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cosmicjoke · 9 months ago

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This Life, After

Chapter 1:

Levi wakes in the morning after three hours sleep. Normal, for him. How it will always be.

There’s no one in his life anymore that he needs to worry about dying. About being eaten by titans, or killed by violence or disease.

There are no titans anymore. There is no war. The medicine in this new world is beyond anything Levi ever dreamed of, living in the squalor of the Underground, thoughts of clean living and good food and fresh air, up above, always filling his head.

All the things he has now.

None of that stops the dreams.

They still come to him every night. He still sees their stricken faces, eyes wide with horror, bloody and torn to pieces as they beg for him to save them.

Erwin. Hange. Petra. Olu. Gunter. Mike.

Furlan… Isabel.

All of them.

Well, it’s just the way it is for him. No use hanging on to it in the warm, morning light slanting through the half-pulled curtains over his small bedroom’s single window.

The images smear and wash from his mind as he pushes himself up and slides himself to the edge of his mattress.

As it is every time he stands now, Levi has to brace himself for it.

He reaches out, gripping the corner of his nightstand with his three, remaining fingers, and uses it to help lever himself to his feet.

His bad knee creaks and cries out in protest as he puts his weight on it, threatening to give out, and Levi pulls a deep breath in through his nose to steady himself, waiting until the sharp throbbing dies down into something more manageable before he reaches with his left hand for the cane propped against the wall between the table and bed frame.

It’s a relief as he transfers his weight from his leg to the stick.

He hobbles to the washroom.

He might be embarrassed by how long it takes him to make it across the floor, if anyone were here to witness it.

But the house is quiet.

It won’t stay that way.

Later, Gabi and Falco will arrive. They will have breakfast with him, as they do every morning. And then they will help him to his shop, help him to open, and set up.

The both of them will be off to some fancy university in a couple of years. They won’t have time to see Levi every morning when they do, he supposes.

That’s alright.

He’s glad to know they got accepted. Glad to know they’ve got the brains for it.

Education was important. Erwin used to tell him that. Hange too.

Levi never went to school. Not a single day of it.

That deprivation made itself known to him in strange ways, sometimes. Most times, he got by just fine.

He takes a shower. The water comes out warm just by him turning the handle the right way.

They had plumbing here, in Marley. They hadn’t had that back on Paradis. Not Underground, and not back when he’d first joined the Scouts, and had been a younger man. Then, they’d had to pump the water from a well.

He has to take showers sitting down now. Falco had helped him install a little bench along the stall where he could do that.

He doesn’t let himself indulge in the warm water, even though it feels nice. He’s out in five minutes.

He shaves.

The sparse stubble he’s always had is even patchier around the gnarled scars which mar both sides of his face.

It no longer hurts, the way it did early on. It’s numb now as he drags the straight razor over and around the puckered, white skin.

His right eye is milked over and blind, the scar which runs from his forehead and over it, down across his lips and chin, often frightens the new customers who wander into his shop, their eyes widening with fear, sometimes disgust, when they see him. They’re never rude enough to say anything.

Children openly stare at him. Sometimes they point. Sometimes, he hears people whisper as he passes.

“Look at that man’s face.”

“Don’t you know who that is?”

“No. Who is it?”

“Captain Levi Ackerman. The Eldian who helped save Marely.”

“That’s Captain Levi? He’s so small though.”

It hardly registers.

He’s been treated far worse in his life. Spoken of so much worse.

Anyway, he was always ugly. Everyone told him so. A few scars weren’t going to make much difference.

He combs his hair, then goes back out into his room and dresses.

He’d had a hard time, at first, buttoning his shirts, with the index and middle fingers of his right hand gone. But he’d gotten used to that too, eventually. The same as he’d gotten used to performing menial tasks, like holding utensils, holding his cups the way he preferred. He’d spilled hot tea all over himself more times than he can recall.

Every time that had happened, Gabi and Falco had fussed over him as if he were a small child, frightened that his skin had been burnt.

A few times it had.

It made him think of Hange. How they had died.

They’d had so much courage.

He doesn’t like to think on it. Makes his guts twist all up and his throat tight. He thinks how much pain they must have been in. How scared.

He thinks these things about all of them, at different times. All his comrades.

All his friends…

Those first, several months… after the war had at last ended, Levi had spent in a hospital.

It hadn’t just been his face that the blast from the thunderspear had damaged.

His insides had been a mess.

The doctors told him it was a miracle he hadn’t died. That they didn’t understand how he’d lasted so many days after the initial blast without proper medical treatment, let alone how he’d been able to fight.

He hadn’t bothered explaining to them about his blood. About how being an Ackerman made him stronger, supposedly.

He would never again walk unaided. That one had to do with his leg nearly getting bitten off by a titan.

Some days, Levi thought, if he had to, he could still use ODM.

But there was no need for that, anymore. Because there were no titans.

He moves then from his bedroom and out into the hall. It’s only a short distance to the kitchen.

Levi had wanted a single story house, when he’d moved here. Well, he hadn’t really moved. Just decided to stay.

He hadn’t ever wanted to go back to the island, even if he’d been able. He couldn’t either way, on account of the Jaegerists, and how they still considered all of them who’d stopped Eren enemies. Well, even without that…

Too many bad memories, he guesses.

A single-story house, he’d said, on account of his bad leg. He didn’t want to have to go up and down no stairs.

Onyankopon had helped him find one and buy it. The same for where he’d eventually set up his tea shop. He wouldn’t have known where to start without the other man’s help, since Levi didn’t know anything about that sort of thing. He’d never owned anything. Never owned any kind of property.

His life in the Underground had been nothing but squatting down in one abandoned hovel after another, moving constantly when things got too heated, either from rival gangs, or the MPs, or, when he’d been a kid, just any passing fucker with bad intentions, looking to snatch up or steal from a lone child with no one looking out for them. Before that, even, there’d been the whore house his mother worked in. After it all, he’d lived in military barracks.

So, there he was, almost 40 years old, and he hadn’t known nothing about buying a house. And so Onyankopon had helped, talked to all the people that needed talking to, and taken care of all the paperwork. All Levi’d had to do was give him the money. Easy. He’d had almost everything saved up from his time in the Corps still, all of it. He’d never spent it on anything. Nothing to buy.

He puts a kettle on the stove for tea. He sets to breakfast.

Gabi and Falco will be by in a little less than half an hour.

Levi likes to think he’s become alright at cooking simple foods. Stews and breads and things like that.

He makes egg white omelets now, with diced tomatoes and avocado. Gabi likes the avocado. He slices and toasts some bread, spreads marmalade over Falco’s, jam for Gabi and himself.

The two brats arrive just as he’s plating the food. He hears them come in through the front, Gabi’s excited chatter filtering in, Falco’s quiet responses following after.

They remind him, in so many ways, of Furlan and Isabel. Sometimes, when he looks at the two of them, he swears he sees his family, and his breath catches in his throat, and his eyes burn, and he has to look away.

One time he called Gabi Isabel by mistake, and she’d looked at him in alarm, and Levi had turned his face away, ashamed and embarrassed, muttering an apology.

“Mr. Levi!” Gabi calls loudly, and a moment later, she comes skidding into the kitchen, breathless and happy. Falco is right behind, his entrance quieter, but the smile on his face just as genuine.

“Hey, brats.” Levi says in way of hello, setting their plates down on the table.

Gabi strides towards him in her confidence, throws her arms around him in a hug.

She’s taller than him now, by a good three inches. Falco by almost half a foot. They’ll keep growing, he knows.

Levi hugs her back, awkward and stiff. He should be used to hers and Falco’s affection by now, but he isn’t. He doesn’t think he ever will be.

Falco hugs him too, after Gabi pulls away, his arms gentler around Levi’s shoulders.

“How are you?” The boy asks, looking down at him with the same, pinched concern he always greets Levi with.

“Fine.” Levi tells him, the same as every time he asks. “Sit down and eat, you two, before it goes cold.”

He can feel Falco’s eyes on him as he turns and hobbles over to the ice box. He ignores it. They don’t need to be worrying about him. They have their own lives ahead of them. Their time should be spent on that.

He retrieves the pitcher of juice he’d put in there last night to cool, brings it back to the table and pours them each a glass. He goes to the stove when the kettle whistles, and pours himself a cup of tea.

Gabi’s already sat down, inhaling her food. Falco is still standing, waits for Levi to finish pouring and then pulls his chair out for him.

Levi almost snaps at him that he doesn’t need his help, but he swallows it down. The boy is just being kind to a crippled old man.

So he mutters out a thank you instead and lets himself fall heavily into the hardbacked chair.

He hooks his cane over its back.

He asks the two of them how things are going in school, and Gabi chatters away excitedly about their classes. She tells him in their science class, they’re dissecting frogs, and the food in Levi’s mouth turns sour at the thought. He thinks poor things, and says nothing. Falco says they’re going to start learning about the wars, soon, between Marley and Eldia, and the table goes quiet at that.

Levi thinks its pointless, to explain to those who have lost why they have lost. It doesn’t make the feel of it go away.

“If anyone says anything rotten about us Eldian’s, I’ll knock their fuckin’ teeth in.” Gabi declares.

“Gabi!” Falco gasps, as if her language is going to offend anyone sitting here.

Levi stares at his eggs. His stomach hurts. He forces himself to eat anyway. He could never justify wasting food. You can’t, he thinks, when you know what it feels like to truly starve.

He scraps his knife and fork through the eggs, his grip clumsy and slow. He can’t hold the knife right. Shit, he… He’s gotta’ be able to hold the knife right, he thinks. There’s a tight, flighty feeling in his chest, all of a sudden. How’s he gonna’ show Kenny he knows right, if he can’t… Can’t even grip the damn thing right? Kenny’ll be mad, if he can’t… he’ll… he’ll take him out back again, whip his hide raw with his belt, ‘till Levi starts crying and begging him to stop, and that’ll just make Kenny madder, and he’ll… he’ll…

The sound of metal on ceramic grates in his ears.

“Just take a giant shit on their desk.” He says. “That’ll hurt worse.”

The air goes still and silent. He looks up, sees Gabi and Falco staring at him and Levi realizes a beat too late they don’t know what he’s talking about. Minutes have passed since Gabi’s comment about knocking fuckers teeth out. Levi got stuck in his own head again.

He looks away, and sees he’s cut his eggs to ribbons.

“Anyone talks shit in class,” he mutters, ignoring the heat spreading over his cheeks. “just take a giant shit on their desk. It’ll save your knuckles from getting busted.”

