous of.

"No, she trained you because she saw potential in you and she believed that if it came to situations like this, and she wasn't around, that you could be there for us instead." Bellamy wishes that's all it took to convince Marc to just do the splint on his own. When he stood up to interrupt Clarke's work with Raven, Bellamy yanks him back by his shirt, threads popping and stretching the fabric even more. "Don't you dare go bothering her."

Marc clutches the splinting materials and shakes his head. "I'll do it wrong—"

"Then do it." Bellamy clutches at his pant leg to keep himself upright. His back. Damn, his back will not support him from much longer. "You just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

Marc nods fast and says, "Hold him down."

And Bellamy does, though Murphy whacks him in the ribs before he passes out from pain all over again. From there it's easier and Marc's wrapping becomes more organized.

When Bellamy looks up again, Jasper's hand is on Clarke's shoulder and her head is in her hands. He stands too far away from her to be of comfort, but it was always Monty that did those types of things wasn't it? He was the one that hugged and reassured with a squeeze on the arm or a pat on the back. But Monty was gone and so was Miller and so was Sean and so was Jordan and so was Maureen—

"Has anyone seen Maureen?" He shouts. He doesn't stand. He can't. He needs to lay down. Probably not sleep because there's too much to do, but at least lay down because he knows he will be collapsing soon enough and he needs to retain some dignity while he's in so much pain.

No one answers his question. "Who?" a few mouth.

Clarke frowns. "No one saw her leaves? No one?"

Eyes examine the floor or the walls or the ceiling. No one dares to meet the storming blue of her eyes but Bellamy. Raven is asleep on the table and Finn is there, but his eyes don't leave Clarke. Octavia volunteers to lead a handful of people on a quick scouting expedition and Bellamy is too exhausted to go with them and Clarke can't leave Raven in her state. Doug and Lincoln promise to bring all the scouts back.

"Alive, preferably," Bellamy says, his voice cracking and his eyelids drooping.

Doug chuckles and no one else does.

He wakes up on his stomach. He doesn't realize why his back is so relaxed until he opens his eyes to watch Clarke wrap smooth stones in rags and place them along his back. Almost all the lights are off in the drop ship and a curtain is drawn around where Finn sleeps beside Raven. Murphy and Marc sleep with a branch between them because they kept arguing about boundaries. They both snore.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, princess?" he says, his voice muffled because his face is shoved against a blanket. Her wrist is wrapped up again.

"I will," she says, readjusting stones based on his groans and moans and bodily reactions so they are placed in the most strategic areas. She pulls up a blanket so he feels it brushing the bottom of his ears. It makes him a bit itchy.

She stands up. "Join me, Clarke." She looks back at him, her nose scrunched. Although they fall asleep together, neither of them talk about it. He wants to move past that.

"Take off your boots. Lift up the blanket and lay down," he instructs. She obeys. The flashlight she has propped up gives off more of a blue light than a yellow one, and he sees Clarke for a moment as he might of if he ever met her on the Ark. He hates what he sees. Then, there is the dirt, a scratch along her cheek healing from the collapse, a knot in her hair. He smells her feet after she takes off her shoes, but it doesn't smell any worse or better than his so he welcomes her in. He doesn't smile but watches instead as she lies on her back and turns off the flashlight. He watches until he can make out her outline, but the heat from her body is stronger than her image so he soaks that in instead.

He feels the rub of a toe on his ankle and he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe or blink. He thinks Clarke has holes in her socks that she hasn't stitched and that they are cold and maybe he should have had her keep her boots on, but going to bed with your shoes seems so wrong to him. Even if it's a little representation of safety and security that they don't have to fall asleep with their shoes on, then he will take it and fight for it because it's the little things that help him remember that he is human, not the great speeches or the adoring girls.

Then Clarke sighs and he breathes in her exhale. She turns to her side. He cannot see her eyes, but he feel the brush of her breasts against his arm and how her hands find a cold space on his back to cover. He reaches out to her to, his hand ending up on her hip. It's inappropriate, considering their relationship, but at the same time, it's right. They are connected by judgments and decisions and pain. It's romantic in the sense that their relationship is impractical. They probably argue more than they agree, but they are visionaries. He knows this. They want things for the one hundred that is based in the facts of half trained students and foggy memories from classes. Bellamy knows they are both guilty of focusing on their feelings: Murphy's hanging; Lincoln's torture. Small examples characteristic of how their passions push them. He worries about their passions consuming them.

He squeezes her hip under the blanket. She sighs, "What Bellamy?"

"Don't do anything stupid," he says.

She snorts. Her breath washes over his cheek and nose. "You're sure good at giving advice, but not following your own."

"Then we'll work on this together," he says, shifting. His nose touches skin and he is not sure if it's a cheek or a nose or a neck.

"I want them back, Bellamy. I want our people back." He realizes that he's touching her jaw. "They had no right to take them. Even the druggies. The murders. They deserve more than the sky box and being treated like science experiments and living with empty stomachs and losing each other. Miller should still have Donna, with or without the baby. That would have been her choice, but she didn't choose that death." Her breath smells like chamomile, but it's the sounds of her voice that soothes him.

