Chapter Fifteen: Saviour

Blinding pain forced her awake.

She felt her throat open, but her breathing felt strained. There was something tugging in her chest, and hands on her, and she remembered the grounder, and Octavia, and Octavia dying. She tried to scream, but only heard a whimper.

"She's waking up." It was a voice she didn't recognise. She tried to cry out again, to beg them to stop, but all she could find the breath for was a weak keen.

"Hold her still." A more familiar voice, but she couldn't place it. Maybe she was still dreaming. She didn't know you could hurt in dreams, but she believed it. Just another way for the world to kick you in the teeth.

Another tug, a weak shift against pressing hands, and darkness welcomed her again.

{-}

"Isobel?" Clarke called, her hand raising to the redhead's face. Her eyes had roll back, jaw slack again, body limp. "Isobel?" she repeated, a little more desperate as she pressed her fingers to her neck, seeking a pulse.

"Clarke?" her mother's voice sounded, seeking a report. She ignored it, hand twitching and searching and frantic, until she found that bump-bump-bump she had been looking for. Immediately she breathed a gusty sigh of relief.

"She's just unconscious," she said, both to her mother, herself, and Raven, who also sagged from her anxious coil.

"Likely from the pain," Abby confirmed, voice calm enough to soothe Clarke and Raven. This was normal. It was normal to pass out from pain when your friend is trying to extract a knife from between your ribs.

"Okay, trying again. Here it goes."

"Nice and slow, Clarke."

The ship was shaking around them, what they had believed to be a storm but had been told by Sinclair was actually a hurricane, now coming down heavy. They were lucky it hadn't done more than cause the radio to break up a few times, though the trembling metal around them didn't make the extraction any easier.

Clarke did her best to keep her hands as steady as possible, Raven still pinning Isobel even though the girl had gone completely still. She could feel the blade give, feel the slide, and as she pulled and angled it, she hoped she had gotten the measurement for the tilt perfect.

Halfway through, the drop ship shook violently and Clarke was flung back, the blade coming with her.

"Clarke!"

She stumbled to her feel, eyes frantically looking between the knife and the unconscious Isobel, who had rolled to the ground and was now laying on her stomach. Clarke numbly realised she was right earlier; Isobel's back was far more scarred than her front.

Raven scrambled from her own fall, hurriedly reaching Isobel and turning her over onto her back. Clarke froze, unable to see any rise and fall in Isobel's check, unwilling to reach for a pulse in the fear she wouldn't find one. That Isobel's legacy would end with a nicked aorta within a scarred body.

"Clarke? What's happening? Clarke, can you hear us?"

"What happened?" demanded Jasper as he and Monty almost flew down the ladder, both skipping the last few rungs when they saw Isobel on the floor.

"It's out," Clarke said, almost in a daze, before she snapped out of it. "Get her back on the table. Quickly."

The boys rushed to help as they and Raven carefully lifted the redhead and placed her back when she'd fallen from. Octavia and Finn appeared at the hatch, the girl gasping and almost leaping down to join them with the boy following at almost the same pace.

Soon, the group had surrounded the table, all watching closely as Clarke pressed a clean – as much as it could be, at least – cloth to Isobel's wound, checked her pulse again, and then her breathing. It wasn't bleeding too badly, only slightly more than it had with the knife in. Damage to her heart would bleed more. She leaned back, hand still firm on the wound, and almost managed a smile.

"She's okay."

Everyone relaxed, looking around at each other, smiles small but growing at the news. Finn and Clarke's eyes met, lingeringly, and Raven frowned.

"What now?" asked Jasper, looked to Clarke as always. She forced herself not to sigh.

"Now, I need you all to clear the room. I need quiet so I can focus and stitch up her wound," she explained. They were reluctant, but they moved. Clarke knew quartet would likely linger at the hatch, but out of sight was out of mind. She called out when she saw Raven move to go as well. "No, Raven, you stay. You've got steady hands and I might need some help."

