Heaven Can't Wait - Chapter 41

[jennickels]

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Chapter Forty-One - At Least That’s Something

He punches in the code to the door but doesn’t go inside. His hand rests on the handle unable to make himself open the door to the empty room that only this morning held giggles and off-key singing in garbled Grounder. His throat starts to close up again.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kane asks, hovering near the door in that overprotective way that Bellamy finds so annoying. “You know, if you need anything, I’m here. Abby, too.”

“I know.” He doesn’t want to talk to any of them. He just wishes Kane would go away. He forces a neutral expression on his face. “I’m fine, really. Just this headache. I’m sure a good night’s sleep without feet shoved into my ribs will help.”

Kane doesn’t laugh. “You’re sure?”

Yes, Dad.

Bellamy nods. “I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep, that’s all.” It becomes apparent that Kane isn’t leaving before Bellamy goes inside. He reluctantly enters the dark room then leans against the closed door, listening for Kane’s footsteps to disappear down the hall. The overhead lights come on automatically, sensing his presence.

The space is exactly how he left it this morning—bed half-made, tablet tossed on the desk, clothes pushed into the corner, two glasses of water cluttering the bedside table along with his books, lamp, and nub of a candle.

He flops onto the bed, not bothering to take off his boots, and pulls the pillow over his head. He breathes in the scent of lavender and granola that sends a shudder of grief through his body.

How am I going to do this?

Just like you did after your mom. And Gina. And everyone else you lost. You just do it.

He hates that voice. It’s too reasonable. He doesn’t want to be reasonable right now. He wants to charge into the Grounder enclave and take back his girl.

She’s not yours.

“Shut up,” he yells into the empty room. He doesn’t try to stop the tears. They soak into the pillow as the pressure grows in his head. Why can’t it just explode and end me now?

Too easy.

He rolls to his side, hugging the pillow to his chest and wipes his face. His eyes stare unfocused at the wall without blinking until they burn and slowly close as he drifts to restless sleep.

Just as he thought, Heaven’s screams pierce his dreams, morphing into the screams of dying men. He sees a Grounder with black hair and big brown eyes staring up at him, a startled look on his face. He says something Bellamy doesn’t understand but probably translates to, “please don’t shoot.” Bellamy pulls the trigger anyway, splattering his brains all over the back of the tent.

He bolts upright, gasping for air. Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he rubs his eyes until they burn. He feels even more tired now. He can’t get Heaven’s cries out of his head, and he can’t sit still. He needs something to do.

He thinks about just finding Kane to talk about the job right now. Then he’d have something to focus on, but he’s not into paperwork. Which he’s learned is a large part of the job description. The worst part about it.

Unable to settle or sleep, Bellamy finds himself wandering the station again just like he did all day. But that just brings back more memories. There’s where Heaven started twirling to see her skirt billowing around her. And there’s where she danced with Bae. And where she started singing something that sounded familiar, and yet, made no sense in her garbled Grounder.

He finds he’s heading down the hall where Heaven started to talk his ear off about something. It was the first time she really opened up, gesturing wildly as she rambled. Tears sting his eyes so he makes a hard right, heading away from the memories. They didn’t come down this hall because it just goes to storage areas. It should be safe.

The muffled sounds of clinking metal and soft thuds attract him further into the area. He finds himself outside what used to be a gym for training but is now stuffed full of crates. There’s more clinking then a loud bang as something falls.

“Damn it,” says a familiar voice inside.

Bellamy opens the door to the dimly lit room where Octavia is struggling to lift a crate from where it crashed to the ground. He just stands there until she grunts.

“Are you going to watch or help?” she asks without turning around.

Bellamy hurries across the room to grab one side of the crate, easily helping lift it back to its resting place. “This room is off limits,” he tells her.

“So?” Octavia shakes out her shoulders then scoops up her sword from near her feet. “Who’s going to stop me? You?”

“Maybe.”

This gets a somewhat amused snort from his sister. She twists her head from side to side until her neck pops then grins wickedly. “I’d like to see you try.”

Before Bellamy can process what she’s saying, she lunges at him with the sword. He has just enough time to dodge to the left, banging into the haphazardly stacked crates. They nearly topple onto him, and while he’s steadying them, Octavia turns for another attack. This time he’s more prepared, rolling away and towards some weapons shoved in a corner.

He grabs the first thing he finds—a staff—spinning it clumsily and nearly dropping it. Octavia shakes her head like she’s disappointed in his patheticness. But this time, he really is ready. When she advances, he parries her attacks, knocking the sword away.

The two dance around, swinging and blocking for ten minutes until Bellamy’s heart is racing, his muscle thrum with energy, and he’s soaked with sweat. He hasn’t thought about Heaven for at least five of those minutes.

Octavia must finally get bored of taking it easy with him. She spins, sweeping her leg out and taking Bellamy’s out from under him. He lands with a thud, air whooshing out of his lungs. His sister is on top of him, straddling his chest, before he can catch his breath. A knife presses his throat. There’s a panicked second before he realizes it’s the dull edge against his skin.

“You’d be dead ten times over if this was a real fight,” she tells him before shoving off.

“I know,” he says, not moving. He throws an arm over his eyes, blocking the light, and just breathes.

“You can fight better than this. Lincoln was training you the same way he trained me.”

Bellamy doesn’t respond. He listens to his own breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth—slow and steady—until he’s calm. When he looks up, Octavia is cleaning her sword with a rag, methodically rubbing it with some kind of oil. He slides to the wall, sitting against it.

“What do you know of Marta and Benedict?” he asks, surprising himself. He’s even more surprised when Octavia answers without looking up.

“From Trikru?” She finishes with her sword, sheathing it. “They come from a village near Polis where Marta was a baker. She had a stall in the city. Benedict was injured in a battle years ago—his ego never recovered. Their two sons were killed as teens in a skirmish with Ice Nation. Their daughter died in the City of Light.”

Bellamy frowns, not sure what to make of this history lesson. “How do you know all of that?”

She shrugs. “I pay attention.” She stops in front of Bellamy, staring down at him with furrowed brow. “Marta is good people. She took many orphans into her home over the years, raising them as her own.”

“I sense a but.”

“But Benedict has no love for Skaikru. He blames you for the City of Light.”

Bellamy sighs. “We stopped ALIE,” he says meekly. “We stopped the City of Light.”

Octavia squats. “That’s why he hates you. His daughter died, but she was still in the City of Light until Clarke shut it down.”

“What else were we supposed to do?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not blaming you. Most people appreciate that ALIE was stopped-”

“But they still blame us for her in the first place.” He rubs his eyes. They should have put a stop to Jaha when they had the chance.

“She’ll be okay,” Octavia says softly. “Marta is good with kids. And I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Bellamy blinks in shock. “Really?”

Octavia’s lips set in a thin line, but she nods. “She deserves a better life than she had. I’ll make sure of that.” With one last nod, she heads for the door.

Bellamy’s head falls back against the wall as he sighs in relief. Octavia will look after Heaven. At least that’s something.

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