The 99

Chapter Twenty: Bellamy

Merry almost Christmas! Okay, so like the show, I'm hoping to convey Bellamy's feelings more through action than actual words. And dang, I keep changing what I want to do with this fic; I never even thought about including this part. Oh, and side note: if no one experiences Bellarke feels in this chapter, I'm quitting fanfiction to take up knitting. Please review!

A ringing tore at Bellamy's ears. It numbed him to other sounds, if any existed, and his vision blurred, the tang of smoke stinging his eyes. The pungent stench of something burning filled the air.

Bellamy was lying on his back, staring up at the metallic ceiling. It took a minute for understanding to dawn on him. The Exodus ship. The explosions.

Slowly, he pulled himself up, blinking to clear out the haze. In front of him, the Mess Hall was unrecognizable. People littered the floor around him, faces streaked with grime and tracked with tears. Some were sitting like him, others were lying down, motionless. Lifeless.

A thought hit him, disturbingly cold in the hot room. Clarke.

Bellamy surveyed the area, the ringing in his ears already dulling enough for screams and cries of pain to penetrate through. He caught the sight of red and tried not to linger on it long, turning in a full circle.

He suddenly paused at the wall behind him, on the limp figure that lay at the base of it. Blonde hair spilled over the ground and a bad feeling settled in Bellamy's chest, but he forced himself to move. Pain shot up his spine but he promptly ignored it. He didn't waste any time. He didn't even have to look to know it was her, and a blast a fear rattled through him, at the thought of what he might find.

Her hair covered her face and with gentle fingers, Bellamy gingerly swept it back. He swallowed. Definitely Clarke.

He cupped the side of her head, careful not to jostle it in case of injury. Her eyes were closed and when he supported her head he felt something wet. He pulled back his fingers, now slick with blood.

That fear intensified.

"Clarke?" he asked low but forcefully. "Clarke, can you hear me?"

Her lids fluttered and Bellamy let out a quiet sigh of relief. "You're gonna be fine," he told her, unsure if she could even hear him. He tried to consider what the best way was to handle this, even finding himself asking what Clarke would do. But that offered little help; he wasn't the doctor in their partnership.

Either way, Bellamy knew sitting in the middle of a group of hurt people waiting for the rest of the Guard to show up was not the best idea, so he carefully slid an arm beneath her legs and the other behind her back. He hefted her up, pulling her close to his chest.

His legs shook but didn't buckle as Bellamy took a few cautious steps forward, glancing back to make sure no one was watching him. They weren't; everyone was too preoccupied. Tending to the hurt, the bleeding, the dying. Bellamy could have sworn he caught sight of Kane kneeling over an older woman.

Bellamy shuffled forward and when he looked down, he nearly tripped. A body blocked his path and he almost bent over to check on them but stopped when he saw the person's face.

It was that guard, the one that had attacked Clarke. The one Bellamy had wanted to kill. It seemed he didn't have to bother after all; Bellamy stared at the piece of warped metal that stuck from the guard's neck. Puddles of dark red dampened the floor around his upper body, dyeing his blonde hair a brilliant scarlet. Blue eyes stared up into nothing, and Bellamy couldn't even bring himself to feel sympathy for the dead man. In fact, the only thing he felt was a small bit of resentment, in the dark wish that he hadn't been the one to kill him himself.