"No problem."

With the group gone, Clarke was able to move quickly. She poured a little moonshine directly on the wound, sure that Isobel would be cursing up a storm of her own if she was awake to feel it. Then, with Raven holding a light steady for her, she plucked the needle and thin wire out of the bowl of moonshine, threaded it, and began sewing.

She had assisted her mother in procedures before, had started her training early and been sure she would become a doctor just like her. Now, her eagerness to get going in her life was keeping another person from dying, and she still couldn't find it in her to be anything other than bitter. This shouldn't be her job; Isobel shouldn't have gotten stabbed in the first place. They shouldn't be here.

With an unmoving patient and a steady hand holding the light, Clarke got through the stitches quickly, tying them off and cutting the excess with a pair of pliers. They were rough, and the wound would certainly leave an unpleasant scar, but – she thought with an internal wince – it would just be another mark to join Isobel's myriad of old wounds. She only hoped that this would be the wildest story her body would tell.

"Okay, I'm done," she announced, drawing back and dropping the needle back into the bowl.

"Good," her mother said, sounding relieved. She wondered what gave her mother the right to worry. She didn't know Isobel, she wasn't here, and it wasn't her responsibility."Do you have anything to cover the wound?"

"We'll make do, like always," she said, finally releasing the sigh she had been holding in for hours, her bitterness bubbling to the surface.

"Should she be this pale? Warm, too," asked Raven, tentatively pressing her hand to Isobel's forehead.

"She's lost a lot of blood, Raven," Abby replied. "It's normal to have a slightly increased temperature. I'm sure she'll be fine."

Raven seemed eased by Abby's assurance, but Clarke wanted to be sure. She placed a hand to Isobel's sternum, frowning in concern and pressing a little firmer, moving her hand to the sides and feeling the heat. With her hand on her chest, she could feel her breaths stuttering in and shaking out.

"Wait, mom, she's right," she said, worried. "She's feverish, and her breathing's uneven."

"You need to give her some time to recover. Let me know if she gets any worse, but I think I think she might just be out of the woods."

"Well, down here, there's nothing but woods," she muttered scathingly, standing and wiping off her hands on a rag before placing it back down with her other scavenged supplies. "I need a break."

"Clarke? Clarke, wait," her mother's voice called and she paused. All the anger she didn't allow herself to feel earlier was returning."Raven could you give us a few minutes?"

"Sure," the mechanic said immediately, but Clarke halted her upwards movement with a raised hand.

"No. No, stay with Isobel," she insisted. "I'll call the others down so they can see her, and let Bellamy know."

{-}

"What the hell is that thing? Friend of yours?" frowned Bellamy, holding the journal so the grounder could see the sketch of what looked like a human figure in camouflage.

After going through the grounder's things, finding vials of plant-stuffs and the book, they had discovered that the grounder was something of an artist. Pages were covered in detailed sketches. Locations they, obviously, didn't recognise, plants and vegetation, a drawing of a statue Bellamy recognised to be Lincoln from his history class. It seemed like the grounder drew everything he saw. He had discovered a sketch of Octavia in the later pages, with a smaller and less-detailed rendering of Isobel in the top corner of the same page. It had brought a whole new level anger to play.

The hatch opened – he had closed it around the time Clarke had asked what angle she needed to pull the knife out at – and the blonde almost-doctor appeared. Drew moved quickly to block her, remembering Octavia's earlier issue with their setup and knowing Clarke held a little more power in the camp than his leader's sister.

"Get the hell out of my way," she ordered sternly once she was on her feet. Her hands were still tinged with blood, and she seemed testy, and Bellamy worried what that might meant for Isobel.

"It's ok," he allowed quickly, wanting an update. "Let her through."

She moved closer, pausing a few steps from him and looking thoroughly at the grounder. He could see horror growing on her face as she took in the blood and the bruises and the chains, her jaw working to form words she hadn't decided on yet. He prepared himself for a fight, but he was tired, and he just wanted to know if this grounder scum had killed Isobel or not.

