Prisoner 83 | the 100

chapter thirteen

When the curly haired brunette reached their tent, he noticed Clarke wasn't there. She was most likely still out looking for Hazel. He considered going to find her, but decided that the blonde would figure it out eventually.

Bellamy gently placed the exhausted medic on her bed (only having known which one it was because of the last time he'd been in her tent with Clarke) before turning to leave. He was almost out of the tent when he heard the dirty blonde's soft voice. "Can you—" Hazel's speech was interrupted by a long yawn that escaped her, "—can you help me get these off?"

He paused at the exit of the tent before slowly turning around and hesitantly nodding. This would be the second time he would be seeing Hazel in an indecent state of attire in her tent, but this time it was just the two of them. He made sure not to stare as he helped Hazel out of her skinny jeans but he refused to take her shirt off, not wanting Clarke to suddenly walk in and get the wrong impression of the situation. She rolled under her large, brown blanket—Bellamy and Clarke had found them in the supply depot as well as guns—and pulled it up to her chin.

As the curly haired brunette finally made to leave, Hazel suddenly found enough energy to sit up and say, "Thanks, Belly."

Bellamy scrunched up his nose in disgust as he continued to exit the tent, "Let's not make that a thing." He was fine with being called by his real name, or if they were close enough, he thought that Bell was acceptable. But so far, the only one who ever called him that was Octavia.

Hazel was in mid-giggle when she dropped back down in her bed and fell asleep—for good this time. She had a dreamless sleep, which in her case, was not necessarily a bad thing. Anything was better than the nightmares that plagued her mind from the Ark.

The next morning, the half siblings were catching up in the tracker's tent.

"Look, Haze," Finn started to say as he tried doing some push-ups, "it's not on you, okay? You weren't the one torturing him, you weren't the reason behind it at all. It's not your fault." The shaggy-haired male had been trying to convince his older sister that she wasn't responsible for what happened to the Grounder for approximately fifteen minutes, but she had yet to believe him.

Hazel gently nudged her brother with her foot, "You're not supposed to strain yourself. It'll take a while before you're back on your feet. Just take it easy for a couple of days and you'll be fine."

"I didn't know I was talking to my doctor," Finn complained, earning a look from his half sibling.

She quickly quipped back, "And I didn't know I was talking to my therapist. But yeah, that happened."

Finn grinned up at her from his position on the ground before doing another push-up. He then stated seriously, "I'm only trying to make you feel better."

"So everything you said about it not being my fault isn't true?" Hazel raised an eyebrow. By this point, Finn had stopped attempting to do push-ups and was just laying on the ground. He was panting slightly from pushing himself too hard.

Scoffing, the boy's grin fell. "That's not what I meant and you know it." The dirty blonde stuck her tongue out at her brother immaturely, causing him to laugh loudly. Finn's laughter soon turned into a coughing fit, however, because he strained one of his muscles when trying to sit up.

"Whatever, spacewalk." Hazel rolled her eyes before leaving her brother's and Raven's shared tent, ignoring the tracker's over exaggerated pleas to help him off the ground. "Idiot."

She decided to walk back to her own tent that she shared with Clarke so that she could change out of her sweaty shirt. A while back, Finn claimed to have found a stash of unused and unclaimed clothes that he secretly shared with her so she could have a few extras. When he first handed her the extra clothing, she found the entire situation to be sketchy as well as very suspicious. But, Finn being Finn, promised he hadn't stolen them from dead bodies, so the dirty blonde didn't ask any further questions. As she slipped off her bloodstained, grey, long-sleeved shirt over her head, she grabbed a men's henley shirt that was a few sizes too large. Clarke poked her head in a moment after she'd finished changing, "Hey."