Another, heavy beat passes, and then Gabi bursts out laughing. Falco chuckles nervously beside her.

Gabi’d gotten used to Levi’s crass humor pretty quickly. Falco, not so much. Kid thinks he’s weird, Levi knows. Well, he is weird, he guesses. That was alright.

After breakfast, Levi insists on cleaning the dishes and putting them away, like he always does, and Gabi and Falco wait for him out in the entryway.

By the time he rejoins them, Falco’s already got his wheelchair set up and waiting, unfolded from its spot near the front door, where Levi keeps it leant against the wall. He only uses it when he’s got to go a distance longer than a mile.

He hadn’t wanted to use it at all, at first. He’d been a stubborn ass, insisting he was fine to go on long walks with just the cane.

That stubbornness hadn’t lasted long. Not much after he’d gotten set up here, after the deal for his new house had been finalized, and Gabi, Falco and Onyankopon had helped him move in, he’d agreed to accompany Onyankopon on a walk downtown, and not half an hour into the fucking thing, Levi’s leg had cramped up so bad on him, he’d collapsed in the middle of a busy market and thrown up in front of a startled, gathering crowd, the pain had been so bad.

Levi can’t remember ever feeling what he’d felt then. His skin had turned so hot, it’d felt like someone was holding a flame to it, his stomach tight and nauseas, like how you felt in free fall, sometimes. He remembers thinking he had to get away. Needing desperately to get away where no one could see him. No one could look at him.

And he’d cursed himself for his stupidity.

Because he’d felt his leg going lame on him long before then. Had felt the telltale pings and twinges and throbbing which let him know he was putting too much strain on his fucked-up knee. Had felt the creeping ache which always started just above the joint, and traveled slowly down the whole of his calf, into his ankle, ‘till it felt like the whole fucking limb was being flayed and peeled and crushed with stones.

He'd ignored it because he’d thought, for some stupid fucking reason, Onyankopon would think less of him if he couldn’t keep up. And even when his whole face had started breaking out in a thick sweat, the same pooling in the pits of his arms, and he knew he must stink, and his whole lower half on his left side went numb up through his hip, except for the zap of wretched burning each time he took a step, and he couldn’t feel his foot striking the ground anymore, still, he hadn’t said shit.

Well, and he’d paid for it alright, because as fucking embarrassing as all that had been, it was even worse when he’d realized he couldn’t stand back up on his own, and Onyankopon had had to lift him onto his back like a damned child and carry him back to his house.

So he’d accepted he needed the damned chair.

He settles himself down into it now, laying his cane across his lap.

“You want your hat, Mr. Levi?” Falco asks. “It’s pretty sunny out today.”

“Sunglasses too, Mr. Levi.” Gabi points out.

Levi blinks, and then nods.

This is how they take care of him. These small sorts of details they notice. Which Levi is hardly aware of himself.

He gets headaches, now. From the sun. A cluster of pain which forms behind his ruined, right eye.

Gabi fetches the things for him. A wide brimmed fedora and a pair of round, blacked out spectacles.

Levi likes the way they hide his face. The way that, when he wears them, people notice him less.

The fewer people that notice him, the less people want to speak with him, the less chance he has of saying or doing something to make them uncomfortable.

He’s always a disappointment, he guesses.

The walk to his shop takes only fifteen or so minutes, and is uneventful, as it is most days. Gabi pushes his chair at a leisurely pace, Falco beside her, just behind Levi’s periphery. Levi keeps himself occupied with the paper in his hands, ignoring the passing people.

He’s tried to get better at reading, in his time after the war. Wasn’t much else for him to do, other than run the shop. He was never going to be brilliant, the way Hange or Erwin had been. He still struggles with anything above the reading level of a grade schooler.

Exercise could be difficult too, though he still kept up a routine in the afternoons and before he went to bed. Pushups and sit ups. He had a few weights he moved around. It was pathetic, compared to what he once could do. But he kept in shape as best he could.

Once they arrive, Gabi and Falco help him set up shop. Levi unlocks the front entrance, and the two brats hurry inside, beginning without needing to be told to take the chairs from where they sit waiting along the surfaces of the scattered tables, positioning them neatly into place while Levi heads to the backroom to take inventory and start in on setting up his displays.

Gabi and Falco can’t stay long after that. Gabi pokes her head round the door, looking into Levi’s stockroom.

“We’re heading to school now, Mr. Levi. We got all the chairs set up, and Falco opened the register for you. You okay from here?” She asks.

Levi waves a hand at her, keeping his focus on the tin he’s holding. He’s running low on this particular blend. He’s going to have to order more soon. He hates dealing with the suppliers.

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Alright! We’ll see you for dinner later!”

And with that, he hears the two of them scamper out, the little bell Gabi had insisted he put over the door to let him know when customers had entered reaching his ears faintly.

He sighs, pushing himself up with his hands on his knees, the joints aching viciously as he straightens. He’s not even that old, but some days he feels ancient.

He grabs his cane in one hand, holding the tin in the other, and heads for the front counter, where the telephone sits. Levi still can’t quite get over that particular contraption. How much easier would it have made things, back on Paradis, to be able to deliver urgent messages and orders in seconds, rather than the hours it often took to send a rider out?

Well, it was pointless, wondering over things like that.

It was all over, anyway.

He lifts the receiver from its cradle and begins turning the dial to ring his supplier.

The static that fills his ear as he presses the receiver to it makes him think of sound of wind rushing. The deafening wash of a titan’s roar.

#Levi Ackerman #attack on titan #shingkei no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #attack on titan fanficiton #onyankopon #gabi braun #falco grice #levi/onyankopon #this life after

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fantasy-anatomy-analyst · 8 months ago

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I've an anthro tiger character who can walk/run/etc both bipedal and quadrupedal. Within the scope of the story he also becomes an amputee - so now hes missing his entire left arm and his right leg up to the knee. I've figured out that bipedally he mostly uses a crutch. but is there anything i can do for him that'll still let him scamper around? I've not been able to find reference for animals missing limbs in a similar configuration.

alright this one was fun. mobile aids for non-human bodies can be tricky, but it's cool and important!

the first step of course is making sure you can keep a character design relatively consistent in both a bipedal and quadrupedal stance.

(image description: simplified sketches of a feline character standing on all fours as well as upright on two legs. their left arm and right leg have also been colored over in red to note that these limbs are missing. there is also a note on the image stating that the arms and legs should be roughly the same length. end description)

keeping the limbs similar in length is important for quadrupedal motion, if you want the spine to be kinda parallel to the ground. otherwise, you get sloped backs which are not the best for smooth motion. but the more important part of this ask is the matter of mobility aids for a character that moves between bipedal and quadrupedal motion! so let's talk about that.

for one thing, if your character is not using a leg prosthetic, they'll need two crutches when they walk upright. one crutch is helpful when you have two legs but one of them is weaker, and in that case you'd use the crutch on the strong side, actually.

I previously reblogged a post about proper cane usage, but it can apply to crutches as well! and from what I've seen, the crutches that have a forearm brace are the most popular for comfort and ease of use. your character happens to be missing an entire arm on the same side he would be using a cane or crutch if he had a leg prosthetic on. so that does make things tricky. alternatively, he could use a leg prosthetic and not bother with a cane or crutch. but! you don't have to do that. you can still give him crutches, leave his right leg without a prosthetic, and even give him a versatile prosthetic for upright and quadrupedal motion!

conveniently, cats are well documented to manage just fine with three legs, whether they are missing a back leg or a front leg! there's even at least one cat out there missing both front legs and doing fine! so, your tiger fella really only needs one prosthetic to do both kinds of locomotion, I think. here's what I've got:

telescopic/collapsible arm prosthetic-crutch-combo and a collapsible or folding forearm crutch that can be carried on a belt when not in use.

(image description: the same feline character sketched upright and on all "fours", this time with added mobility aids. the notes on this sketch say "one leg, no prosthetic, requires two crutches. cats get along fine with three legs." the mobility aids drawn on the character include a folding forearm crutch and an arm prosthetic strapped to the left shoulder that can be extended into a tall crutch for walking upright. end description.)

play around with it until you're satisfied! if you just want a leg prosthetic instead, no crutches, then I think he could use the exact same prosthetic both upright and on all "fours" without the use of an arm prosthetic.

(image description the feline character again, this time showing a simple leg prosthetic that attaches at the knee, has a small thick piece bending slightly back, and then a longer straight rod ending in a foot pad. end description.)

you'll have to adjust the exact proportions and design to better match your character, of course, but these are the options i thought could work for your idea. I hope that's helpful and gives you more ideas for how you want to draw him! good luck!

#mobility aids #non human mobility aids

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gaybd1 · 11 months ago

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sometimes I forget that not everyone has received the same Visions as I have about Characters lol

so here’s what’s up with adult Sokka and disability

His leg never heals right after the war (Most of the issues are centered around his knee)

It’s actually fine for a while but starts to hurt all the time. Seems like an arthritis situation.

The problem is he tolerates it for years and doesn’t tell anyone because remember he is the King of Repression and he keeps pushing himself and training every day. Remember it’s super important to him to be able to protect his loved ones

At some point ~10 years on he starts to slow down. He spends more time in bed. He eventually fesses up to Zuko who is worried and PISSED and the Zuko tells Katara who is also VERY MAD. it comes from a place of love of course

It’s too late to permanently fix anything but they get into a routine. Katara does healing sessions for the pain and inflammation when she’s around, he starts drinking special teas to help strengthen it, Zuko gets him a knee brace which he starts wearing all the time

Also bc of the way he walks and compensates for the pain his other knee has started to have similar milder issues and his hips are starting to go

He keeps training as much as he can— more than Zuko would like tbh bc he doesn’t know how to take it easy at all and Sokka’s solution to a lot of problems is to pretend they don’t exist…

There’s a point where he finally starts to accept his limitations. Katara sits down with him to have a serious talk about how his body is on borrowed time and he should want to extend that time

He modifies his training schedule and changed up his routine. He’s glad about it because he was having to skip a lot anyway but just making up excuses for it. The pain was getting way too intense

His back is messed up now too. He uses a cane. This is probably in his 30s

He stops training before 40. He still walks around and is as physical as he can be and is in great shape actually considering. He definitely can still get up and kick some ass if he needs to

He sits around a lot more in his 40s and uses a walker pretty often. It’s at this point he had to get into his thick skull that he can and should let Zuko take care of him more often. Which he does and it’s super cute.

He’s using a wheelchair for most things by 50. Honestly that was a lot later than anyone was expecting and Sokka feels pretty fulfilled. He’s definitely got over his hangups and repression issues and internalized ableism by now.