"Well, if he didn't hate us before, he does now," Clarke said at length, words firm and disapproving, but Bellamy only cared about one thing.

"Who cares?" he snapped, pulling her away quickly, uncaring how desperate he seemed. It was an open secret by now how much he cared about the redhead who'd repeated defended the delinquents and saved both his and his sister's lives. "How's Isobel?"

"Alive," she replied without delay, sensing how much he needed to know and sharing in his sigh of relief. Still, she glanced at the grounder again, unwilling to let it go. "His people will care. How long until they figure out where he is? And what happens when they do? I mean, when they come looking for him? They will, Bellamy."

"Relax," he cut her off. The nickname she hated, 'princess', lingered on the tip of his tongue, but she had saved Isobel. For at least a little while, that had earned her his good will. "No one saw us take him. He was knocked out in that cave the entire time, and thanks to the storm, we didn't see a soul on the way back."

The dropship rocked again, a crash of thunder directly above, and everyone – including the grounder – looked up as they tilted. When the ship settled again, Bellamy jerked the journal up, opening it and flipping to the page covered in tally marks, bookmarked by a feather and opposite an image of their camp.

"Okay," he grunted, handing her the book. "In case you missed it, his people are already killing us. How many more of our people need to die until you realize we're fighting a war?"

"We're not soldiers, Bellamy," she insisted quietly, snapping the book closed and meeting his eye. She glanced at the grounder. "Look at him. We can't win."

"You're right. We can't, if we don't fight."

She tilted her head, ready to contest him again, but they were interrupted.

"Clarke, she's seizing!" called Raven, her voice strained from yelling up two levels. Bellamy felt cold rush through his body, vaguely recognised it as panic, even as Clarke did her best to keep calm.

"On my way," she replied immediately, already in motion down the hatch.

Bellamy watched her go, wanting nothing more than to follow, to help, to save Isobel, but he knew that wasn't his area. He'd be more of a hinderance down there.

He eyed the grounder again and closed the hatch. At least up here, he could protect their future.

{-}

Octavia was grouped with Jasper, Monty, and Finn at the far wall, opposite the tarp opening. Raven had herded them there the moment Isobel had started twitching, calling up for Clarke. They could hear the blonde flying down the ladders, yanking the second level hatch closed on her way down.

"She was fine, then –!"

"Get my mother on the radio now," Clarke ordered, interrupting the update, pausing only when Raven didn't move. "Raven, now!"

"The radio's dead!" the mechanic replied frantically, moving towards the useless device. "Interference from the storm."

"You can save her, right?" Monty's weak voice echoed from the wall. Clarke glanced at them, hands pressing Isobel's shoulders to try and lessen any additional damage she was doing to herself. They eyes were pleading and, when she turned to Raven, hers weren't much better.

Isobel was quaking violently against both Clarke and Raven, who were trying to hold her still, and foaming at the mouth. Her wound was oozing blood around the stitches, one of which had pulled at her skin from the movement.

Immediately feeling overwhelmed, Clarke glanced desperately at the radio.

Shaking her head, knowing there was no help from The Ark now, she held tighter.

"We just need to hold her still until it passes," she directed. "Raven, hold down her shoulder and arm, like I'm doing. Jasper and Finn, hold her legs."

Everyone moved as told, Octavia and Monty eventually moving in to help when her shaking got worse. Monty wrapped his hands around her ankles, allowing Jasper and Finn to focus on her knees and thighs, while Octavia held her head, hands on either side at her ears, as directed by Clarke.

It felt like hours had passed, but in reality, none of them knew exactly how long it had been. Isobel slowly stilled, shakes turning to quivers until she was limp again. The crowd held on for a moment longer, unsure if it was really over, watching as more foam gathered on her lips.

