GUYS, it looks like I'm ACTUALLY going to finish this fanfiction! Awww! I'm really excited. Please let me know your thoughts. I love getting reviews and feedback :) 

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Movement.

Panicked voices.

Bellamy's tan fingers clenched around Octavia's pale ones.

That's what everything seemed to come down to, those three things, revolving endlessly around each other like planets in orbit.

I stared at her leg as if I could somehow assess the damage from here, but I could barely make out her form through the paramedics hovering around her.

The drive was a blur. The hospital was a blur. Everything had become just . . . a blur. Then everyone was piling out of the ambulance, and the bright day was replaced by whitewashed walls. Octavia was rushed away, and soon Bellamy was no longer holding her hand but waiting outside the door of the OR, waiting. His fingers curled into his hair, his back to me.

I watched him mutely. Watched as his hands finally fell away from his head and his whole body seemed to slouch.

I didn't even realize I was sitting in one of the chairs until he finally joined me.

Not a word was spoken. We just sat, and waited.

Eventually I ruled against offering him any consolation. She'll be fine. We helped her in time.

But I'd thought those words twice before, enough that I'd actually believed them, for a few meager moments. And on both occasions, they had been proven wrong.

No, I would not permit a third time the same opportunity to shatter us both.

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Soon after, Bellamy was asked to step into another room.

Ice-cold panic shot through me at the thought that they would tell him the news we were both dreading. But no-they just wanted to check for injuries. He looked like he only had a few abrasions, some minor cuts, but as soon as a physical was mentioned, I was glad he went.

It gave me enough time to think about a lot of things. And yet, I found myself unable to think about anything but those moments beneath the car.

It was dark-maybe I'd missed something.

The light had slipped once.

Maybe the tourniquet was too high.

Maybe it was too low.

The paramedics had been there quickly; should I have waited for them?

I squeezed my eyes hard enough to make my temples pound. The accusations, the questions, they didn't matter. Not yet. Not before we knew anything. I let that be enough to shove all the noise away and occupy myself with nothing more than the buzz of hospital activity.

I didn't know how much time had passed before I heard Mom.

"Clarke!"

Her arms went around me before I had time to stand.

I hugged her back. "It's okay," I told her numbly. "I wasn't in the car."

She pulled away to study my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Oh, honey," she whispered, and pulled me to herself again.

"Mom." She caught the quiver in my voice and let me go long enough to look me in the eyes once more. "It's been a long time," I said. "I haven't heard anything. Could you . . . can you go check?"

Mom studied me, as if afraid to let me go. I knew what the call she'd received today must've done to her; how it would've dragged her back to that awful afternoon, and the pain, no, the horror I saw in her eyes sparked guilt in me.

Yes, the reminder of Dad's absence still hurt her, deeply. How could I have thought she'd been more dismissive of him?

She squeezed my arms. "I can . . . see what I can do," she finally said. "If I'm not in the way." With one final nod, she disappeared down the hall.

And I was waiting again.

I suddenly really hated this room. The sitting. The silence. All of it. If only someone would break it.

As if prompted by my thoughts, five minutes after Mom had left, Bellamy reappeared, a bandage covering a laceration he'd gotten above his right brow. The sight of him made me both tense up and relax. One look at me gave him his answer: no news yet.

He returned stoically to his seat and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, one hand wrapped around a fist. "Why do you think it's taking so long?" he asked.

My foot tapped restlessly against the floor. How long had I been doing that? "My mom just got here. I asked her to check."

Bellamy nodded. He didn't look at me but kept his attention on his hands. "You did everything you could," he murmured softly.

Five words. Five words sent my vision swimming. I blinked again and again, and shook my head, as if to refuse the tears. "No," I whispered. "Not yet." I swallowed. "You don't get to tell me that yet."

Not when it sounded like an admission.

"I just . . .I just want you to know. If you hadn't been there-"

"Where are the Roffans?" I asked, cutting him off.

Bellamy had enough grace not to question it. "I called them when I was getting checked out. Maureen went with Clint to a meeting he had in Laramie. They're coming now-"

In that moment, eclipsed between the wings of white coats and passersby, I glimpsed my Mom.

I stood so fast, the blood ran from my head.

When Bellamy noticed, he was on his feet too, previous words forgotten, lost in the sudden storm of fear, panic, worry, dread. I tried to read my mom's facial expression. Doctor or not, I was her daughter, and her mask did not work so well on me.

I could see enough to know that what news she'd discovered wasn't bad.

"She's out of surgery," she said once she'd reached us. "For now, she's stable. They're getting ready to transfer her to recovery."

The sound of Bellamy's relief escaped him all in a single breath, and he splayed a hand against the wall as if to steady himself. He made that sound a second time. And a third.

"Thank you," he finally managed. Before he even looked at me, almost as some sort of reflex, he pulled me into him, arms wrapping around my waist and crushing me to his chest. He made that sound against my hair.

I waited for the relief to hit me, but it didn't. I knew too many potential complications, things that could still go wrong. I wasn't about to be caught off guard by them, not yet at least.