He Iives happily ever with Zuko idk

#I mean until… NEVER MIND #text #atla #Sokka #disabled Sokka

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unicyclehippo · 1 year ago

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Defiant

‘—not what we are looking for. Send in the next interviewee on your way out.’

‘This is bullshit. You didn’t even talk to me.’

Laudna paused at the door, attention snagged by the unfamiliar voice. Their accent was rough, unpolished, and tone defiant. It shone in her mind—green, weighty, its sharpness keen and fragile. Crystalline. A voice that could bruise what it battered against or shatter in the attempt. The other voice she knew all too well—blue, rope-ish. Treshi.

‘Mister Gremmon—‘

‘Greymoore.’

‘—I’ve heard quite enough from you already. Now, you may either see yourself out, or I can call on our security guards, the choice is yours.’ A chair scraped harsh on the wood floor. Treshi spoke again, insufferably smug, ‘Good decision.’

As the footsteps drew closer, Laudna realised she was standing precisely where Treshi’s guest would emerge. There was nowhere to hide. The hallway was starkly empty. As the door creaked open, Laudna sucked in a breath and pressed herself against the wall. With any luck, they would think her a statue.

The study door swung open. A young man stepped out, slamming it behind him. He was shorter than she by a small margin but much more sturdily built. She had heard the term “brick shithouse” before and found the proportions fitting in this case. It was not, Laudna had to admit, the typical academic build and Treshi enjoyed the typical in all things. He would not have liked anything else about this person: not his casual attire—tshirt and jeans, with patches sewn over the knees; not his hair, dyed purple; not his jewellery, earrings and rings and bangles; and certainly not the eyepatch that covered his left eye, and the scars that adorned the side of his head and what she could see of that same arm, and the brace closed around that same leg, and the decorated cane he held in his right.

‘What?’ he growled. ‘What are you lookin’ at?’

‘I’m looking at you,’ Laudna said. ‘Mister Greymoore, was it?’

He scowled. ‘Yeah. Which way was it out? I got turned the fuck around on my way in.’

Laudna brightened. ‘I’d be pleased to escort you out!’

‘I’m not gonna steal your shit.’

‘Why would you—That wasn’t what I meant to imply at all, Mister Greymoore.’ Laudna glanced to Treshi’s closed door. She could hear their conversation through it. Was Treshi listening to them as well? Looking back to young Mister Greymoore, she was intrigued to find that his expression had relaxed from furious to some mix of irritated and curious.

‘Yeah, fine, sure, whatever,’ he said, though one of those words would have sufficed.

‘Marvellous!’ Laudna beamed at him and gestured for him to join her. She began a slightly incorrect path toward the exit, one that by complete coincidence would take her past her own office. ‘If you would prefer to walk in silence—‘

‘Fuck no.’

‘Might I ask then, what precisely you were speaking to Treshi about?’

His laugh grated oddly in his throat. It shone in Laudna’s mind, light across facets of a gem. Lovely.

‘So you hate that guy too, huh?’

Laudna startled. ‘What? No, of course not—‘

‘Right,’ he dragged the word out, disbelieving. Then, shrugging, ‘Interview. Guy put out a request to a bunch of schools asking for an assistant in his next project.’

‘Next project?’

‘No details. Sorry. You going for the same job or something? No offense, I don’t think he’s gonna hire you either—guy seems like a dick.’

Laudna pressed her lips together to keep from agreeing far too fervently, but couldn’t quite keep from smiling. ‘I am not. Going for the same job,’ she clarified. Then she stopped dead, eyes wide, hand to her chest. ‘Oh—how rude! I didn’t introduce myself! Doctor Laudna Bradbury! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Greymoore.’

She held out her hand. The young man regarded it for a moment before passing his cane to his other hand and taking hers, rather gently, and shaking it.

‘Hey. Ashton.’

‘A pleasure!’ she said again. While she held his hand, she added, ‘Would you like to work for me, Mister Greymoore?’

#you can ignore this #museum au #tagging my stories #prompt fill

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viric-dreams · 6 months ago

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I think I fell for the classic blunder of believing my own character when he says the Fall had no lasting effects. Because that's exactly what Roberts would want everyone to think.

There's the psychological side of things--his aversion to small spaces, the panic that sets in if someone or something is holding him down and he can't move. But I think physically, he's probably doing a lot worse than he lets on.

If anything, the fact that he'd died not just trapped in the ship, but also on the operating table, and had a certain degree of recovery in the Slow Boat was probably more helpful to his recovery in the long run than if he’d entirely lived with life-threatening wounds. For months after the fact he was unable to move without crutches. By all means, he should have been recuperating for significantly longer, but by that point he had already made enemies. Even as a teenager, Roberts was off-putting to many people, particularly his peers, who could sense his opportunism and desire to scrabble up the ranks. A fellow marine also gunning for the Commodore's eye tried to get him out of the picture by making the case that a crippled sailor was a hindrance, costing them all time and efficiency. Although he was already in the Commodore's good graces, Roberts had to fight to stay on the ship and not be sent off to some post on land to fade into obscurity. He did win in the end, but it severely warped his perspective on his own public perception, whether or not it's safe to show any sort of ‘weakness’ in public.

He'd pushed himself far too hard to abandon the crutches, reject any sort of cane, and get back on his feet, far sooner than he should have, and making the injury worse in the long run. To this day, he has longstanding issues with his knee and hip on that side, and works actively to try to hide any sort of a limp. But as long as no one has any reason to accuse him of being unfit for duty, he can make peace with the chronic pain.

Not that he doesn't have help. He didn't make it far without looping the new doctor, @zeebreezin's Laurence, into this. He's probably been supplying him with painkillers on and off over the last several decades (as well as a brace). Which is likely how he was able to escape from that Benthic lab--the dose of laudanum they gave him was nowhere near sufficient to incapacitate someone with a tolerance.

Lots of fun to deal with for someone who loves to dance, but will absolutely feel it the next day. But this is the other reason that no one will ever see him run. He'll paint it as being too dignified to do so, but he straight up cant put force on his leg like that without having to deal with the consequences of it for days.

#roberts/nite #i swear i thought i was done giving this man problems #but he's gotta get the internalised ableism too #and probably one of the best-managed addictions given the circumstance #swear down he's going to get a win #going to put some more joy in his life if it's the last thing i do #i didn't really intend to land here #but there's no way you can get skewered like that and not have lasting consequences #roberts

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slightlyunconventional · 2 years ago

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told you i was writing a fic B) this took me #hours but i do not regret it. so here have three and a half thousand words worth of k/az and his miserable cold-ridden self !

careful care (in which k/az b/rekker has like the worst cold ever and i/nej cares for him as much as he'll let her)

Kaz didn’t think it was possible to have a personal vendetta against a celestial body, however the shaft of sunlight prying his eyes open seemed determined to prove him wrong. Despite this, the grasps of sleep tried their damnedest to drag him back down into their depths, however his dozy state was quickly eradicated by a sharp tickle in his nose. He found himself muffling a pair of sneezes clumsily into the soft fabric of his duvet.

“-hehH’tTSHhiew! huh’shHHiew!”

The double was followed by a series of shaky coughs directed loosely into his raised fist. This was not about to be a good day. With a groan, Kaz hauled himself out of bed, reluctant to abandon the warmth of his sheets. He grimaced at the spasms of pain that shot up his bad leg as put pressure on it standing up - it always hurt first thing in the morning, but the pain was much more pronounced today. Decidedly ignoring the pain, Kaz began getting dressed. He pulled on a crisp white shirt, black trousers, and fastened a deep maroon tie around his neck, his every move punctuated by increasingly wet sniffles. He swiped up his cane from where it leaned against his bedside table and made his way to the desk to consult his watch - eleven bells. He’d slept in. Panic jolted through him as he realised how long he’d been asleep and very much vulnerable for, hell, any miserable wretch could have done anything to him and he wouldn’t have known. He tried to shake the thought from his head. Kaz coughed sharply again, displeased at the scratch it left behind in his throat. He headed out of the room, across the corridor and into the bathroom, where he slipped off his gloves and set them down beside the sink, before turning on the faucet and splashing water onto his face. As he attempted to tame the pillow-induced mess that was his hair, Kaz noted the pallor taken on by his face, and elected to ignore it, even more so the way it made the pink hue of his nose stand out painfully. He sighed and dried his hands, then his face. Almost immediately, he found himself needing to sneeze again. His only option was to catch them in the towel, so he braced it tighter against his face.

“heh-heHH’sSHHhuuh! -tTSHHh!”

Clicking his tongue in disgust, Kaz slipped his gloves back on, and made his way downstairs.

Kaz descended the creaky stairs of the Slat, gritting his teeth against the twinge his knee gave with every step. He reached the bottom, paused to let his leg rest for even the briefest moment, and rounded the corner into the living room - a room not particularly comfortable or cosy, but enough for the five of them to spend quiet mornings or evenings playing cards games at the table. Wylan, Jesper, and Nina were sitting on the worn sofa, talking animatedly about something Kaz didn’t care to listen in on, for his nose was burning ferociously again. He took a step back, almost backing out of the door, and twisted himself around so he was facing away from the room, and announced his presence with a rather heavy sneeze into his elbow.

“HhuH’dDJSHHhuuh!”

A chorus of “bless you”s sounds from around the room, along with a snarky “Took you long enough,” from Jesper. Kaz nodded in acknowledgement of the blessings, and ignored Jesper’s comment. Inej appeared from the kitchen and approached Kaz. She handed him a steaming mug (one of a set of five gifted to the group by Inej, having each of their initials on it - this one was black with the letter ‘K’ painted in gold) of coffee.

“I made you this as soon as I heard you wake up. Everything okay?”

Kaz took the mug from her. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “I was just tired last night, I think.”

Inej’s eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded him. As though calling himself out for lying, Kaz turned quickly to the side with a sharp set of coughs which shook his chest. He could see the concern growing in Inej’s face, by the shine of her brown eyes and the furrow forming between her dark brows. “Maybe tea would have been better,” she observed, “but I know how much you hate being coddled, so just take care of yourself, alright?”

The taller man nodded stiffly as Inej returned to Jesper, Wylan, and Nina’s lively conversation. Kaz sighed and sat in his chair, allowing himself to relax a little as he listened to them talk - something about a fight in the bar the previous night. He hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath of that. He sipped his coffee, throat half soothed by the drink’s warmth, half irritated further by the bitter taste. The steam wafting up from the mug made his nose threaten to start running, so he pawed at it absently with a gloved knuckle. The faint beginnings of a tickle began to bloom somewhere high, deep, behind the bridge of his nose. He continued rubbing at his nose to try and alleviate the sensation. However, his scrubbing made the tickle quickly worse, barely giving him a chance to think before he was sneezing again.