"Okay," Clarke breathed, pulling back her hands, the others doing the same. "It stopped. Quick, help me get her on her side," she continued, immediately pulling at Isobel's shoulder to roll her over. When Raven didn't do anything, Jasper shoved her aside and pressed his hands to Isobel's back, helping Clarke support her on her uninjured side.

"Why do we need to turn her?" asked Octavia.

"She has fluid in her lungs," explained Clarke, though she was mostly distracted by surveying Isobel's condition. "If we leave her on her back, she could choke."

"She's burning up," muttered Jasper, feeling the heat of her skin on her back.

"Fluid in her lungs?" echoed Raven. "Does that mean the knife hit something?"

"This isn't blood," Clarke replied, immediately discarding the theory. "It's something else. I did everything she told me. I've seen this before," she muttered, frowning. "Shortness of breath, fever, seizing…"

"It's poison," Monty uttered, eyes widening.

"Clarke, you sterilized everything," Raven gasped. "I watched you do it."

"Not everything," Octavia said, picking up the knife. A fire entered Clarke's eyes and she moved quickly, grabbing the knife from Octavia and making her way to the ladder.

"Stay here," she told them all, not checking to see who obeyed. Only Octavia followed.

{-}

When Isobel next woke up, it was all at once. From the pounding in her head and the burning in her stomach and side, she expected to wake blearily, in drawn-out stages of consciousness, but instead it was like flipping a switch.

One moment was only darkness, the next was the painful realisation that she was injured, captured, and had seen her friend die. She had witnessed Octavia's final moments and didn't know if the others were still alive, if Bellamy was still alive. Her mind swam, hearing Octavia calling for her brother over and over, then seeing her die. Bellamy had been in the forest; he had been there when the grounders attacked and killed Octavia.

The light was too blinding for her to open her eyes more than a crack, and her head was swimming so much that the words being spoken around her sounded garbled and nonsensical; not that she would have understood much had her hearing been intact. Panic flashed through her like a shot, and she darted to her feet, shoving, hitting, and scratching as the hands that tried to keep her down.

Hot liquid surged from her at the movement – blood, her mind supplied, from a wound she didn't remember getting – but she had more important things to consider. She tried to scream, to demand what they had done to Bellamy, but her tongue was heavy and dry and unable to form the words. She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders from behind, circling her collarbones, and she twisted immediately to keep the arm from sliding up, from choking her.

She could feel herself crying from a mixture of fear, frustration, and grief. She didn't want to acknowledge that Octavia was dead, but she had seen the spear, had seen her body fall limp. Isobel wasn't even sure if she was still with the grounder that kidnapped them but doubted it. He'd likely grown annoyed with her frequent escape attempts and finally turned her over to his people. The air wasn't as thick as in his cave, but now held a metallic scent, likely due to her blood, and there were more people present; male and female voices mixing in her muddled mind.

"Issy, you need to stop."

That filtered through, crystal clear.

Monty's voice. A slight hitch, from pain or fear or something else, but no, please, no, they can't have gotten Monty!

"Hold her still."

Confident, female, and firm. A hint of concern. A flash of blonde hair and blue eyes. Her mother, and she nearly wept again. Not her mother. Clarke. They got Clarke?

The arm around her tightened, joined by another circling her hips, and she was held fast, unable to twist or escape. Strong arms. Familiar arms.

"I'm trying."

His voice was almost in her ear. His chest vibrated against her back as he spoke, and she stilled for a moment. The voice was safety. Protection. Daddy doesn't hit me when he walks me home. Bellamy. Calm began to break through the terror, but her paranoia did its best to crush it back down. It couldn't be Bellamy. He was far from here. He had to be.

Hands touched her cheeks, cradling her face gently. Soft hands, with the start of callouses forming. Rougher fingertips than palms. Artist hands.

"Isobel, you're okay," a voice soothed. She knew the voice. It was Clarke again.

She tried to shove the voice away. It had to be a lie. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She wanted to cry again because it hadn't summoned Wells. She didn't want Clarke.

"You're safe. You're at the dropship."

It was a lie.

