In the Time of Blackberries
just a terrible pair of wings
It’s been over three days since he’s seen her in Camp Jaha’s makeshift cantina.
Three days since Finn’s death.
Three days since he watched her fall apart right before his eyes.
For three days, Bellamy has been standing there with all these shattered pieces of her like shards of glass in his palms, desperate to find a way to piece her back together.
He’s spent three days racking his brain for the right thing to say, but the words never come.
In all actuality, he hasn’t seen Raven since that fateful night of the execution, partially because he’s been so preoccupied with Grounder peace negotiations, these treaties and boundary lines that make his head swim at the mere thought of them, but also because he just doesn’t know how to approach her. There’s still that desire to watch over her, to protect her – even if she doesn’t need it. There are still moments when he finds himself longing to comfort her, but he can never be sure if she really wants him there.
Still, he thinks of how it felt in the days following his mother’s floating and his sister’s imprisonment: that unshakable loneliness, the echoes of silence, how his entire world had felt like it had stopped turning on its axis.
It’s enough to carry his impulsive steps forward towards her room.
At least he comes baring gifts: two rations of nuts, an extra canteen of water, some oatmeal for himself, and as many of the dark, deliciously tart berries as he can stuff in the pockets of his flight jacket before Kane or Abby notices.
He finds her curled up beneath the tattered blanket, red-rimmed eyes staring hopelessly at some spot on the opposite wall, and it aches for him to see her like this: this tiny, fragile, crumpled thing, a baby bird with a broken wing. It’s not the Raven he’s used to, the girl who would hold a blade to his throat or come to his tent at night to seduce him.
“Hey,” Bellamy begins cautiously as he dips his head through the doorway. “How’re you feeling?”
She doesn’t move a muscle as she glances down at him. “Like hell.”
Dark eyes survey the space before he takes a seat on the stool near her cot. “Well, I brought you breakfast”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Raven…” he mutters, that slight edge of plea in his voice as he rakes a hand through his hair. “You’ve gotta eat. You can’t just let yourself waste away.”
“And why can’t I?” she fires back. “Since when have I ever taken orders from you anyway?”
His stare locks on hers; he sees the fear, the feral creature trapped behind her glassy-eyed gaze, and he exhales. “Finn’s gone. You’re still here. Don’t waste it.”
Bellamy fishes a handful of blackberries from his pocket and offers them to her. “Here, I brought you these. I know they’re your favorite.”
There’s that brief flash of confusion in her deep eyes, but she accepts them.
Three days since Finn’s death.
Three days since he watched her fall apart right before his eyes.
For three days, Bellamy has been standing there with all these shattered pieces of her like shards of glass in his palms, desperate to find a way to piece her back together.
He’s spent three days racking his brain for the right thing to say, but the words never come.
In all actuality, he hasn’t seen Raven since that fateful night of the execution, partially because he’s been so preoccupied with Grounder peace negotiations, these treaties and boundary lines that make his head swim at the mere thought of them, but also because he just doesn’t know how to approach her. There’s still that desire to watch over her, to protect her – even if she doesn’t need it. There are still moments when he finds himself longing to comfort her, but he can never be sure if she really wants him there.
Still, he thinks of how it felt in the days following his mother’s floating and his sister’s imprisonment: that unshakable loneliness, the echoes of silence, how his entire world had felt like it had stopped turning on its axis.
It’s enough to carry his impulsive steps forward towards her room.
At least he comes baring gifts: two rations of nuts, an extra canteen of water, some oatmeal for himself, and as many of the dark, deliciously tart berries as he can stuff in the pockets of his flight jacket before Kane or Abby notices.
He finds her curled up beneath the tattered blanket, red-rimmed eyes staring hopelessly at some spot on the opposite wall, and it aches for him to see her like this: this tiny, fragile, crumpled thing, a baby bird with a broken wing. It’s not the Raven he’s used to, the girl who would hold a blade to his throat or come to his tent at night to seduce him.
“Hey,” Bellamy begins cautiously as he dips his head through the doorway. “How’re you feeling?”
She doesn’t move a muscle as she glances down at him. “Like hell.”
Dark eyes survey the space before he takes a seat on the stool near her cot. “Well, I brought you breakfast”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Raven…” he mutters, that slight edge of plea in his voice as he rakes a hand through his hair. “You’ve gotta eat. You can’t just let yourself waste away.”
“And why can’t I?” she fires back. “Since when have I ever taken orders from you anyway?”
His stare locks on hers; he sees the fear, the feral creature trapped behind her glassy-eyed gaze, and he exhales. “Finn’s gone. You’re still here. Don’t waste it.”
Bellamy fishes a handful of blackberries from his pocket and offers them to her. “Here, I brought you these. I know they’re your favorite.”
There’s that brief flash of confusion in her deep eyes, but she accepts them.
♠ ♠ ♠
This was written as a fill for one of my ABC Fandom Challenge prompts, which was "jentacular: relating to breakfast." I also wrote this for the Writing Cupr mini-challenge that involves writing a 500-word drabble, and lemme tell you, it was so hard for me to cap this at 500 words.Anyways, any feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.