“Sasha,” Wells pleaded. “Sasha, please. Stay with us. Sasha—can you hear me?”
She gave a slight, weak nod, and Wells felt something inside his chest crack open, flooding his body with relief. “Oh, thank god.”
Max ran over and grabbed hold of her other hand. “Just hang in there. Help is coming. Just hold on.”
“We need to keep her conscious,” Wells said, turning to the door, as if his eyes had the power to pull Clarke there faster. “Keep her talking.”
“What happened?” Max asked, pushing her hair back from her pale, sweat-covered brow.
Sasha opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Max leaned over and put his ear close to her lips. A moment later, he looked up at Wells. “Snipers,” he said grimly. Sasha tried to speak again. This time they could both hear her.
“I was at the storeroom. I never saw them coming.” Her voice was ragged.
Clarke sprinted into the room, her blond hair streaming behind her. A moment later, Bellamy ran in after her. Clarke crossed to the bed in two steps, reached for Sasha’s wrist and checked her pulse. She didn’t say anything, but Wells could read it in Clarke’s eyes. He knew it was bad. Clarke lifted Sasha’s shirt and exposed the deep wound in her gut.
“She’s been shot,” Clarke said. “And she’s lost a lot of blood.” Max clenched his teeth but said nothing. Clarke spun around and began pulling open drawers, riffling through them. She pulled out a vial and a syringe and quickly filled it. She injected the clear liquid into Sasha’s arm. Sasha’s whole body relaxed instantly, and her breathing evened out. Clarke examined Sasha’s abdomen more closely. Wells loosened his grip on Sasha’s hand. Max stood silently, his head hanging.
“She’s comfortable now,” Clarke said slowly as she turned to Max and Wells.
“So what’s next?” Wells asked. “Are you going to try to remove the bullet? Or did it go all the way through?”
Clarke said nothing. She just stared at him, her eyes filling with tears.
“Let’s go, Clarke,” he snapped. “What’s the plan? What do you need to fix her?”
“Wells…” She walked over from the other side of the table and placed her hand on his arm. “She’s lost a lot of blood. I can’t just—”
Wells jerked away, out of Clarke’s grasp. “Then get more blood. Take mine.” He rolled up his sleeve and placed his elbow on the table. “What are you waiting for? Go get a needle or whatever you need.”
Clarke shut her eyes for a moment, then turned to Max. When she spoke, her voice was shaky. “Without life support equipment, Sasha wouldn’t last more than a few minutes if I tried to operate on her. I think it’s better… this way. She’s resting comfortably, and you’ll be able to spend some time together before…”
Max stared at her. Stared through her, really, his eyes wide and blank, as if his brain had cut the feed to protect him from the horror playing out in front of him. But then his expression shifted, and he locked eyes with Clarke. “Okay,” he said, his voice so quiet, Wells might’ve just imagined it.
He leaned over to face Sasha, still holding her hand while he smoothed back her hair. “Sasha… can you hear me? I love you so much. More than anything.”
“I… love… you,” Sasha breathed, her eyes still closed. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Max’s voice cracked as he choked back a sob. “My brave girl.”
“Wells…” Sasha called his name hoarsely. He ran over and grabbed her other hand, interlocking his fingers with hers.
“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
They stayed just like that as the minutes went by. Clarke stood off to the side, at the ready in case Sasha needed more painkillers. Bellamy stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her. Wells held vigil on Sasha’s right side, holding her hand and brushing her hair back from her forehead. Max held her other hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear. Tears streamed from his eyes onto her cheeks. Sasha’s breathing slowed and became intermittent. Her body was shutting down, and they stood by as witnesses, powerless to stop it.
If Wells could’ve reached into his chest and ripped out his own heart to replace her fading one, he wouldn’t have hesitated. That pain couldn’t be any worse than what he was feeling right now. With each labored breath, Wells’s own chest tightened, until he was sure he would black out. But he didn’t. He stayed just where he was, his eyes locked on Sasha, taking in everything from her long, trembling lashes to the freckles he loved so much. The freckles he’d thought would be a part of his life forever, as constant as the stars.
He might’ve only known her for a few weeks, but his whole life had changed in that time. When he’d met her, he’d been lost and scared, pretending to be in control but really feeling like a fraud. She’d believed in him; she’d helped him become the leader he was always meant to be, and served as an example for him to follow—showing him what it really meant to be brave, selfless, and noble.
“I love you,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, and finally her lips. He exhaled, wishing more than anything that he could pass his breath into her body. He would’ve gladly taken a thousand bullets if it meant Sasha could have escaped just this one. If it meant he could have spared Max this pain. And he knew he would never, ever forgive himself or the men who had done this to her.