Her stomach burned. Her mind was foggy. Her body sluggish. She wasn't okay. She wasn't safe. It was all a lie.

I'm dying.

She tried to call for Octavia, and for a moment she thought she heard her friend call back.

She wasn't dying. She was dead.

{-}

The fight seemed to snap out of the redhead entirely, and Bellamy almost dropped her for a second before he adjusted for the weight. She slumped against him, breathing heavy and strained. His eyes burned as he looked to Clarke for answers.

When she had marched up the ladder, banging on the hatch and demanding entry, he had assumed Isobel was okay and Clarke was now back to lord her good morals over them all. Instead, she had gone straight for the grounder, knife in hand, demanding to know what toxin was killing Isobel. To say he had panicked would have been an understatement, as he had practically flown for the vials they'd found in the ground's pack, hoping they would be Isobel's salvation.

Instead, the grounder had remained silent, even as Clarke and Octavia pleaded and tapped the vials. They had cried and begged and yelled – you're letting her die. You can save her! – but the grounder kept quiet. Bellamy felt justified in resorting to violence.

He'd thought they would stop him, but aside from Octavia's initial protest, no one had kicked up much fuss. Isobel meant a lot to the camp, and this grounder had not only caused her suffering, but was now letting her die. Octavia had left when he'd grabbed the seatbelt, and Bellamy was glad she didn't witness him torturing someone.

Then, Raven had called up, yelling that Isobel had stopped breathing, and Clarke rushed down the ladders to help. Bellamy, knowing he should stay, followed anyway.

"The poison is moving quicker than I thought," Clarke said, voice reluctant and barely above a mumble. "We need to get the antidote now. I don't know how much longer she has."

"Well, he's not talking," Bellamy spat, shifting her in his arms until he could comfortably lay her back down. She was pale and covered in sweat, her forehead burning when he gently pushed her hair from her face. "Can't we try the vials? One of them has to work."

"Or it would make her worse," Clarke replied, and Bellamy's face twitched with irritation.

"Worse?" he snapped. "How can she get worse? She's dying!"

"She's not dead. She's got time," the blonde shot back, just as harshly. Gritting his teeth, Bellamy looked back at Isobel. Octavia had taken possession of her hand, just as she had before the redhead woke up, and was slowly wiping her forehead with a cool cloth.

He felt useless.

Isobel deserved better.

The camp was fed that first week because of her. They had water because of her. They felt safe when they looked up and saw her – a beacon of red – sat atop the drop ship. She had befriended and protected Octavia. She watched over Jasper. She stood up for the weak.

She saved his life.

They had the grounder up top, tied and alive. He was glad they had gone back to get him; he had been sure he would have information they could use against his people, as had Jasper and Monty. Now, they needed to know which antidote would save Isobel.

He was done feeling useless.

The seatbelt hadn't worked. Stabbing the screw through his hand hadn't worked. He would have to get more creative.

Bellamy rushed back up the ladders, vaguely aware that he was being followed by Clarke, Raven, and Octavia, though Monty, Jasper, and Finn stayed to monitor Isobel. The four reached the top level quickly, Bellamy nodding to Miller to close the hatch and block it off. It was about to get loud in here, and no one needed curious heads popping up.

"We need to get him talking," Clarke said, voice clearly showing her reluctance, but her determination was obvious.

"I'm thinking," Bellamy replied. He noticed Raven also looking around, but was still surprised when she moved across the room, to the large blue wires behind the grounder. "What are you doing?"

"Showing you something new," she replied, pulling the wires. They sparked with electricity, and the grounder gave the first reaction he had all night, jerking in his restrains as she tapped the wires together, generating more sparks. "Isobel saved Finn. I'm not about to let her die."

She sparked the wires a few more times, whether to prep them or make the grounder sweat, Bellamy wasn't sure. When she finally did touch them to his skin – one on his pectoral, the other on his abs – he yelled in pain and the lights went down. They came back up when she pulled the wires off, the grounder shouting and breathing heavily.

