The 99

Chapter Twenty Four: Bellamy

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Bellamy was no novice to fear. He'd felt plenty of it in his life, from the moment he had to clamp one small hand over his sister's mouth to keep her cries from permeating the corridors. He knew what it was like to be scared for himself, but if Octavia had taught him anything, it was that it was so much worse to fear for someone else.

And right now, standing outside the door Clarke was supposed to be coming through, Bellamy was glad Octavia was far away from the Ark. He hoped she was someplace nicer, somewhere that wasn't so touched and tainted by fear.

Bellamy clenched his hands, ignoring the way his nails bit into the skin. "Should it be taking this long?" he asked Wick who stood by the opposite wall, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

He switched his weight onto his other foot. "She'll do it. Clarke Griffin doesn't exactly strike me as the type to give up easily."

"She's not," Bellamy whispered, low enough so that Wick wouldn't hear. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the torrent of unease inside him. It mingled with the frustration he felt towards himself and the anger towards Clarke for having taken such a risk in the first place. Maybe the terrible pit in his stomach was guilt, but it was something else, too. It was the feeling he got when Octavia was in trouble. It was a feeling that made him want to tear the whole ship apart if that's what it took, but he settled for staying rooted to the spot, keeping his eyes on that door.

The minutes came and went and it became harder for Bellamy to stay where he was. He was seconds away from crawling into that shaft himself when the sound of something snagged his attention.

Footfalls.

He waited, eyes wide as figures appeared through the transparent door just a moment before it opened, revealing a very disheveled Clarke. Bellamy was so relieved it took him a second to register the second person-a woman- clinging to her side, an arm draped over Clarke's neck. There was something familiar about her, though, and Bellamy felt himself blanch. "Is that"-?

"Abby?" Kane's voice came from behind Bellamy and the counselor hurried forward, taking Abby Griffin's other side. Her clothes were matted and damp, and a grisly stain bled through the front of her shirt, but she was alive and responsive enough to look sidelong at Kane.

Clarke acquiesced, letting him take her weight. But as she moved away from her mother, Bellamy didn't miss Clarke's wince of pain. His eyes dropped to the burnt fabric of her shirt, and his body moved without volition.

He stopped in front of her as she met his eyes with a smirk. "Told you I'd be fine."

Bellamy grabbed her arm gently and turned it over. He grimaced at the sight, of torn cloth and the bands of bright red decorating her forearms. "This is your definition of fine?" He tried to quiet the undertone of anger, but Bellamy never had a good handle on that emotion. It had its way with him.

"Breathing is my definition of fine," Clarke said, glancing between his gaze and his hold on her arm. "I can handle a few burns."

Bellamy frowned, unconvinced, but dropped his grip. The heat of her skin lingered on his fingertips.

He wanted to say something else, such as how he should've been the one to go in that shaft instead; how fatal her stubbornness could've been, but he just gritted his teeth to keep from any of that slipping out. He looked over to where Kane was supporting Abby. "How's she doing?"

A line appeared between Clarke's brows, the beams from the nearby flashlights kindling like fire in her eyes. "She'll be okay. There's a cut to her abdomen like she was . . . stabbed, but it doesn't seem to be septic." Her voice took on a rushed quality and Bellamy didn't miss the crack in it.