Inferno

Chapter 51: Scars and Goodbyes

It had been a quiet afternoon—too quiet for everyone's liking, to be quite honest. But the simple fact of the matter was that Bellamy and Thomas had disappeared again. And no one quite wanted to be the person who walked in on that.

At that moment, Bellamy couldn't even form a coherent thought, let alone make an actual word spill from her mouth. Her fingers were mindlessly threading through Thomas's hair and he was kissing his way down her stomach—

Stopping at the scar, still healing up from where WCKD had done surgery. Catching onto the tension that had arrived in Thomas's shoulders, Bellamy loosened her hold on him. She could tell that he was caught up in a memory—from the way that he was just sitting there on his knees and staring numbly at the scar, she knew what he was thinking about.

"Hey, hey—" Bellamy's hands cupped his face delicately.

Thomas swallowed a breath, feeling as though all of the air had been drained from his body. "Sorry—I was just—"

"It's okay," Bellamy murmured out the words gently. Her thumb padded over his cheekbones in a gentle gesture, reassuring him that she was still here.

"I almost lost you." The words came out as some sort of strangled panicked cry of memory.

"But you didn't," Bellamy took his hands in hers, resting her head against his. "I'm not going anywhere, Thomas."

At that, a soft smile graced his features. "You don't usually use my name."

"I could go back to calling you Pretty Boy, if that's what you'd prefer."

He chuckled and then pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I didn't mean to ruin the moment."

"You didn't ruin anything. I don't think you're capable of ruining anything. Except for maybe Newt's peace and Gally's sanity."

"Then that's something we have in common."

"Obviously," Bellamy grinned. She glanced down again at the stitches across the expanse of her stomach. "It doesn't look too bad does it?"

Thomas's gaze drifted back down to the jagged scar—eying the scarlet beginning to stain the top layer of her skin. "I think you ripped a stitch while getting your shirt off."

"Damn, I knew something was off," Bellamy grumbled.

He rose to his feet and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll get the kit."

Bellamy wasn't sure if she had ever trusted more than a few people to help her out in the way that Thomas was now doing. But when he returned, sewing materials in hand, Bellamy could only force a smile at him.

"I could always get—" Thomas started.

"I trust you," Bellamy said, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. "Just don't make me look like Frankenstein, okay?"

"Frankenstein?" Thomas gave her an odd look.

"Read it in a book back in Chicago—when I was a kid, of course. Some guy stitched together from different dead body parts and then brought to life with lightning."

"Sounds....weird."

"Said the boy who was trapped in a maze where people watched us day in and day out, all the while sending engineered mechanical beasts to slaughter us."

"Well when you put it like that," Thomas pressed the needle into the skin and Bellamy hardly flinched at the sensation. "Who used to stitch you up in Chicago?" He asked quietly.