"Which one is it?" she demanded. "Come on!"

The wires were shoved back onto his chest, light failing again. Bellamy found it hard to watch and glanced at the others, seeing Clarke's disgust and Octavia's horror. He wanted to cover his sister's eyes and protect her from everything, but this is what needed to be done to save Isobel. Much like with Atom, he was selfishly glad someone else could take the brunt of it. He looked back at the scene, missing his sister picking up the knife.

"No more!" Octavia roared, brandishing the weapon. The wires were removed.

"He's letting Isobel die," Raven cried. Bellamy wondered if saving Finn was really all that had prompted this loyalty from the mechanic.

Just when he thought they were at an impasse Octavia pressed the blade down into her own skin. He almost missed the grounder jerk, too concerned himself with his sister's reckless plan.

"Octavia, no!" he yelled, though it was too late.

"He won't let me die," she insisted, moving forwards and avoiding Bellamy's hand when he reached for her. She lowered herself, pointing the tip of the knife towards the vials Clarke had spread out in front of the grounder.

"Octavia, what the hell did you –"

"This one?" she asked, tapping the knife hurriedly. She shook her head when he didn't confirm or deny it, glancing away instead. For a moment a stone settled in her stomach and she worried she'd made a mistake. After all, he seemed just as keen on keeping Isobel protected, but now he was letting her die.

Powering through, she tapped another vial, then another, looking up at him desperately. That's when she realised, he wasn't looked away, but at the vial on the far end. She rapidly reached for it, holding it up, ignoring the blood streaking across her arm. The slightly orange liquid tilted in the vial as she held it up towards him, awaiting an answer.

He nodded.

"Good," she gasped, handing the vial off to Clarke, who rushed with Raven down to Isobel.

"Thank you," the blonde uttered on her way out.

Bellamy reached down to help his sister off the floor, but she jerked away from him.

{-}

Raven stared at Isobel, willing her awake, willing her to survive.

She knew the others thought her sudden and ruthless loyalty to the redhead was odd, but Isobel had saved Finn. This small, scrappy redhead had saved Raven's entire world from being in this same position, and she doubted she could ever repay that debt. From his constant, lingering presence, Raven knew Finn likely felt the same way.

What none of them seemed to realise is that they all orbited Isobel in the same way.

Octavia was the most obvious. The strongest proponent of leaving the grounder be, she had reluctantly stood aside to allow the others to torture the antidote out of him. She'd poisoned herself on the off-chance the grounder wouldn't want her dead, too, just to save her friend's life. This was a girl who'd grown up hidden from the world – rumours spread fast, of course she knew who Octavia was – and now had someone she liked and trusted and would do anything to keep that.

Finn stuck to her like glue. It was a combination of survivor's guilt, gratitude, and just his natural empathetic disposition, but there was something undeniable in Finn's eyes when he looked at Isobel. He respected her. Raven knew because she'd known Finn since they were kids. He valued kindness, selflessness, and courage, and everything she'd heard about Isobel suggested that the redhead had all of those qualities in spades, if not mixed with an unhealthy dose of self-sacrifice.

Jasper and Monty were watchful over her, though the former seemed twitchier about it. The bond between the two, Isobel, and Octavia almost convinced Raven that the four must have grown up together, but she knew Octavia had been hidden away her whole life, and with her scarring it didn't seem likely that Isobel could have grown up with the boys without them having their parents step in.

Clarke was desperate to save her. She may have even fooled herself into thinking it was because of duty, because she was the healer and it was her job to save her. Raven saw through it, because it was her job to look at the big picture and find the small things in it. Any time a commotion flared up, or someone stepped out of line, or even earlier when a fight had almost broken out, Clarke seemed to instinctively look to Isobel, like she would fix it.

Bellamy was the one she felt the most pity for. She saw the way he looked at her. It was the same way Raven looked at Finn; the only difference being, both Finn and Raven were aware of it, and embraced it. Whatever he told himself, he cared a lot more than he realised about the redhead, and it wasn't just about a life-debt.