She gave a slight, weak nod, and Wells felt something inside his chest crack open, flooding his body with relief. “Oh, thank god.”
Max ran over and grabbed hold of her other hand. “Just hang in there. Help is coming. Just hold on.”
“We need to keep her conscious,” Wells said, turning to the door, as if his eyes had the power to pull Clarke there faster. “Keep her talking.”
“What happened?” Max asked, pushing her hair back from her pale, sweat-covered brow.
Sasha opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Max leaned over and put his ear close to her lips. A moment later, he looked up at Wells. “Snipers,” he said grimly. Sasha tried to speak again. This time they could both hear her.
“I was at the storeroom. I never saw them coming.” Her voice was ragged.
Clarke sprinted into the room, her blond hair streaming behind her. A moment later, Bellamy ran in after her. Clarke crossed to the bed in two steps, reached for Sasha’s wrist and checked her pulse. She didn’t say anything, but Wells could read it in Clarke’s eyes. He knew it was bad. Clarke lifted Sasha’s shirt and exposed the deep wound in her gut.
“She’s been shot,” Clarke said. “And she’s lost a lot of blood.” Max clenched his teeth but said nothing. Clarke spun around and began pulling open drawers, riffling through them. She pulled out a vial and a syringe and quickly filled it. She injected the clear liquid into Sasha’s arm. Sasha’s whole body relaxed instantly, and her breathing evened out. Clarke examined Sasha’s abdomen more closely. Wells loosened his grip on Sasha’s hand. Max stood silently, his head hanging.
“She’s comfortable now,” Clarke said slowly as she turned to Max and Wells.
“So what’s next?” Wells asked. “Are you going to try to remove the bullet? Or did it go all the way through?”
Clarke said nothing. She just stared at him, her eyes filling with tears.
“Let’s go, Clarke,” he snapped. “What’s the plan? What do you need to fix her?”
“Wells…” She walked over from the other side of the table and placed her hand on his arm. “She’s lost a lot of blood. I can’t just—”
Wells jerked away, out of Clarke’s grasp. “Then get more blood. Take mine.” He rolled up his sleeve and placed his elbow on the table. “What are you waiting for? Go get a needle or whatever you need.”
Clarke shut her eyes for a moment, then turned to Max. When she spoke, her voice was shaky. “Without life support equipment, Sasha wouldn’t last more than a few minutes if I tried to operate on her. I think it’s better… this way. She’s resting comfortably, and you’ll be able to spend some time together before…”
Max stared at her. Stared through her, really, his eyes wide and blank, as if his brain had cut the feed to protect him from the horror playing out in front of him. But then his expression shifted, and he locked eyes with Clarke. “Okay,” he said, his voice so quiet, Wells might’ve just imagined it.
He leaned over to face Sasha, still holding her hand while he smoothed back her hair. “Sasha… can you hear me? I love you so much. More than anything.”
“I… love… you,” Sasha breathed, her eyes still closed. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Max’s voice cracked as he choked back a sob. “My brave girl.”
“Wells…” Sasha called his name hoarsely. He ran over and grabbed her other hand, interlocking his fingers with hers.
“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
They stayed just like that as the minutes went by. Clarke stood off to the side, at the ready in case Sasha needed more painkillers. Bellamy stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her. Wells held vigil on Sasha’s right side, holding her hand and brushing her hair back from her forehead. Max held her other hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear. Tears streamed from his eyes onto her cheeks. Sasha’s breathing slowed and became intermittent. Her body was shutting down, and they stood by as witnesses, powerless to stop it.
If Wells could’ve reached into his chest and ripped out his own heart to replace her fading one, he wouldn’t have hesitated. That pain couldn’t be any worse than what he was feeling right now. With each labored breath, Wells’s own chest tightened, until he was sure he would black out. But he didn’t. He stayed just where he was, his eyes locked on Sasha, taking in everything from her long, trembling lashes to the freckles he loved so much. The freckles he’d thought would be a part of his life forever, as constant as the stars.
He might’ve only known her for a few weeks, but his whole life had changed in that time. When he’d met her, he’d been lost and scared, pretending to be in control but really feeling like a fraud. She’d believed in him; she’d helped him become the leader he was always meant to be, and served as an example for him to follow—showing him what it really meant to be brave, selfless, and noble.
“I love you,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, and finally her lips. He exhaled, wishing more than anything that he could pass his breath into her body. He would’ve gladly taken a thousand bullets if it meant Sasha could have escaped just this one. If it meant he could have spared Max this pain. And he knew he would never, ever forgive himself or the men who had done this to her.
