Chapter 14: Bleeding Hearts - Part 3
POV: Alec Morgan
Knowing Raven wouldn't expose me created a freedom I hadn't expected—the ability to be slightly more myself around her without the constant paranoia about every word and gesture being catalogued as evidence of abnormality. Our dynamic shifted from careful deflection to something approaching genuine partnership.
"Hand me the voltage regulator," she said without looking up from the radio array she'd been modifying all morning.
I passed her the component before she'd finished asking, my enhanced reflexes making the movement automatic. She caught it with a grin that mixed amusement with fondness.
"You're either psychic or the luckiest idiot alive," she said, throwing a spare bolt at me with playful affection.
I caught it mid-air without thinking, my enhanced reflexes making the casual interception look effortless. "Lucky idiot, definitely," I replied with a wink that made her laugh despite herself.
The ease between us was new, built on the foundation of partial truth and mutual trust. I could make terrible engineering puns while she worked—"That's some re-volt-ing electrical work," or "Current events are really amp-ing up around here"—earning groans and laughter that felt like genuine connection rather than defensive deflection.
From across camp, I caught Finn watching our interaction with barely concealed jealousy. His territorial instincts had been triggered by our obvious rapport, the comfortable intimacy that spoke of shared secrets and mutual understanding. The love triangle that would eventually tear their friendship apart was already forming, though neither Raven nor I had acknowledged the shift from partnership to something deeper.
"We should test the signal strength," she decided, making final adjustments to the antenna configuration. "See if we can reach the Ark directly instead of relying on relay protocols."
"Good idea," I agreed, then caught myself offering technical suggestions that went beyond my supposed knowledge. "Maybe we could—actually, never mind. You're the expert."
"No, what were you going to say?" She looked up with genuine interest, not suspicion.
"Just that we might get better range if we adjust the frequency modulation to account for atmospheric interference patterns. But I don't really know what I'm talking about."
The suggestion was technically sound and delivered with enough uncertainty to maintain plausible deniability. She implemented the change immediately, and signal strength improved dramatically.
"Lucky guess?" she asked with fond exasperation.
"Lucky guess," I confirmed, our private joke that acknowledged the impossibilities while maintaining the comfortable fiction that let us work together.
Two hours later, Bellamy called for volunteers for a supply run to gather materials Raven needed for additional radio improvements. The mission would take us into contested territory where Grounder patrols had been spotted, requiring careful movement and tactical awareness.
I stepped forward immediately, establishing the pattern others had begun to notice—Alec Morgan always volunteered for dangerous work, always took point positions, always tested unsafe ground like he knew he'd survive whatever happened.
"You don't have to go," Raven said quietly as we prepared equipment. "It's not your responsibility to take every risk."
"Someone has to," I replied, checking my weapons with practiced efficiency. "Might as well be someone who's hard to kill."
The casual admission of unusual durability was something I could make now, with her, without fear of interrogation or demands for explanation. She knew part of what I was and had chosen to accept it rather than analyze it to death.
The supply run went badly from the start. Grounder scouts had been tracking our movements, probably assessing our capabilities and threat levels before deciding whether to attack or negotiate. When the ambush came, it was swift and professional—arrows from concealment, coordinated assault patterns, tactical expertise that made our amateur fighters look like children playing war games.
I saw Harper stumble into the kill zone a split second before the spears flew, my combat prediction painting trajectory paths across my vision with crystal clarity. Without thinking, I dove sideways to intercept, positioning myself between her and the weapons aimed at her center mass.
The spear meant for her heart punched through my side instead, the iron point scraping against ribs and tearing muscle as I wrapped myself around her smaller frame. Blood poured from the wound immediately, but I stayed on my feet through combat prediction and adrenaline, fighting effectively despite damage that should have dropped me.
The skirmish lasted perhaps three minutes—long enough for everyone to acquire cuts and bruises, short enough that we could disengage before the Grounders called in reinforcements. When we finally broke contact and reached safe distance, I was bleeding heavily but mobile.
"Medical check," Bellamy ordered, examining each team member for serious injury.
I hung back until everyone else had been assessed, then disappeared into the forest claiming I needed to "rest and clean up" before the return journey. In reality, I needed privacy while my regeneration worked overtime to heal damage that would have killed anyone else.
Raven followed me.
I found a fallen log beside a stream and sat down heavily, pressing my hands against the spear wound to slow the bleeding while my body began its accelerated healing process. The familiar warmth spread through my side as tissue began knitting back together, torn muscle fibers reconnecting with surgical precision.
"How bad?" Raven asked, settling beside me without demanding to see the wound.
"Bad enough to need privacy while it heals," I admitted, grateful I could be honest with her about this much.
She nodded and positioned herself to watch the forest approaches, silently standing guard while I recovered from injuries that should have required surgery. Her acceptance of my strangeness, her willingness to protect my secrets, felt like the most precious gift anyone had ever given me.
Twenty minutes later, the bleeding had stopped and the puncture was already closing. I cleaned the blood away and tested my range of motion, noting only minor stiffness where hours ago there had been potentially fatal damage.
"Ready?" Raven asked when I stood.
"Ready," I confirmed.
We returned to find the team preparing for extraction, their supply mission successful despite the Grounder interference. But as we approached the group, Clarke intercepted me with the kind of clinical assessment that meant she'd been thinking while I was away.
"Walk with me," she said, leading me slightly apart from the others.
When we were out of immediate earshot, she turned to face me with an expression that mixed medical curiosity with strategic calculation.
"You take risks no one else would survive," she said without preamble. "Either you're suicidal or you know something about your survival odds the rest of us don't."
The observation was delivered with scientific detachment, but I could hear the underlying question: are you an asset or a liability, and how can I factor your capabilities into future planning?
"I don't have a death wish," I said carefully.
"I don't need to know what," she continued, cutting off further explanation. "But I need to know if I can count on you for the truly dangerous missions. The ones where normal people don't come back."
I recognized what she was offering—practical alliance rather than friendship, strategic partnership based on capabilities rather than personal connection. Clarke Griffin didn't need to understand me to use me effectively.
"You can count on me," I said, meeting her clinical stare with steady certainty. "I don't go down easy."
"Good," she nodded, satisfied with my answer. "We're going to need that."
As evening fell and we made camp for the night, I found myself sitting by the fire with Raven beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. She didn't acknowledge the contact, didn't make it obvious, but the public claim was clear to everyone watching.
Finn noticed. Bellamy noticed. Clarke filed it away as another variable in her tactical calculations.
But for me, sitting in darkness with someone who knew part of what I was and chose to stay close anyway, the future felt slightly less impossible. The loneliness that had been eating me alive since arriving in this world had been replaced by something approaching hope.
Some risks were worth taking, even when they led toward exposure and all the complications that came with being known.
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