“-hh-haAHh’sSCHhuh! heh’sSHHhew! H-haahh…” He lifted his head gingerly from his elbow, only to find himself almost straight away gasping deeply as another sneeze made its presence known. “haAH’kKSHHhuuh!”

Kaz sniffled thickly as he received another round of blessings. Everyone except Inej resumed their animated conversation, who kept her eyes trained on Kaz. Kaz knew full well that he’d come down with a cold - and a viciously sneezy one, at that - but he wasn’t willing to admit it to himself, though he was fairly certain that Inej knew about it, somehow. She always did. The smaller girl shifted her chair closer to his, and she produced a box of tissues from under the coffee table, where it was always kept. Kaz looked down at it with supreme displeasure, then back at Inej with the same look. He sniffled a couple of times, thoroughly tempted by the tissues Inej was offering him. Instead of taking them, though, like any sensible person would, he sighed, stood up, and left the room. Kaz caught a faint, “What’s his problem?” from Nina as he turned to go back upstairs.

He swayed slightly on the first few steps, his head hot and fuzzy from standing up so quickly, but forced himself to regain balance, determinedly dismissing the screaming pain radiating from his leg. Finally, Kaz reached his office. He regretted stationing himself at the top of the building more than he cared to quantify. Not even a second after slumping down in his chair was Kaz building up to sneeze yet again. He didn’t much fancy the idea of sneezing into his shirt sleeve again, so he fought desperately against his hitching breaths and prickling nostrils while rummaging frantically through his desk drawers for a handkerchief. His hands shook gradually more and more as the need to sneeze doubled, tripled, quadrupled- then his fingers closed around what he was looking for: a neat square of burgundy fabric patterned faintly with an intricate floral design. Just to his luck, he sneezed, wet and harsh, just before the handkerchief reached his face.

“-hhuUHh’GKKTSHHhuh!” The explosion left a fine mist hanging upon the air in front of him. “Saindts,” he said, appalled at himself, then even further repulsed by the dense congestion in his voice. Annoyed, Kaz sniffed thickly, only to find that his whole head, particularly his sinuses, felt as though it's been packed tightly with cotton wool. Now in the privacy of his own office, he slipped off his gloves, lay back in his chair and huffs, dragging a finger under his nose, rather annoyed by how full it felt. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a cold as awful as this one, and Saints, it progressed fast. He recalled feeling perfectly fine the night before, maybe a sniffle here and there, but nothing more. Now he felt like someone was pinching his nose shut so he couldn’t breathe out of it, forcing him to swallow razor blades, and repeatedly kicking him in the side of the head. He was miserable. With another sigh, Kaz leaned forward and put his head in his hands, balls of his palms pressed firmly onto his eyes, forcefully willing away the headache he knew was well on its way. As if the agony in his head wasn’t enough, the itch in his nose reignited. Kaz lifted his head in annoyance and snatched the red handkerchief back up, just in time for-

“HehH’gkKTSCHHhiiew!” A very wet sneeze, so much so that he had to pinch the handkerchief over his face to wipe the mess from his face as he pulled away from it. “Ugh,” he breathed, grimacing in disgust. Kaz ran a hand through his hair, letting out an annoyed breath. He felt he ought to do something productive, even though he could hardly breathe through his nose and his head was pricking with the ominous threat of a migraine. Returning back to his desk drawers, Kaz produced a binder of paperwork and made a reluctant start on it.

He couldn’t put his heart into it, and his hand nearly refused to keep the pen in its grip, but he managed a fair stack of papers over the next hour, albeit an hour of abundant sniffles and scattered with rattling coughs. By the time he gave up trying to work, his head was pounding deeply, his throat was as raw as anything, and his nose felt stickier with congestion than ever. He thought he’d escaped the sneezing, but much to his dismay, he was hitching again with a ferocious prickle in his nostrils.

“haAHh’kKZSHHhuh! -aAH’KTSCHH-huh!” Two harsh sneezes, aimed lazily into a half-heartedly lifted arm (though most of it is directed into the open air to his side). His breath snagged again immediately after the double, but nothing happened. Kaz felt his brows draw closer together. He was stuck in a torturous, tickly limbo. He lifted his arm closer to his face, as though to coax the sneeze he so desperately needed with a comfortable landing spot - to no avail. In desperation, he shifted his blurry, watery gaze up to the light fixture on the ceiling. The itch climaxed and Kaz gasped deeply. Inej entered the room, pushing the door open in her usual quiet manner. Kaz sneezed, loud and grating.

“HaAHh’kKZZSCHHhuuh! Fucking…” Before he could say anything to Inej, he was dragged into a fit of tearing coughs, each of which feeling like knives against his already sore throat.

“Saints, bless you, Kaz,” said Inej, “That’s one hell of a cold you’ve got there.” Kaz looked up, about to ask how she knew about him being sick, but stopped himself. She always knew.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said to her, the rasp in his voice amplified tenfold, “I can’t get you sick.”

Inej smiled reassuringly. “You won’t get me sick. Just let me help you, okay?” Kaz hesitated, reluctant to accept her care. At last, he gave her a single, stiff nod. “I’ll fix you some tea, first off. It’ll help with that throat.” Inej disappeared from the room and down the stairs.

Inej headed downstairs and into the kitchen, where she put some water on to boil and got out the ingredients for one of her mother’s tea recipes, one meant to ease congestion and relax an inflamed throat - perfect for Kaz, she thought. While Inej waited for the water to boil, Nina came in.

“What’s up with Brekker, then?” she asked. Inej shook her head, almost in exasperation.

“He’s got a dreadful cold. Sneezing and coughing all over the place,” replied Inej. Nina tilted her head with sympathy.

“Bless him. Want me to see to him? I can probably help him out,” Nina offered, gesturing vaguely with her hands to indicate her Heartrender power. Inej shook her head.

“Thank you, but he’s reluctant to even let me in there with him.” Inej leaned against the counter. “He’s tiring, sometimes, Kaz,” she said with a sigh. Nina snorted.

“You can say that again.”

Inej smiled at her as the water finished boiling. “I’d better get to making his tea,” she said.

“Best hope he doesn’t die drinking something that isn’t pitch-black coffee, eh?” teased Nina, “Good luck with him. Let me know if you need any help, sweet.”

Inej nodded as Nina left the room with a little wave. She sighed again and began preparing the tea, a soothing floral blend with a teaspoon of honey stirred in. Inej picked up the mug and made her way back upstairs, careful not to spill any on her way up. She wondered why Kaz insisted on having his office on the top floor, what with his cane and everything.

When she reached Kaz’s room, she tapped on the door, then pushed it open slowly when she received no reply. Inej was met with a sight she didn’t expect - Kaz Brekker, asleep at his desk, head resting upon his folded arms. She’d hardly been downstairs ten minutes and he’d already fallen asleep. He must really not be feeling good, she thought with worry. Kaz’s breathing was soft, though slightly laboured due to congestion. Inej set the mug down on the desk beside him and returned to the door, unhooking his high-collared great-coat from the peg on the back of it. She draped it over his sleeping form, tucking it snugly around his shoulders. Then, she picked up a pen and a scrap of paper from the desk and wrote a note in her tidy handwriting - “Sorry if the tea is cold, I didn’t want to wake you. Feel better soon.” She signed off the note with a tiny love heart and placed it next to the mug. There wasn’t much else Inej could do, so she decided to head back downstairs. As she reached the bottom, she saw Nina again who cast her a puzzled glance.

“Asleep,” said Inej. Nina mouthed “Ah,” then offered her arm to Inej who gratefully looped her own arm through Nina’s.

“We’re playing blackjack in here, if you want to join us. It’s a bit… chaotic, though. Jesper doesn’t seem to know how to count to twenty-one.” Inej giggled at that, and allowed Nina to lead her into the living room.

The four of them played cards for a couple of hours, and Inej let her worries about Kaz ease during their rowdy games. Nina was right - Jesper kept insisting that seven and nine summed to twenty-one, despite Wylan repeatedly telling him that that actually makes sixteen. He also kept having to be reminded that an ace card doubles as both one and eleven, due to his uproar when Nina supposedly won with a ten and an ace. “But that only makes eleven!” he’d shouted amidst Inej’s giddy peals of laughter and Nina’s whoops of victory. After they finished what felt like their hundredth game, Inej lay back in her seat, face aching from grinning and her heart sufficiently full. Jesper and Nina announced that they were going to make dinner together (definitely a bad combination in the kitchen) and took off through the door. As they left, Wylan and Inej heard a sneeze echo through the Slat’s walls. Being two stories above them, the sound was muffled, but it was still evident that it was loud and harsh. They exchanged concerned glances. Inej sighed.

“He’s awake. I’d better go and check on him,” she said. Wylan nodded, muttering something about making sure the building doesn’t burn down, before hurrying off to the kitchen. Inej headed for the stairs, picking up the pace as another sneeze reverberated from above her. When she reached Kaz’s room, he was standing up, a hand braced against his desk to keep himself upright. He exploded into a fit of wracking coughs, the outburst topped off with a third wrenching sneeze.

“h-huuhh…heh-ehHH’ZZSCHHhiew!” He looked doubly exhausted afterwards. His nose was a brilliant shade of red by this point, and his eyes possessed a distinct glassy quality that wasn’t nearly as evident two hours prior.

“Kaz,” Inej said quietly.

“I’m- I’m okay,” said Kaz, voice hoarse from all the coughs and sneezes tearing up his throat.

“Kaz,” she repeated, voice still gentle but firmer than before. He sighed, shoulders sagging.

“Inej, I’m- I don’t-” He closed his eyes, sighed again, and continued, “‘m cold, head hurts, and I keep… keep-” His breath caught, “-s-sdeezihH-!” The tail end of his sentence was lifted by the need to sneeze, and he did so, into his elbow.

“h-haAHh’zZSHHhew! Ohh…” The sneeze conveyed perfectly the sheer exhaustion in Kaz’s bones to Inej.

“Saints’ blessings,” she said, head tilted in sympathy, “You really ought to get some sleep. Though, have you eaten today?”

Kaz paused, then shook his head hesitantly. “Oh, Kaz,” Inej said softly. She ponders for a moment, “Well, do you feel like eating anything?” He shook his head again, knuckling at his nose with one hand. Clearly, he noticed the way Inej deflated a little at his words, and said, voice thick with miserable congestion, “I cad try to… to eat somethidng.”