Others on the dropship seemed to be paying acute attention to the situation. More than a passing curiosity, it felt like they were all holding their breaths and awaiting news on a loved one. Every time Raven had yelled up, or Clarke had yelled down, or either had proclaimed Isobel's condition too loudly, there were gasps and whispers and more than a few tears.

This camp loved Isobel, and Raven hated to think what would happen if she didn't survive.

{-}

Clarke eyed the grounder carefully as she removed the large screw from his hand. Once she was sure Isobel was stable, and had tended to the head-wound Bellamy reminded her of, she'd climbed right back up with a bowl of clean water and a cloth, determined to not let herself be dragged down any further. She would clean his wounds, patch him up, and ensure his suffering didn't last longer than necessary.

It was for Isobel. It was necessary. She needs to live.

He didn't make a sound when she pulled it out. It was off-putting.

She placed the screw down carefully and wrung out the cloth until it wasn't soaked anymore before raising it to clean his hand. He closed it into a fist. His fingers did not completely curl into his injured palm, but it was strong enough that she couldn't pry it open.

"Hey," she complained, trying again to press the cloth into his palm, but he continued to resist. "Look, I need to clean this," she insisted, barely looking as Octavia came up behind her, taking the cloth.

"Here, let me try," the younger teen offered. Her tone gave nothing away, but Clarke could feel the frost from her cold shoulder.

"I never wanted him to get hurt, Octavia," she insisted weakly, imploring Octavia to look at her, but she just continued trying to clean the wound. The grounder opened his hand for her. "You have to know that. I just wanted to save Isobel."

It was for Isobel. It was necessary. She needs to live.

"For the record," Octavia spoke up with a frown, "you didn't save Issy. That was me. But whatever you want to tell yourself to feel better."

Clarke wanted to challenge that immediately. Octavia hadn't performed surgery on Isobel. Octavia hadn't removed the knife. She hadn't stitched her up, or seen her through seizures, or gotten her breathing again after she'd stopped. Poison or not, without Clarke, Isobel would have died hours ago.

She shrugged off the arguments, knowing it wouldn't mean anything. A bitter part of herself wasn't willing to hold everything back, though.

"And the person you're helping would have let her die," she said. Clarke didn't know why she felt the need to antagonise, but she had been repeating it on a loop in her mind ever since Bellamy had first took up the seatbelt. This is for Isobel. It's necessary. She needs to live.

All she got in return for her scathing words was an unimpressed look. Octavia shook her head, as though Clarke were a misbehaving child, and didn't look at her again. Taking that as dismissal, Clarke left, feeling scolded and even more guilty for her actions.

It was for Isobel. It was necessary. She needs to live.

{-}

Octavia forced herself to ignore Clarke's exit, mentally fuming at the blonde's behaviour. Medic or not, how could she think the grounder would just accept her help after she had stood by and watched, and even encouraged, his torture. Octavia had even doubted whether or not he would accept aid from her, being that she, too, hadn't physically tried to stop Bellamy or Raven from hurting him.

She had wanted to. She had wanted to pull the seatbelt away from Bellamy, to scream until she was hoarse, to throw the screw across the room before it could be driven into the grounder's hand. When Raven had… She mentally shuddered, feeling her stomach turn.

It's for Isobel, they had all justified. Octavia was sure Isobel would balk at the measures they had gone to in her name. The redhead had never been one for such extreme violence, no matter the pursuit. Knowing what she knew about Isobel's childhood, she was sure that knowing what had been done in her name would make her sick.

The grounder's gaze was intense, much as she tried to pretend it didn't affect her. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but the other was piercing. His silent presence was almost a physical force and she had to remind herself to focus, to keep her hands gentle on his wounded palm, even as questions burned in her mind.

Why would you have let her die?

