Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CLARKE, FINN and Monty had gone missing. So, naturally, half the camp were running around in a panic.
Marley wasn't one for being sucked into the chaos — though she wasn't sure, considering all the things that she'd found herself involved in, that that strategy was working — so she elected to sit with Myles in the dropship.
He'd been out hunting with Clarke and Finn. They'd found him shrouded by vegetation not too far from camp, crying out in pain, blood pouring from his wounds. He'd managed to croak out a warning of "grounders" before unconsciousness crashed over him like a wave, his eyes flickering open and closed from the blood loss.
He was barely conscious when they'd brought him back; as they'd lain him on a hammock swinging from the ceiling rafters, he'd completely passed out, at least for a while. Now he was asleep as soundly as someone as gravely injured as he was, his breathing laboured and raspy. But he was alive. And that was the most important thing.
Marley sat beside him on some sort of empty oil drum. Every so often, she'd dab his forehead with a damp rag, cooling off the fever that had begun to ravage his body, or pass him a sip of water when he'd half-open his eyes. But she wasn't a doctor and — despite her best — she wasn't sure how to help him beyond what she was already doing. Clarke was the camp's doctor and, without her, she was completely out of her depth. Marley was praying he would survived, at least long enough for Clarke to make him comfortable enough, because she didn't think she could handle much more sadness. And especially not loosing someone so young.
"Marley, are you in here?" Bellamy passed into the dropship. His voice was low so he wouldn't wake Myles; luckily, the boy's eyes remained closed and he was oblivious to his surroundings.
Marley smiled shortly. "Hey." She dabbed the sweat from the boy's brow as he let out another pained groan.
She wasn't sure whether she was intentionally avoiding Bellamy's gaze but she barely even glanced up at him when he strolled before her, slowly to avoid the loud echoing of heavy boots on metal. Marley Munroe wasn't a jealous person — in fact, she actively tried not to be — yet jealousy was the only explanation for the feeling gnawing at her stomach and chest.
"I thought someone should sit with him." She assumed, judging by the silence, that an inquiry into why she was sat her was his next question. "He shouldn't be alone."
Bellamy smiled. "Good idea."
He was stood next to her now, arms crossed over his chest. She finally glanced up at him — another small smile flashed across her lips as she did so — but only for a second. The way he was looking at her was confusing. She could feel his eyes on her as she glanced back at Myles, maybe lingering for a little too long.
"Any sign of Clarke and Finn?" Marley questioned hopefully. There was only so much she could do to help - and Myles really needed help. At least she'd know what to do.