Inej smiled. “That’s good enough for me,” she said, “Jesper and Nina are cooking tonight - terrifying, I know -” she added upon seeing Kaz’s expression, “so I can bring you up a plate if you like?”

Kaz shook his head at her. “I haven’t moved from here all day, practically. I thidk my leg would just about give up if I didn’t move myself somewhere,” he said, still sniffling.

“Alright,” Inej replied, “Can I at least get you to blow your nose? You sound awfully stuffed up.”

“Fine,” Kaz said. Inej smiled softly again, and picked up the red handkerchief from his desk. “Ah- that’s, uh,” Kaz started. Inej’s brows lifted in realisation.

“Right,” she said, “I’ll get some tissues.”

Dinner went mostly uneventfully. Nobody paid much mind to Kaz’s affliction, for which he was very grateful. He couldn’t find his appetite - something he knew would upset Inej - so he spent most of the time pushing food around his plate with a fork, sniffling thickly all the while. Inej cast him a few sideways glances that he determinedly ignored. He’d already let his guard down enough. The congestion was still heavy in his head, forcing him to breathe through his mouth, which irritated his inflamed throat more than Kaz thought was even possible. That meant he had to force back a number of coughing fits throughout the meal. He found himself thoroughly distracted, and dare he say bored, while the others talked around him, though even if he wanted to, it wasn’t like he’d actually be able to get a word in edgeways. He was beginning to zone out, when suddenly, his nose began burning with an incessant tickle, one so fiery and abundant that there was nothing he could do to stop the oncoming outbursts. He pushed his chair quickly back from the table, chest heaving rapidly. The piercing squeal of the seat against the floor pulled four sets of eyes onto him, but he couldn’t be bothered to care that he was being watched for his nose was too busy practically twitching with need as he ducked desperately into the crook of his arm to muffle a series of sneezes.

“heh-haAH-hHH’KZZSCHHhiew! ‘hKXTSCHhuuh! haAh’gkKSCHH-huh! huUHh’kKXZSCHhew! ‘gGKTSCHHh!” Five sneezes burst from him, each one heavier and messier than the last. Once he was done, his chest was rising and falling in exhausted pants, and it was all he could do to hide his streaming nose behind his gloved hand. The table seemed stunned into silence, and for good reason - not one of them (not even Kaz himself) had ever witnessed him sneeze like that before. Kaz avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. Inej was the first to act, since she had thorough experience with sick Barrel bosses. She tapped his shoulder gently as he attempted to recover from the wrenching fit.

“I think it’s time you got some rest, hey?” she murmured to him. Kaz nodded vaguely, blearily. Inej stood up, then held her arms out as a caution for Kaz while he jerkily hauled himself out of his own chair.

Once they finally reached Kaz’s room, Inej sat him down on his bed.

“I’ll leave you to sort yourself out in a minute - I’m sure you don’t want me stripping you down and tucking you in,” she said with a wink, “How’s that head?”

Kaz lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Still hurts,” he mumbled tiredly. She nodded.

“I’ll get a glass of water, then. Do you mind if I check you for fever? I’d just have to touch your cheeks and forehead. It’s fine if not, though.” Kaz hesitated, looking wary, but finally he nodded. Inej sat down on the bed next to him and gently pressed the backs of her fingers to Kaz’s face, first to each of his cheeks, and then to his forehead. Throughout the process, she repeated to him, barely a whisper, “I’m here, you’re safe, we’re safe.” Her soft voice threatened to slide his eyes shut. She took her hand from his face.

“You’re a little warm, but it should clear up after you get some sleep.” Kaz nodded, eyes half-lidded as though he was about to drift off where he was sat. He knuckled gently at his nose again, but the touch teased two more sneezes out of him which he just barely caught in exhausted hands.

“heh-hehH’zZSHhiew! huh’tshHHhuh! Mmh…” Inej smiled sympathetically.

“Get yourself changed, okay? I can’t have you falling asleep in a shirt and tie. I’ll fetch that water.”

#YAY!!#this took ages but i did have a good time writing it sooo #apologies also for any errors with tense since the plan i wrote for this was in present tense but the fic itself is in past tense #so very sorry for any present tense that possibly snuck in #snz #s/hadow and b/one #snzblr #snz kink #snz blog #snzario #sneeze kink #snzfic

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clown-bitchh · 11 months ago

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when i got my 1st drs appointment for my pain i didnt need a cane yet.

fast forward a few months i needed a cane. dr sent me to a specialist

fast forward a year i finally see the specialist and i have forearm crutches for months before the appointment bc of pain

and fast forward almost 2 months my dr[rheumatologist] has lied about multiple things and told me i get knee braces then told be i dont need anything. plus no hear back from the referral she made me to see someone from the genetics department.// my pain and fatigue is so much worse compared to the 1st drs appointment

i was 18 when i finally saw a dr. pain started at like 16. ill be 20 this upcoming year.

#disability #probably heds #or HSD #hypermobility spectrum disorder #actually disabled #disabled #mobility aid #im really irritated with the health care system.#my dad gave up on it a long time ago #im gonna keep trying tho. ill give it up eventually but i wanna still try :/

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bellamyblake · 11 months ago

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Part 40 of the single!dad Bellamy fic is posted! Here are the people who asked to be tagged (if you want to be removed please let me know): @pendragaryen, @takamurasposts, @star-sky-earth, @blakecholls, @theturquoiseoillady, @sarcasticcommentsetc, @peggysousfan, @whiteoleander, @chickens474; (I unfortunately can’t tag everyone as some new Tumblr rule forbids me to do so! Sorry!)

(moodboard by @star-sky-earth):

The next few days go mostly smoothly or as much as they can, considering everything. Bellamy returns to work on Wednesday, though he could’ve had it off as well, simply because he had zero points in his ration card after spending more on cough syrup and extra bandages for Gus’ leg. Both Aurora and Clarke try to talk him out of it, let him have another day off, at the very least but he’s adamant.

Clarke knows he’s not okay-he still hurt and he hurt bad. His cough was only a little better but only because she forced him to drink the syrup three times a day despite him arguing with her constantly about it, but his back and his leg in particular, they were bad. The cut under his knee put even more of a strain on his walking abilities and despite having the brace on, he still used the cane or his crutch around the house.

He swallowed down all pain though, all because of Gus who...wasn’t doing well either.

The frost bite was healing, slowly but surely, as Clarke observed. She could wish it happened faster but it could’ve been from the lack of better nutritious food in his every day meals and the constant cold he was exposed to that his skin healed much slower than any case of frost bite should.

He wasn’t the only one, though. When all three of them had gone by the playground the other night, there were many other families, including Monty, Harper and Jordan who had suffered frostbite as well, worse than Gus even, that were struggling with their kids, helping them walk or mostly carrying them around-it broke her heart-all these young tiny souls, barely four or five and they were already in so much pain.

The playground looked more like a big quiet room with swings only swaying here and there and mostly consisting of concerned parents sitting next to each other with the kids on the benches, talking and exchanging strategies of how to help them, what paste to use or which pill to ease their pain, rather than a happy place for kids to run, scream, yell and just be...children.

It was much more a ghost town than anything else and it broke Clarke’s heart.

The first few days they carried Gus around everywhere. Mostly Bellamy did, even though he should not be lifting anything heavy with that leg but the kid simply refused to let go of him. He’d wrap his tiny arms around his dad’s neck like a spider monkey and let Bellamy walk around the house with him like that all day long, even when they slept, he refused to let go.

He couldn’t walk on his own at first but they had tried again last night and he had limped heavily. It was like what Clarke imagined learning how to walk again was before-Bellamy held him by his hands as Gus walked slowly between his dad’s ones.

Problem was neither was stable on their feet but Bellamy somehow kept on, for his son, he made his knee bend, he forced his leg to stay strong.

At first Gus had whimpered and refused to try anymore-it really did hurt him, Clarke knew from all she had read in her text books that frostbite hurt like hell, no matter the age. She had only treated one patient before with it but apparently in Factory it was a common thing that everyone had experienced at least once in their lives.

By now, she was pretty certain that Bellamy could’ve suffered some that unfortunate night too, but his skin had simply hardened and he didn’t feel it as much because when she changed the bandage on his shin, she noticed the redness of his toes too since his sock was miraculously off (or more like he didn’t have a clean pair since they were behind on laundry) and when she touched them he hadn’t felt much of anything. The tip of his fingers too were red and swollen, peeling a little but that could’ve been from the burns that were still healing and making his hands shake.

They built a sort of routine since she knew that she can’t talk him out of going to work, she just had to do something to make sure she’s at least sending him off in a way he wasn’t hurting as much.

She started waking up early as well, checking his knee, helping him put his brace on, changing the bandages on his hands and wrapping his ribs, then giving him some cough syrup and forcing him to eat at least a toast and some biscuits.

He hadn’t talked about work but she knew that something was different from before-he had started coming home more tired than he had before and he somehow had the rations to buy bread every other day as well as not just formula and the regular algae but more corn cans, beans and fruits and vegitables-a few tomatoes here, some oranges there and apples-the cheaper ones but they were something that she knew he couldn’t afford before.

She had also noticed Aurora stopped prodding him about it as well, which meant she probably knew what was going on and she was definitely not happy about it but somehow she tolerated it. Clarke had decided to let him come to her with it and not pressure him but she could see the mental and physical toll that he was suffering and she was worried.

He was barely dragging his skin in the evening and though he slept, she could see he was sadder, worried.

Part of it was because of Gus. In the past week since the accident on Level 2 and the unfortunate night they spent cuddled in the bathroom, he had grown quiet. Typically he was a shy boy out in the world, in day care and even on the playground but at home he was a blabbering happy cute little munchkin.

Now, though...now he wouldn’t utter a word. He just stopped talking or answered with only yes and no’s making everyone, including Clarke and Aurora worry. Clearly he’s been through something traumatic just like after the bombings when he had grown anxious and bursted out but now he was just...sad. He’d stopped eating too and if it wasn’t for Bellamy to patiently force him, he wouldn’t be convinced to try anything-not even the buscuits or chocolate that Aurora brought to try and boost his appetite.

Needless to say his feet hurt too and he’d spend his day sitting all the time-either in bed or in his chair. Bellamy insisted he still did homework-their teacher, miss Karen sent them tutorials on the old tablet Bellamy has had for ages, so Clarke went through things with him every morning.