Confident as she tried to act, Octavia had been terrified that the grounder would let her die, too. She had no idea why he would save her life over Isobel's, but she was glad for it, knowing that his decision had saved them both.

Why let me live?

She wanted to hate him a little. The trick with the knife was all she could come up with, wanting to stop the violence but still save her friend. He had helped them both, much as Isobel had been an unwilling patient and they had both been kidnapped. He fixed her leg. He tried to help Isobel with her head wound, but the redhead was stubborn as they come. Octavia wasn't sure if it was lucky or not that the knife had gone in right where Isobel had impaled herself when she had broken the poker.

"I'm so sorry," she said instead, glancing at him, unsurprised to find him already looking at her. She surveyed his other wounds – electrical burns, raw skin from the belt whips, open scrapes, bleeding head – and winced. "You saved my life and look…look at the thanks you get."

She wanted to say more. Why would you have let Isobel die? Why let me live? Why couldn't you have saved her?

She turned back to his hand instead.

"I never wanted any of this to happen to you," she told him, truthfully, meeting his eye again.

All she had wanted was for her and Isobel to be brought back, and for him to be left alone. If Bellamy hadn't gone straight to anger, to violence, Isobel wouldn't have nearly died.

If this guy had just told us the antidote in the first place…

"Why would you let her die?" she asked, the question spilling out almost without her permission and she quickly returned her gaze to his hand. She didn't expect an answer, even as his silence caused tears to burn in her eyes. She didn't expect his hand to curl around hers, thumb stroking the backs of her fingers.

Staring up at him again, almost in wonder, with heavy tears threatening to spill from her eyes, Octavia could believe she imagined it when his raspy, weak voice, finally spoke.

"Thank you."

{-}

Bellamy was supervising the clean-up after the storm. It was slow-going at first, but everyone seemed to pick up their pace after Clarke had announced that Isobel's breathing and pulse were normal, and her temperature was coming back down. Relief spread through the camp like adrenaline, and everyone was keener to work than ever. He was sure Jasper, yelling about making it all nice again for Isobel before she woke up, had helped raise morale.

He glanced up at the sky, hardly a cloud in sight, and almost sighed. Isobel had loved the first rain when they arrived. He remembered her smiling, head tilted up, the drops falling full and warm on her face. It was a shame she had to miss the battering storm, as she was probably the only one who would have appreciated it, even if it had confined her to the dropship with the others.

His head was on swivel all morning. After her announcement, Clarke had promised to find him when Isobel woke up. He figured she had made the same promise to Octavia, Jasper, and Monty. Finn and Raven would know the moment it happened, as Finn was still not leaving her side and, as a result, neither was Raven. Selfishly, he hoped Clarke would find him first.

His thoughts seemed to summon Clarke, the blonde slowly making her way passed all the busy teens, surveying the ongoing clean up works. A few people glanced at her, hope in their eyes, but no one stopped her. They all assumed, probably accurately, that news of Isobel waking would spread fast enough without needing to bother Clarke. Unlike them, he wasn't patient enough to wait for gossip. He approached as she moved through the camp, jaw tensing when he saw the screw – last located through the grounder's palm – in her hands.

"We'll get it cleaned," he assured, noticing her looking about the camp. She was moving casually enough that he assumed there was no news on Isobel.

"I wish this was our only mess," she lamented, moving past him.

"Clarke," he called, reaching out and catching hold of the screw, pulling it gently from her grasp. "Who we are, and who we need to be to survive, are two very different things."

She seemed to consider his words briefly, but a glance at the ship had her changing the topic.

"What are we gonna do with him? We can't keep him locked up forever."

"If we let him go, he'll be back," Bellamy theorised, "and not alone next time." He looked at her, considering her troubled expression, and found that he sympathised. "It's not easy being in charge, is it?"

Clarke looked away and Bellamy moved to pass her, to go back to overseeing the clean-up.

"By the way, Isobel's awake. Everyone's with her."

He paused, clenching his jaw. Of course, he was the last to know.