Falling - The 100 [ON HOLD]

7.

It seems as if most of my time is spent either tending to the wounds that Bellamy and Co. had inflicted on the grounder, or tending to the wounds said grounder had inflicted on Finn.

What irks me the most, is that I hate the role of a healer.

I hate blood and guts and puss and infections and ooze and everything that comes along with repairing the human body. Unfortunately, the knowledge and practice of tending to the sick and wounded was forced upon me by my tutors from the first nations.

Albeit, one thing irks me more than my position cleaning 'Jeff's' wounds and rubbing salves on his burns - which I found were inflicted by Raven - and that is the uncomfortable silence that follows Bellamy Blake whenever him and I are in the room together.

Our current predicament is that he trusts nobody else in the room with the grounder, so he keeps watch regularly to ensure that he is not released. Although, the caring look in his eyes translates to me that he also wishes to see that the grounder is receiving the care I promised him during the interrogation.

The moonshine drips from the rag onto the metal floor. That single, mind numbing sound is the only one in the room, apart from my deep sighs and the grunts from the grounder when a wound particularly stings.

He refuses to let me clean his face.

"So," I start, not being able to handle the tension, "How are you feeling after, y'know, everything?"

I don't know what to expect from the question. Maybe a bit of sadness, maybe aggression, maybe even a psychopathic lack of remorse. Unfortunately, the man goes for a different route.

"I used to hear stories, on the ark, about a girl named Skye," his eyes stare at the ground, and one could easily mistake him to be talking to himself, "Apparently she was frozen."

I laugh softly, "Wondered when somebody else would bring that up."

"When I was younger I thought it was true, but then reality set in and I reminded myself that we're all screwed and some little girl rising to lead us to the ground was a fairy tale," His eyes finally rise to meet my face. "Is it true? The stories about Skye? About you?"

There is a hint of childlike wonder in his chocolate brown orbs, and I can't help but engage him. After all, the council on the Ark are aware of my life, so why can I not share it here?

"Yup," I pop the 'p', "word of advice, being frozen sucks. My legs still ache every day."

He laughs slightly. I expect the next question to be asking for an elaboration of my life story, but instead he takes a different chance. I am quickly learning to expect the unexpected with the elder Blake.

"Is this what you had in mind when you thought of leading us? Working with the doc's daughter and I? Making the final call to torture a man?"

"Not at all," I whisper, dropping the rag onto the ground in favour of the salve Clarke made.

The hatch opens allowing a darker-skinned man to step through. He stands next to Bellamy. The both look solemn, Bellamy more so than Miller.

"Did you talk to the ark?" Bellamy asks, and Miller nods quickly.

His eyes avoid Bellamy for a short while, and I can tell that the younger boy wasn't happy about delivering the news of death to the families of the fallen, but I also know that Bellamy is fearful of contacting the ark.

"Yeah I did," his eyes move to me, "They want to speak to you Geoffrey."

I nod before putting the salve down. Bellamy fixes me with a strange look. I feel sympathy for the man, although I also know it was both his actions and my decision that led to our current situation. I also know that his sister refuses to speak to either of us, although it causes more worry to him than it does to me.