Most children were still at home recovering anyway, so Gus wasn’t an exception-many parents were at home as well, suffering injuries like coughs and frostbite too, so they helped the kids out. The station was hit really hard after this particular electricity cut and every time Clarke went out with Bellamy and Gus on a short walk or to the mess hall, she could see people barely walking by, coughing all the time just like Bellamy, with various injuries, usually limping or clenching their hands to their chests in pain.

It has been a week and the chancellor hadn’t done anything to help Factory medically-he still refused to reopen the small medbay office Clarke was running with Jackson or increase the rations or bring in medicine to the pharmacy which was by now almost empty safe for Tylenol. The only thing he did is let the electricty at night be cut to six hours instead of seven and he considered it a blessing. The Factory councilmen was an idiot who hid in his whole because he knew people were angry and never did anything to fight for their rights-in result, people were not just hurting, but dying. An old neighbour on Bellamy’s hallway had passed just last night from the exposure and the bad cough she had and Aurora whispered that one of her coworkers, a woman a little older than her had too passed out and died yesterday morning on their way there.

And Clarke.

Clarke wasn’t just angry. She was furious.

But she’s also never felt more helpless.

Even at home she could do little for both Bellamy and Gus. She knew Bellamy was tough and by now used to his pain but watching Gus suffer...watching this tiny adorable kid who loved the world and took on it with his pure big heart wake up at night, moan and clench his dad’s shirt as he cried quietly...

That broke her.

She fiercely wanted to protect him, to be there for him and he let her-he liked when she tutored him and drew with him. He sat fascinated in her lap and asked for different animals she’d outline for him to color but he was still quiet and barely talkative. Making him eat was an effort she couldn’t succeed in and one that even Aurora failed in whenever she passed by.

But when Bellamy came home, that was a whole different thing-Gus would perk up a little and immideately throw his hands in the air and ask to be picked up. He’d wrap around him and refuse to let go-he could even be coaxed to eat or at least finish his bottle of formula. Bellamy would sit with him and watch him draw or read to him and he’d get calmer, fall asleep easier but he was still quiet, small, sad.

It broke all their hearts.

Now that Bellamy was opening up the door of the small appartment, Gus immideately turned his head to his dad who came in limping and tired-face covered in dark machine oil as well as most of his jumpsuit, his hair a mess sticking to his head, his fingers covered in bloody cuts.

But Gus didn’t care about any of that, he smiled a little and so did his dad. Aurora, who had come by to show Clarke some stitching tricks and brought her clothes to mend (which Bellamy disagreed with), looked up at them curiously.

“Hello, everyone.” he said as he closed the door behind him and carried the brown cloth bag filled with food on the table, taking off his jacket and reaching for Gus who was already begging for him. “Hey, little man.”

“Dada!” he almost moaned as Bellamy picked him up and he immideately wrapped his arms around his neck “Dada!”

“Hey, baby boy.” Bellamy stroked his head and peppered his face with kisses “Dad’s missed you.” Gus leans his head on his shoulder and rests in his arms as Bellamy kisses the top of Clarke’s head and squeezes Aurora’s shoulder.

“Hey.” Clarke whispers as she looks up at him while he carefully slides down on the chair Gus was occupying and immideately stretching his bad leg out.

“You’re dirty.” Aurora comments “You should really clean before taking him in.”

“If you have any ideas about making him let go, I’m all ears, mom.” he says lightly, not a trace of annoyance in him, only worry and Clarke doesn’t miss how his hand never stops running up and down Gus’ back. “How was your day?”

“Good. We studied some, then I gave him a bath, then he watched some cartoons and drew.”

“Lunch?” Clarke shakes her head.

“He wouldn’t.” she whispers “Your mom tried too.” he nods and rocks the kid up and down a little before pulling away some. Gus keeps playing with the straps of his jumpsuit instead of looking at him and Bellamy just takes the time to hold him, let him know he’s here now and he’s safe, kiss his forehead again, smile at him, run his hand down his curls and clear his forehead so that he could look into his eyes.

“How was your day, buddy?”

“It was good.” he mumbles quietly, barely audible.

“Did you do your homework?” Gus nods as he keeps playing now with the zipper of his jacket “I hear you haven’t eaten again. You must be hungry?” Gus shakes his head.

“No, dada.” Bellamy drops his hand to his stomach and covers it whole, then leans into it and pretends to listen.

“Hm...I think your tummy disagrees.” he says “It just told me it’s empty, huh?” Gus looks up and smiles a little and Bellamy rubs his nose against his. Then tickles his sides a little and Gus squirms but fights his chuckles “Am I right?”

“No, dada.” he answers but he’s fooling around out of sheer stubborness by now.

“Are you sure, wait-let me see, oh, what was that tummy?” he pulls Gus up on his feet on his thighs and leans his ear to his sides and Gus wiggles in his arms, smiling a little, holding himself by wrapping his tiny fingers in Bellamy’s curls to steady his weak composture “Oh, oh what’s that Mister Tummy? Do I hear that you’re...you’re hungry?”

“Dada!!!” Gus wiggles but he’s laughing now, for the first time today, it sounds honest, sweet, like his old self. “Dada, no!”

“No, you say little Gus?” Bellamy asks perking up at little and Gus shakes his head.

“No, dada! No hunwgy!”

“Hmm-” he presses his ear to his tummy again “But I can hear Mister Tummy complain, he needs oh what is that? You want milk? Or maybe...some biscuits?”

“No, dada.” Gus shakes his head and Bellamy pulls up his shirt and pats his stomach that had blown out a little from the lack of proper meals, making Gus’ ribs stick out by his sides and Clarke wince-it wasn’t anything you wanted to see on a child and she knew Bellamy’s eyes darkened at it too, in a much angrier manner.

“No?” Bellamy asks surprised and looks up at Gus who’s eyes are still sad but there was a sweet honest smile to his face that made Clarke’s heart clench again. “What if I told Mister Tummy and Mister Gus that I bought home something special?” he asks and reaches over to unwrap the cloth bag he always used for groceries revealing a small bottle of what Clarke knew by now was Algae refined oil, Factory’s only means of cooking any meal-it came in bottles sometimes or small metal jars looking like a white snow cream concotion in those cases, making it one of the most precious possessions in every appartment, as well as a small package of salt and some spices and...a bag of potatoes.

Now that made Aurora’s eyes widen as much as Clarke’s had-potatoes were expensive, maybe one of the most expensive goods in Factory coming even above the jerky they could only buy so much of and chocolate, which ration points had fallen since Alpha’s production of it increased during this part of the season. If Bellamy had managed to afford not just one but a small bag of what was about 6-7 potatoes that in reality wasn’t that much but was a lot for Factory, then it meant he had either agreed to work an extra day this weekend or had already done something stupidly dangerous to earn this neither of which she liked as an option.

“POTATOES!” Gus had exclaimed mouth agape, clapping his hands for a moment, happy at what he was seeing. “Dada, that’s potatoes!”

“I know, son.” Bellamy smilled kissing his tummy again, making him squirm in his arms “How would you like it if dad fried some tonight and put the special tasty herbs or added grandma’s sause, huh?” Gus was already nodding. It seemed that every Factory’s child favorite meal was french fries in comparison to Alpha’s pizza’s, burgers or donuts that most of the Factory population hasn’t even tasted once in their lives. “Would Gus like that?”

“Yes, dada, pwease!”

“Okay, come here now, give dad a big hug!” Gus threw himself in his arms again, wrapping his hands tightly behind his neck and his legs on both his sides that were still bruised even if a little better, mumbling a quiet “Thank you, dada.”

“You’re welcome, big boy.”

“You’re spoiling him.” Aurora mumbles quietly when she comes by his side and picks up the products, leaving the remaining contents of his bag on the table.

“Mom, wait, I’ll make them.” but Aurora simply waves her hand and shakes her head at him.

“You’re barely standing on your feet as it is, just get some rest.”

“Mom, I-”

“I know you can do this, I know you can take care of your son, but right now, I’m telling you that you can simply sit there and be with him and Clarke while I make the french fries, okay?” he grumps at that but lets her run her hand through his curls, lean down and kiss the top of his head motherly.

“You’re spoiling me now too.” he mumbles.

“What choice do I have, you’re my son.” she jokes but Clarke can see how warm and motherly it sounds still but she doesn’t prod about how he got it even if Clarke knew she was surprised too and decides she’ll be the one to ask later. Bellamy smiles, keeps rubbing Gus’ back until the boy slips from his arms, turns in his lap and picks up his drawing again.

“What’s that, buddy?” he asks as he stretches out his hand and gestures for Clarke with his other hand to scoot closer, which she does by moving her chair next to them and letting him sneak a hand to her waist and pull her in for a brief hug as she carefully, secretly kisses the side of her head and rubs his nose against her forehead as Gus focuses on his drawing.

“Clarke dwew me a tigew.” he mumbles as he picks up one of his pencils, the small pack that Clarke had bought him so many moons ago at the black market visit before she and Bellamy were anything close to what they were now and colors the body of the animal in orange.

“Looks really nice.” Bellamy comments as he keeps swiping the curls away from his forehead. “What else did you do today?” Gus shrugs a little, going back to his quieter self and Bellamy exchanged a worried look with Clarke “What did you and Clarke learn?”

“We read about the Earth before...pwant and animals.”

“Did you like it?” Gus nods but doesn’t elaborate “What about reading? Did you guys read the poems miss Karen sent you? Did you practice on your letters?” Gus nods and this time moves up from his place, pushing some of the papers aside and picking up his only notebook-a blue one with his name meticiously written in block letters by his father, before opening it up and stopping at the last page Gus wrote in, showing him practicing the letters K and H in both cursive and regular handwriting and Bellamy’s chest swells with pride at how good his son was doing.

“Much better than my ugly blocks, wouldn’t you say, little man?” Gus looks up and smiles some.

“They’re not ugly, dada.” he whispers “I like them.”

“Thank you, my boy.” he kisses his forehead again “Dad’s proud of you, this is really beautiful.” Gus blushes a little and looks down at his work again, much like his dad, bad at accepting a compliment and shrugging a little.

“Gus messed up a wittle hewe-” he points at a shaky line on the letter H he did and Bellamy’s heart clenches in pain-he always thought that he had to be perfect in everything, it was a quality Gina possessed-her stubborn perfection into her work, much more consistent than his haphazard yet good mechanic work, though he wasn’t far behind-he too strived to be his best, for his family, for his coworkers, but he usually failed at it and hated that Gus felt like he has to perform at the highest level every time even though he was already amazing at his studies and progressed beyond any of his peers.