After a moment, Bellamy withdrew his arms. "When can I see her?"

"Shouldn't be too long," Mom said. "Dr. Tanner, Octavia's doctor, should let you know soon."

"Thank you, Dr. Griffin."

She smiled before turning to me. "It was a good thing that you were there," she said, taking my hand. I saw her tears start to well.

I wrapped my arms around her before they could spill over, and her words could cut. "It's okay," I repeated, giving her the time to hold me until that realization settled over her, calming any last remnants of panic. When she pulled back, I could still glimpse the ghost of another day lingering in her eyes, but she squeezed my arms again in reassurance. "

I nodded.

"I'll . . . give you guys a minute," she said, exchanging a glance between Bellamy and I. "I'll be here if you need me." With a final look, she headed down the hall to the desk, and began rifling through a leaflet of papers.

I recognized this as one way she dealt with stress and worry. Throwing herself into work.

I guessed I was like my mom in more ways than I thought.

But those were not reminders for today.

Fingers grazed my arm and I raised my gaze to Bellamy. He wasn't looking at me; his eyes were trailed on the sleeve over my left elbow. Only when I looked, too, did I notice the splotches of red, blooming across the green fabric like roses.

I vaguely recalled the chunks of rock.

"You should get that looked at," he said, almost disapprovingly.

I shook my head in dismissal, waving off his concern, the traces of his touch along my arm. I was about to give some rebuttal, but the words died away when I caught sight of the white bandage, taped to the inside of his forearm.

"Did they draw blood?" I asked. I knew of only one reason they would really need to do that. "Was it for Octavia?"

Hesitation. "No." Bellamy dropped his hands. In fact he dropped back into his previous seat entirely, pulling in a very long, deep breath. "They found Jae."

I didn't know if that was an intentional dodge or not. I waited.

"He hadn't been wearing his seatbelt," he continued. "Got launched from the car."

I swallowed. "Is he . . .?"

"He's still breathing." Bellamy made a scoffing sound, like a sharp sigh, frustration and panic and too many things in between to distinguish one from the other. "I was . . . I don't even remember how any of this happened. I was just trying to get him to pull over. Then he just . . . he handled the car like he was a dog backed into a corner, just looking for any out." A haunted look came into his brown eyes. "Next thing I know, he's slamming into me and we're going over the edge."

I swallowed. Yes, I knew that feeling. It was a ghost-sensation that lingered in my blood. "It wasn't your fault."

I knew before the words were spoken that he wasn't yet ready to believe me. "I'd wished him out of my life so many times," Bellamy said, looking at his hands again when his gaze grew too heavy for him to lift any higher. "And I can't even count how many times I wished that I was the one to make that happen. But after today . . ." He shook his head, hands tightening into fists.

I placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. An odd pain started in my chest, a nameless throbbing as I took in what he was saying, between those words. "The blood was for Jae, wasn't it?"

Bellamy managed to pull his gaze away from his hands long enough to look at me, and the pain I found myself staring at nearly took my breath away. "He could've died," Bellamy said bluntly, the words flat. Emotionless. "If I hadn't helped him, he could've been out of my life. Period. No more custody battles. No more bad guy. But hating him . . . wishing he were gone and almost . . ." Bellamy shut his eyes. "That's the closest I've ever come to being like him, Clarke. And I'm not gonna sacrifice who I wanna be for that," he said resolutely, looking at me again. "Not for a second. Not for him."

That nameless force in my chest. "Good," I said gently.

Bellamy's eyes snapped back to me. His expression told me that praise was the last thing he'd been expecting.

"Be the better man, Bellamy," I told him. "Be the man your father never was for you."

He stared at me in bewilderment, gaze almost transfixed on me. Again, too many emotions flickered across his face for me to catch them all, but they each wrapped themselves around the confusing, invariable question it always came down to.

Why?

"Mr. Blake?"

I hadn't heard the doctor approach. One look at the balding man with a trimmed beard had me standing again. Suddenly I was thrust back into the idea of possible complications, those thoughts barraging me, waging war against my calm. I guessed I wasn't really calm.

I was just holding out for the clearing.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Tanner. You're Octavia's brother?"

"Yeah. How is she?" Bellamy asked, voice taut with worry.

"Your sister is stable," he assured in his steady, doctoral tone. I took this as a good sign; it was easy to keep your voice even when you had no bad news to give. "She's lost a lot of blood, but we were able to get things under control long enough to fix the damage. She's got a nasty gash on her leg that's going to take a while to heal, and she's also suffered a concussion. We're going to monitor her for forty-eight hours, just to be safe. Right now she's still sedated, but you can see her now." He smiled politely and stepped to the side, preparing to lead the way.

"Can my friend come, too?" Bellamy asked. "She saved my sister's life."

"It was a team effort," I injected halfheartedly.

Bellamy flashed me a questioning look as Dr. Tanner's attention fell on me. "Abby Griffin's daughter, yes?" He raised an appraising brow. "Fast work out there."

I couldn't quite keep myself from cringing inwardly at the recognition. It was the very last thing I wanted. My reply was a sheepish smile that did not, in any way, touch my eyes.