Bellamy presses in. The angle is tight for his back, but he needs to get her to stop saying these things because it's what he thinks about all the time. "You're right, but what's that going to do?" He says this into her neck. When she speaks next her dry lips brush over a scab on his forehead, "Nothing." He presses in.

"It does nothing," he repeats, but he is admitting his own weakness into the dark with whispers and heat. The cold breaches their cocoon. He shivers. Her hand reaches down to his against her hip and fits her fingers between the gaps in him. It's not perfect, but it is better than it was before.

They fall asleep and wake up and Clarke complains about her arm being asleep and they start another day.

Maureen comes back that day, smiling and skipping. Bellamy grips the gun (their only gun). But there's no one with her. Her shoelaces are untied. They will ruin faster if she keeps them like that. She says hello to Finn as he helps Raven eat.

"What the hell was that," Raven croaks.

"Not sure," Finn says, but keeps encouraging her to eat. ("Clarke said you need your strength." "Strength for what? Can't you see? I'm going to die.")

Bellamy puts Stewart on Maureen. The kid nods and keeps nodding as he walks away. Bellamy cleans his gun on the third floor of the drop ship. It's empty of their winter stores because it has all been used to fill their bellies. There's no panther rug. It was taken down stairs and is on the cot he shares with Clarke. Now, she sits across from him, flipping through her field journal and medical records catching up on paperwork (noting who died and how and if she used any treatment on them and the results of such treatment).

"Bellamy, about Raven—" She gets up and closes the hatch, making it darker inside than he would like, but the lights up here are softer and yellow. He can see her eyes and that's enough for him as he moves from glimmering piece of metal to glimmering piece of metal. "Her pain is getting worse." It's not an explanation and he waits because she isn't done. She has to reach the point where everything spills over and he will wait for it to wash over him. "Her pain is getting worse and I'm worried about her legs not moving, but I'm worried about infection or internal hemorrhaging."

Bellamy doesn't have grease to oil the gun with. He thought about trying the animal fat that Clarke collects to rub over burns and healing scar tissue. She tends to forget to put it on her own scabs so they continue to crack and bleed.

"I don't think she will survive a surgery, but if I don't try then she might die anyways because I left the shrapnel in." Clarke's head is between her knees and her hair really needs washed. "How can I make this decision?"

"You can't."

She looks up at him. He stops cleaning the gun and says, "It's Raven choice, you have to ask her."

"But if she wanted to go through with the surgery, Bellamy, how can I do that? I doubt my skills when working around the spine. It's so vascular and innervated that any wrong move—it would be on me. The scalpel I have can't be sharp enough let alone sterile," she goes on.

He shakes his head. "Don't think about that type of shit right now. You have to ask Raven before you go to those places." He continues to work on his gun. "No point in worrying about that."

Clarke touches his shoulder as she leaves. Her notes are on the floor. He can't hear what she's saying below, but he knows she's talking to Raven, laying out the facts in successive order with the cool demeanor expected of a trained doctor.

It takes her longer than he expects for her to come back up and he starts reading through her files. It's intrusive to look through these notes. They are as much a private journal as they are medical records. He's done it before and she's seen him, too, and she doesn't stop him. But this is the first time he realizes that there's no entry for Clarke Griffin. He frowns and holds her pencil in his hand. It is still warm. He has trouble writing because he's only used to styluses of the Ark. The scratching sends strange vibrations up his arm. He writes:

Name: Clarke Griffin

Age: (He leaves this blank because he is not sure.)

Crime: Treason

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: Blond

Medical History: (He is not able to fill this section up before she is coming over the lip of the hatch, he doesn't hide what he was doing. He hands the pencil back to her and watches as she finishes what he started.)

"What did she say?"

"She wants to go ahead with the surgery."

Bellamy stops her hand from writing because she's shaking. "What do you need?"

"Monty's moonshine." They only have a little remaining. "Echinacea and Old Maid's Nightcap would be good, but I am not sure how much help they would be towards her. Garlic, too, for after."

"I'll find someone who can help you look for them or I'll try to learn. Either way, you'll be prepared for the surgery. I'll try to sharpen the scalpel," he offers.

Her lips twitches. "The metal is too fragile for normal sharpening, but thank you, Bellamy."

"Anytime you need worthless offers, you come to me, princess." He grins, trying to get her to smile more. (He has a feeling she smiled last night and he missed it in the dark.)

Author: How's the pace? Next chapter is killer and I can't put off bringing the adults down any more. They just mess everything up, don't they?

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your love in all its form and fashions. My smile is ridiculous when I see alerts in my email. I look forward to your feedback so that I maybe able to get a read on what you might expect (and not expect~). Continue to be amazing and I will do my best to follow your lead, oh, reviews, alerters, and favoriters. 'til we meet again.