“No, you didn’t.” Bellamy assured “It’s great work.” Gus shrugs a little again, not truly believing him and Bellamy looks up at Clarke for support.

“He read a few sentences on his own today.” she praises sliding her hand on Gus’ back, softly rubbing it up and down. Behind them Aurora had already cut the potatoes and the room was starting to smell like fry potatoes which in turn made Clarke’s mouth water.

“He did?” Bellamy looks up surprised before turning back to his boy “Did you do it, little man?” Gus doesn’t look up again, just nods a little “Which book did you read from?” Gus looks around the table again and moves up to grab the small hand-made book that Clarke had given him for his birthday that was 'The Giving Tree' which he had fallen in love with and asked his dad or Clarke to read it to him all the time. “Of course...your favorite at the moment.” Gus goes back to his drawing and now does the tiger’s stripes-he’s back to his quiet and sad self, refusing to really talk but never really letting go of his dad “Do you want to read some to dad?” Gus ponders for a moment, stops drawing and looks up briefly at his dad with his big sad brown-green eyes.

“Mawbe water?”

“Okay, we’ll do it later.” Bellamy strokes his head again and turns his attention back to Clarke. “Did he try to walk today?”

“Some...but he was in pain so he only took a few steps really.” she explained sadly “I need to change the bandage again but he doesn’t want me to unless you’re here too.” Bellamy knew that-Gus would only ever let Clarke look at his toes if Bellamy was here, so they changed it mostly in the morning and later in the evening when he came home.

“Okay, let’s do that now, shall we?” Clarke nods in agreement and Bellamy picks Gus up and turns him around, so they’re face to face.

“Hey, little fella, we have to take care of your foot now, okay?” he says and Gus’ look changes from indifferent and sad to scared but he purses his lips and nods. “I’ll be here the whole time, alright? Then we’ll eat fries and play some, okay?” Gus nods, shoving his fingers in his mouth like he did when he was both hungry and nervous and let his dad put him sitting on the table.

Clarke rubs his forearm gently, whispers that everything will be okay before she brings in her small bag of supplies that consisted of old cloth pieces turned bandages, the frostbite cream, some antiseptic and a needle and a thread that Gus thankfully didn’t need now.

Bellamy takes off the slippers Gus used at home as well as the two pairs of socks to keep him warm enough and the kid shivers as he does that but says nothing.

“You know what else dad got you today?” he asks Gus and the boy shakes his head, still munching on his fingers nervously. “A special something for a good boy.” Bellamy explains and Gus’ eyes grow sizes at it, the barest of excitement sparking in his eyes that follow his dad’s movement to the bag and watches him take out a small grey box.

“Dada?” he asks confused when Bellamy carefully places it in his hands.

“Look up.”

“My birthday passed, dada.” he whispers back. “Gus don’t get mow pwesents now.”

“It’s not a present, it’s more like something you need which dad got you for when you go back to day care or the playground with us.” Gus seems confused but under his dad’s nudging look he opens up the box and Clarke sees a pair of new shoes, a size bigger than the one Gus was previously wearing. She knew that his old ones were torn up at the soles and too small for him. Bellamy had tried to duck tape them to secure them into a semi-decent condition but he’s been hoping to get him a new pair for months now.

And he finally had suceeded.

Only she had no idea where he got the rations for it and she was starting to worry.

“Shoes!” Gus exclaims, clearly very happy with it. His hand hovers over them as if they’re the most precious possession but he doesn’t dare pick them up or take a better look at them. “But dada...how did you do it?” he asks and Bellamy rubs his thighs gently.

“Dad worked on fixing this special engine and he managed it so he got extra ration points.” it’s a lie or at least a half-lie, Clarke’s sure of it and even Gus seems a little surprised because he adds.

“Would you have to work Saturday again to make up fow it?” Bellamy nods with a sad smile.

“Yes, but only half a day and we can spent the afternoon together.” Gus nods more seriously now, he’s somewhat feeling both happy and sad at the same time and Clarke and Bellamy can both see it because they exchange a look before Bellamy speaks up again.

“What is it, buddy? Don’t you like them?” he asks “They’re easy to put on, no shoeslaces and they’ll fit you right up, I promise.” Gus shakes his head.

“It’s not dat, dada.” Bellamy waits a beat but Gus doesn’t add anything so he prompts him.

“Then what is it, big boy?”

“I just...wish you didn’t work that hard fow Gus.”

“Oh, son-” Bellamy pulls him up to his chest and holds him tight “I don’t work as hard, I promise. I just want you to have all the things you need because I love you.”

“I love you too, dada.” Gus whispers when they pull back “But Gus pwefews you home on Satuwday than...shoes.” Bellamy’s eyes fill up and he pulls Gus into a tight hug again. They loved each other so much it was breaking Clarke’s heart and she noticed that Bellamy got teary himself and brushed his eyes away before he faced Gus again.

“I’ll keep that in mind, big boy, I promise.” Gus smiles a little at that and stares down at the shoes once more.

“I like them, dada.”

“You do?” Bellamy asks hope returning to his voice after he worried that this isn’t what would make Gus at least a little bit happy and the kid nods eagerly “Maybe later when Clarke changes your bandages we can walk some with them around the room, huh? Or down the hallway?” Gus kind of folds into himself at that and shrugs with uncertainty.

“Gus don’t know, dada.”

“You have to start walking again, Gus. I know it will hurt at first but Clarke says you’re healing fine, so with time, it will get easier, alright?” Gus doesn’t answer just keeps his head bowed down and Bellamy sighs, once again running his hand down his head and pulling him close to give him a small kiss on the forehead before removing the shoes from his lap and giving Clarke a small nod “Okay, let’s do this.”

“Can I have Wainbow too?” Gus asks and Bellamy whispers a small “Of course” before he stands up and limps to the bed where he fishes out the colorful stuffed giraffe Clarke gave him when he was last that sick. She loved that he was enjoying the stuffed toy so much that he wouldn’t really go anywhere without it.

Bellamy lets him wrap his arms around it and push it close as Clarke approaches him and starts undoing the older bandage.

There was some blood on it from the big toe that had peeled the most hurt Gus worse than the others and Bellamy winces when he sees it, giving Clarke a concerned look but she shakes her head.

“It’s okay, it’s normal.” she promises but he doesn’t think any of what was happening to them was ever normal. He grits his teeth and tries to calm his anger down by simply giving her a nod in agreement, yet she squeezes his wrist before she takes a look at Gus’ toes. They definitely looked better than before but Bellamy couldn’t keep his eyes on them much as it hurt his heart and this was his child...his baby boy, who was in pain because the electricy went off for over twelve hours.

He focuses on Gus instead and he notices that he’s squeezing Rainbow really hard and burying his face in the toy, trying not to cry as Clarke applied the cream paste and praised him for doing so well.

Something in his chest twists and he takes Clarke’s hand in his gently stopping her.

“Wait a moment, will you?” he asks of her and she nods despite being surprised by his interruption “Gus, will you look at me, son?” he asks and it takes a moment before Gus unwraps himself from his tight grip around the toy and looks up, resting his chin atop Rainbow’s head. “Are you trying not to cry because of us?” Gus ponders a little and avoids his dad's eyes

“Gus, please look at me-” Bellamy insists, using his serious dad voice now that Clarke knew Gus never argued against and indeed now the kid looks up all big bright eyes filled with pain and misery “I know you hurt now, son, but if you’re trying to hide your pain away from us to protect us, you don’t have to do it, do you understand me?” Gus furrows his little eyebrows at his dad’s explanation “You don’t need to be strong all the time, okay?”

“Why not?” he counters surprising both Clarke and Bellamy “You do it all the time, dada.”

“That’s not true, Gus.”

“Yes, it is. You hide pain. You huwt all the time but you don’t cry.” Gus continues, raising his voice a little and Clarke hears Aurora turn around too, probably worried when she heard the argument but the pan was still sizzling which meant her focus was elsewhere. “You never cwy.”

“Of course I do.” he insists “I cry all the time when it hurts me too much.” Gus doesn’t seem convinced so Bellamy continues “I just don’t do it when you’re here because I don’t want you to worry, but I cry, you can ask grandma and Clarke, they have seen me.” Gus looks at Clarke who nods a little. “You can’t swallow your pain down, Gus.” Bellamy insists “If you do...it will turn into this dark horrible thing that you carry inside you all the time. It’s like...a monster of sorts, that makes you angry and sad. And I know you’re sad now, son and it’s okay to be sad too just...I need you to know that you can cry or whimper or scream if it’s too much and not be ashamed to do so, okay?”

Gus ponders on it for a moment.

“But you’re so strong, dada.”

“There’s strength in the tears too, there’s strength in showing your pain, okay?” Bellamy keeps on and Gus, the smart boy that he was, seems to be thinking over his words and letting them sink in a little “I’m sorry that I made you think otherwise. I’m sorry that you thought you have to just take it all the time without showing any emotion. That is not the right thing.”

“You really cwy?” Gus asks carefully.

“Yes I do.”

“It urts you?” Gus asks again and Bellamy nods “It urts you like it urts me?”

“Yes.” Bellamy admits and feels like they’re finally making some break through after all the days since the accident. Gus needed to have this conversation, obviously, as painful as it was.

“Dada-” he asks next and Clarke uses the distraction of their conversation to wrap his toes and foot gently. “Will I...Will Gus limp forever like you?” she suddenly stops her work upon hearing that and feels Bellamy freeze next to her.

She watches him clench his jaw in a desperate attempt to probably force himself not to break down as he looked into Gus’ sad eyes and then finally cleared his throat and spoke up.

“No, son. Where did you get this idea?” Gus shrugs a little. “You will heal, you already are healing, you will be okay. It is not a permanent thing, alright?”

“And it will stop hurting?”

“Yes, it will, Gus. It will all go away and you will walk like before.” he turns to Clarke and adds “Right?”

“Absolutely.” Clarke promises as she finishes his bandage and pats his knee “You will recover, Gus.” it seemed like depiste them already talking about it and telling him everything will be alright, he didn’t believe it, especially since it took him longer to heal up “You need to try and walk and eat, though, okay? Your body needs the strength to help the wounds close faster so your toes feel better, alright?”

“You’ll try to eat for us, right, Gus?” Bellamy asks and the kids nods.

“Gus just don’t feel much like it, dada.”

“I know, but you need to.” Gus ponders a little, seemingly still lost in thoughts and Bellamy prompts him “Do you have other questions? Something you want to ask us?”

“If Gus gotta eat mow to get better...does that mean if you eat mow your leg will heal too, dada?” Bellamy winces at that and bows his head down for a moment feeling Clarke’s hand on his elbow squeezing it tightly.