He waved his hand for me to join. "Guess I can have the nurses make an exception this once."

Bellamy was nearly walking past Doctor Tanner as he led the way to Octavia's room, down another hall and through a different wing, into recovery. He stopped before room 202. "Try not to keep her up too long, all right? She needs to rest."

Bellamy opened the door and we stepped inside.

The sight of Octavia in the small bed, her leg hidden beneath a layer of bandages, made my heart skip a beat. My eyes raked over an angry bruise at her temple. At the many scratches along her arms.

But she was here.

She was alive.

Perhaps Dr. Tanner had overemphasized her sedated state, because the mere sound of us entering the room sent Octavia's lashes fluttering. A moment later she was opening her eyes and turning her head to face us.

Her lips widened into a sleepy smile. "Hey."

The sound of her voice made that pain in my chest twist sharply.

Bellamy was at her side in an instant, grabbing her hand, clinging to it like he had been after the accident and throughout the whole ride to the hospital. I stayed farther back, content here. I didn't want to intrude entirely in on the moment.

"Bel, I'm okay," she said, lifting a hand and running her fingers through his soft curls.

He nodded, unable to speak as he rested his chin on her hand.

Octavia caught me then, and her smile grew impossibly wider. "Clarke!"

The pain between my ribs pressed harder, like water behind a dam. I took a few steps closer, laying a gentle hand on her good foot. "Glad you're awake."

What a monumental understatement.

Her smile didn't waver, but I saw the question that formed next, saw it in her eyes before it made it to her lips. "Where's Jae?" she asked, peering around as if expecting him to materialize at the mention of his name. There was an undertone of fear there.

"Hospitalized," said Bellamy curtly. "Don't worry about it. Your job right now is just to get better."

Octavia nodded slowly. Her lips puckered up as if she wanted to say more, but one look at Bellamy had her deciding against it.

A full minute of silence passed.

"So . . ." she started finally, a little awkward. "Whose idea was it to use the jack?"

"O." There was a warning in Bellamy's voice.

She scrunched her nose. "Too soon?"

"Give it a year," said Bellamy. "Or thirty," he added under his breath.

I smiled against the pain. It wasn't dull anymore but heavy, like a weight tearing through my chest.

Voices appeared then, gaining in volume from outside the door. " . . . should've never have let him set within twenty yards of her. Screw the law, if anything had happened-"

There was no time to say anything else; suddenly the door swung open and in came the familiar faces of the Roffans. Maureen took one look at Octavia's leg, and tears began to flow.

"Oh, Sweetheart!" she went to her almost as quickly as Bellamy had.

And then the three of them were clustered around Octavia's narrow bed. I watched as her big blue eyes switched back and forth, taking them all in, her lips still spread into that smile, as I stood at the edge, my palm settled over her big toe.

I eased my hand off, readying to leave and give them all a minute alone. But in that moment, Maureen stepped away from Octavia, and took my hand. Entrapping it with her other one, she looked at me, eyes still wet with tears, mascara smudged. "Clarke . . . Bellamy told us what you did, and I . . ." I was suddenly being enveloped in another embrace, one that smelled of lavender and tea tree oil. "Thank you," Maureen whispered fiercely. "From the bottom of my heart. Thank you."

I think that's what did it. The sincerity in her voice. The utter, bewildering, beautiful relief I heard there. The numbness I'd felt before was abruptly washed out by an avalanche in my chest.

I smiled tightly and pulled back, my vision already blurring. "I-I'll be back," I told them.

I turned on my heels and slipped out the door, walking stiffly down and around another hall. I didn't know if there were people around, because I didn't take the time to look. I just moved and turned a corner and let my back hit the wall.

And it was there in some corner of the hospital that whatever silent destruction burst free, as I struggled to put the two pieces together; one of Octavia dying. The other of her sitting in bed, smiling, alive. Together they formed the overwhelming fact that Octavia would be okay.

And yet, for all the shaking my body was doing, I couldn't seem to rid myself of the fear of how close she'd come. How close I'd come to losing her. Another person.

Through sobs I didn't understand, I tried to picture my dad in Octavia's place, or Finn, sitting in a hospital bed. I tried to visualize what my dad would say. What joke like Octavia's Finn might've tried to tell, if only to counteract the seriousness in the room.

But the images refused to take shape, as formless and insubstantial as vapor. And once again, I had to remind myself that this time was not that time, and thatOctavia was okay.

Octavia was alive.

This day had been breakers of panic and fear, slamming into me, trying to drown me in a sea I was all too familiar with. In fact, I was so familiar with it, that I didn't recognize this new wave for what it really was. Not until now, having gotten to see what it was like on this side of things. The side where nobody died.

Oh.

Was it possible to be crushed by gratitude? I wasn't sure, but I wasn't willing to stop it, either. So when the next wave of that pure unhindered relief swept forward, the same I'd heard in Maureen's voice, I didn't try to dam it back. I didn't try to push it away.

This time I just sat back, and allowed it to hit me as thoroughly and as torrentially as it wanted.