[ The recoil is instinctive, though it goes against the ingrained instinct of the brood. The contact feels right, but Bellamy closes himself off behind flimsy walls to dodge it. There's too much he'd rather she not see though he can sense the pulse of her distress. ]
(It's alright. You're alright,) [ He promises her, reciting phrases he'd heard Clarke offer up as comfort. ] (Can you wiggle your toes?)
[ He's not a doctor. The training he'd been given had all been military, unfinished, and the scant first aid imparted to him had focused on field injuries. The severity of the burn across her back is out of Bellamy's wheelhouse. ]
I can carry you, if it comes down to it, [ He tells her, speaking aloud. ] We'll get you off the roof.
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( It's alright. You're alright, ) [ He promises her, reciting phrases he'd heard Clarke offer up as comfort. ] ( Can you wiggle your toes? )
[ He's not a doctor. The training he'd been given had all been military, unfinished, and the scant first aid imparted to him had focused on field injuries. The severity of the burn across her back is out of Bellamy's wheelhouse. ]
I can carry you, if it comes down to it, [ He tells her, speaking aloud. ] We'll get you off the roof.