“It doesn’t really work like that, Gus.” Clarke answers for him but Bellamy gives her a look suggesting that he’s got that.

“My injury is different, Gus.” he tries explaining “It can’t really...get better, okay?” Gus’ face falls at that and his eyes well with tears which makes Bellamy wince “But that’s why I got Clarke here and grandma and you too, helping me out when I’m tired or in pain, okay?” Gus doesn’t seem to like this answer.

“You’ll always huwt then, dada?” he asks and Bellamy swallows hard.

“I...yes, I will.” Bellamy admits, not really wanting to lie to his son after everything they’ve been through. “But I will be okay. It’s not always that hard, it doesn’t always hurt.” he lies and Clarke knows that he does but she just doesn’t have it in her to say anything so she just looks away for a moment trying to compose herself.

“Dada...” he begins again but stops himself as if wondering wheather or not he should actually keep going “You got huwt because...because that group...wanted better things for us?”

“Yes...yes that’s right.” Bellamy answers, furrowing his eyebrows a little, not sure that he gets where Gus was going with that “But we’ve talked about how what they did wasn’t the right way, remember?”

“Because they bombed the squawe?”

“Yes.”

“And others got huwt...not just Alpha or wolves but us too?” Bellamy nods.

“They didn’t have the right...the right approach, the better way of doing things. Remember how we’ve talked that when someone teases you at school, you can’t fight back, you have to be smart and strong, defend yourself in other ways, maybe using your words, rather than your fists?” Gus nods a little but his mind is obviously somewhere else.

“They were...killed those people, right, dada? Floated?” Bellamy nods and Gus keeps staring somewhere at the floor before he speaks up again “And me and my fwiends and Jowdan too...we got huwt because electricity stopped?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“But...electricity stops every night, right?” Bellamy nods again “But only in Factory and Farm, not in Alpha. It was warm when we were in Clarke’s place.”

“Yes, son.” then Gus finally looks up and stares into Bellamy’s eyes, confusion but also frustration written all over his face.

“Why, dada?” he asks and Clarke sees Bellamy’s hands fall to his lap and him swallow hard “Why is it bad for us but not for them?” Clarke didn’t envy Bellamy right now-how does he exlpain to a four year old kid who’s just coming to realize what it means to actually live in Factory?

“It’s...it’s complicated, Gus.” Bellamy says not sure how to continue really and Clarke sees with her periphery vision that Aurora takes the pan off the hot plate and brings in three steaming plates of french fries covered in some herbs with her special kutchup-like sauce on the side, placing them before them.

“Gus-” she calls him out as she sits down on the only empty chair and smiles softly at her grandson, reaching out to cup his cheek “You know your dad used to ask me the same questions you’re doing now and I didn’t always know how to answer.” he looks at her curiously and Bellamy exhales a little at her intervening as well, not sure he could’ve handled it on his own. Clarke herself had absolutely no idea what to say to Gus’ question either and she, least of all, could explain how come Alpha was so much better off than Factory. “I used to ask my dad too why we starved while Alpha thrived back when I was your age.” Aurora continues patiently.

“Weally?”

“Yes. And the truth is...the more you grow up the more you’ll ask yourself these things and why certain stations are worse off than others. That is after all what these people who bombed the square were trying to understand too and provoke the chancellor to change it.”

“But he didn’t?”

“No, he didn’t. It only got worse for us because violence is not the way.” Aurora continues “You remember how you learned about the stations coming together for the Unity Days celebrations, right?” Gus nods reaching out mindlessly to pick up a french fry and pop it in his mouth, which made Bellamy very happy and he pushed the plate closer to Gus, who immideately reached for another before having even chewed the first one properly.

“They all came to be from diffewent contwies that inhabitit the Eawth?”

“That’s right. And countries back then were much like what the Ark is now-some were poorer than others, some had doctors and others didn’t, some had electricity and others only used candles.” Gus ponders about that for a while.

“But the stowy says that when the Ark came togethew we were all to be the same.”

“That’s right, son-” Bellamy chimes in now too as he watches Gus stuff his mouth with the potatoes and feels his heart finally ease a little in his chest. He wouldn’t touch that plate, wouldn’t eat for days if it meant his son would go back to his healthier habits.”But it didn’t really work that way.”

“It’s not faiw.” Gus finally says after thinking a little bit on his dad and grandma’s words “Rait, dada?”

“No, it isn’t, son but...there is hope.” he looks up at Clarke and his mom.

“Howpe?”

“Yes. We may not be able to change the system but we can still fight it and not in a violent way like the Arrowheads. People...change-there are kind and decent men and women on Alpha, like Clarke-” Gus turns to her and she smiles at him, rubbing his leg up and down softly “They understand the inequality and want to help us. There are kinder guards too, not all of them are wolves. There are...people who try their best despite the way our system works to erase the line separating us.” Gus looks up at his dad and he leans down to kiss his forehead “Dad tries too, even if he isn’t too great at it. One day...I hope for you to be able to do the same-to help others or work something that you enjoy but that helps everyone regardless of their station.”

“I will, dada.” Gus says enthusiastically “Gus will be a doctor!” he exclaims patting his now greasy, covered in spices hands, his adorable face messy with the red sause but his eyes beaming with a light that hadn’t been present in the past week. “Gus will help othews laik Clarke.”

“Whatever you want, son.” Bellamy assures rubbing his head softly and pushing him to his chest “Dad, grandma and Clarke-” he looks up at her with another smile “We’ll always be here to support you, okay?”

“Awkay, dada.”

“Never let your spark go out, kid. Always remember to be kind, to be good. No matter how hard it gets, this is what matters, do you understand?” Bellamy adds and Gus turns around a little covering his chest with his tiny hand and smiling some.

“Like you, dada?”

“I’m not always right or good, but I try. I don’t want you to be like me, Gus-” at that the kid furrows his eyebrows a little in confusion and Bellamy pushes the curls away from his forehead “I want you you to be yourself, okay? To make your own path in life and do what you feel is right in your heart.” he pats Gus chest next and the kid looks down at his dad’s patched up finger on himself. “Even if what you want disagrees with my opinion.”

“Awkway, dada.” Gus agrees and Clarke smiles as she watches them-Bellamy loved his boy so much it was unreal but Gus too adored his dad to the point where watching them have a conversation like this brought Clarke to tears and she had to look away and brush at them a little, hoping no one would catch her even if she did notice Aurora giving her a look.

“Now you won’t get to do any of this if you don’t eat, so come on, dad wants to see you finish this plate.” Bellamy turns his attention back to the food and Gus picks up another potato from the half-destroyed plate.

“What about you,dada?”

“Dad will eat too, here-” he picks one and munches on it but Clarke and Aurora exchange a look, knowing well-enough he’s simply trying to distract the kid, so Clarke moves her chair closer and elbows him in the ribs a little, pushing her plate in his direction.

“You won’t get away with this, Bellamy. You eat too.” she insists. He rolls his eyes in pretend annoyance but sneaks his hand to hers and squeezes her fingers.

“And you won’t get away with it either, princess.” he whispers seriously.

“Dada, when we eat can we play doctow some?” Gus asks almost finishing his plate and looking up at both Clarke and Bellamy whose faces were so close and itching for a kiss but that split away the moment the kid turned his attention back to them. Sneaking around was harder than they had thought and the only time they could kiss and hold each other or...like this morning when Bellamy pumped her in with his fingers after moving Gus to his own bed, were...a rarity. Especially in this past week when Gus insisted he slept with them, refused to let go of his dad and only after he was sound asleep could they move closer and kiss or simply hold each other. It’s not that Gus was a burden, on the contrary, Clarke loved waking up feeling his warmth and small soft baby breath on her neck, it was that they had to hide it from him. In a way there was a thrill in it but mostly Clarke and she was sure Bellamy too, wanted to be free in expressing their emotions.

They knew they had to talk to him soon about it, but they were being patient in and had decided to wait until he recovers and feels a little better before they shook his already unstable world.

“Yes we can, sweet face.” Clarke answers for Bellamy who is too stunned at the kid’s request, finally seeing some of his old behavior reappear and being utterly lost at words “In fact, you can help me take a look at dad and his leg, listen to his lungs and check his cough, how about that?”

“Yes, Clarke, Gus will help!”

“What are you two now-ganging up on poor old me?” Bellamy jokes as he buries his nose in Gus’ curls and rubs against his head while his fingers move to his sides and tickle him. His plate was now empty and Bellamy carefully nudged the other one in his direction, hoping the kid would eat more while his mom shook her head at him while fixing a shirt that she had brought over for Clarke to mend. She had been coming every day, showing Clarke some stitches and bringing in clothes for her to work on as a way of getting rations on her behalf too. She still didn’t have an ID, Bellamy knew it’d be months probably before the Ark approved of one, if they did, but she got at least temporary papers that he had brought in the other night which didn’t guarantee or give her any privilleges but at least she wasn’t an absolute ghost in this station.

They stated she applied for citizentship in Factory station but he knew that in cases like hers the paperwork was dragged on purpose, so people who were punished the way she was, would have no way of receiving rations or working at all. If she was to marry someone then the documents and new IDs would be done the same day but now...now he knew Alpha was going to drag this for as long as they could, leaving Clarke helpless.

Well...not totally helpless, he was here and so was Aurora. She brought her clothes and with the rations Clarke earned she earned a bowl of algae which was something in these conditions. He knew Clarke wasn’t happy about it, she always wanted to do more, to be of a better help to them and despite his reassurances he knew she felt bad.

And he had every intentions of changing it or at least convincing her that things will look up, they just needed time.

Just as Bellamy is about to force Clarke to eat some too, there’s a knock on the door and all three of them jump in their seats a little. Gus immideatelly wraps his arms around his dad’s neck in a dead-defying grip and Bellamy glances at his mom who furrows his eyebrows.

“Are you expecting someone?” she asks and Bellamy shakes his head when the knock continues, frantically, reminding him of the guards that forced themselves into his home and beat the crap out of him in front of his son.

“Dada!” Gus whimpers in his ear and Bellamy simply wraps his arm tight around the kid as he forces himself up on his feet.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, everything will be fine.”

“Bellamy-” Clarke tries too but he shoots her a look.

“Stay where you are, princess.” it doesn’t come as an order, more like a plead, hoping she won’t be stubborn enough to try and fight him on it and thankfully though she was half-up, she recognizes the desperation in his voice and sits back down.

Bellamy carefully walks to the door and wraps his arm around the handle.

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