Clarke couldn't be sure how long she'd sat staring at the white walls of her cell in Mount Weather, knees tucked up to her chest, chin resting on her hands as she watched the door. She'd grown tired of Monty's attempts to communicate through sound proof glass, two doors and a hallway, opting instead to sit quietly and assess her situation. It couldn't have been more than three days since she woke up in quarantine and still she had seen no one but Monty, passing out from exhaustion every night and waking to fresh food and water and a few fresh holes where blood had been taken. She had decided not to sleep tonight, to sit up and wait, to see the face of her captors and demand answers, demand freedom, demand to see her friends.

She had other reasons to avoid sleep, more pressing reasons that she feared threatened her sanity.

Dreams.

If you could call them that, nightmare was a more fitting description but still the word didn't quite cut it. She deemed them her punishment for all the mistakes she'd made since she stepped off of the drop ship. Ofcourse it's easy in hindsight to reprimand yourself for decisions that made perfect sense at the time. They needed to go to Mount Weather to find food just like they needed to hunt when all the camps food supply went up in flames, Murphy had to be punished for his crimes when Clarke believed he'd committed them, they needed to abandon camp and head to the ocean when the Grounder army was on route. It all made so much sense then, how could it all play over in her head now and cause her physical pain, knowing she killed them, was responsible for the deaths of so many.

Every night when sleep overtook her they came. Sometimes her mom or her dad or Finn, even Raven who Clarke was sure must have died from her injuries by now, unsure if the Mountain men would bother to save the life of a stranger that may be a danger to them. Sometimes Murphy would sit on the bottom of her bed and remind her of her mistakes, ask her why she cared that Wells was dead when she treated him so badly, avoiding him at every opportunity until he was dead and she'd never see him again or get the chance to make up for believing the lies he told for her.

When Wells comes to torture her he doesn't speak, just stands in the corner, blood dripping from an open wound in his neck and eyes staring, disappointed, in her direction, she thinks that's because he loved her, never said a bad word to her, she couldn't even imagine him being mean in her wildest fantasies.

The others were far more vocal, Raven and Finn, pissed that she let them die, pissed that she broke them up and didn't even want Finn in the end. Charlotte and Atom and the little Grounder girl she just couldn't save. They all came and sat in her room and berated her cruelly till she woke in the morning and kicked her tray of food at the wall in frustration.

No, she wouldn't sleep tonight, she wouldn't see the faces of those she'd lost and wake to another day of white walls and sterile white trays. Even as her eyes started to droop and her head felt heavy she watched the door intently, afraid of what sleep would offer.

"This is on you Princess"

Bellamy never says anything new when he visits her in her dreams and she's sure this is the worst punishment. She'd gladly sit and pass the hours debating their past decisions, gladly watch his chest rise and fall in frustrated breaths as he watched her, giving her that 'privileged idiot' look he often threw her way when their views differed. But no, he wasn't really there after all and seemed the most incorporeal of the lot, playing like one of the old movies they watched on the Ark, just a memory of a man who died to save his people, another piece of world history from Earth, where everything seemed so tragic and unfair and yet somehow beautiful.

"Princess"

Her eyes fluttered open and brows immediately knit together in frustration as realization dawns, she's fallen asleep and there in the doorway that she had only moments before stared down in determination, was Bellamy Blake. She let a solitary tear slip down her cheek and drip from her chin to her hands where they still hugged her knees, clenching her teeth and lowering her eyes.

"Clarke" he said closing the door behind him quietly and looking out through the window before turning back to her.

"I'm sorry okay. I fucked up and now you're all dead but there's nothing I can do about it now so why torture me? Leave me alone."

She doesn't recognise her own voice, defeated and dejected and dry, croaked out between sobs. He crouches down by her bed and looks up at her, eyes dark with what looks like confusion. She can't help but stare at how beautiful he is, even smeared with dirt and ash and blood, still a warrior, still dead.

"Clarke, we don't have much time, we-"

"We have all the time in the world" she replies in a whisper, eyes still glistening as she reaches out a hand damp with her own tears and caresses his face. He flinches at her touch at first then leans into it, letting her cup his cheek and stroke a thumb across freckled skin.

"I miss you, I can't do this without you"

"I'm right here princess"

"But you won't be" her bottom lip trembles and more tears get free as he smiles warmly and moves closer to her, crowding her so that their faces are an inch apart, she thinks she can feel his breath on her cheek but knows that isn't possible.

She bends her head back enough to move her lips closer to his, closing her eyes before they make contact and…

"Ouch!"

Her eyes snap open and he's grinning at her devilishly, his fingers tight around the skin of her upper arm, pinching painfully.

"You're not dreaming Princess, or communicating with the dead or making any sense at all. Now get off your ass, we've got people to save."