Bellamy tossed and turned beneath the thin blanket he was wrapped in. He needed sleep; they all did, but he wasn't going to get any tonight. Half of their people were exhausted and worn down, the other half had fallen ill with a virus brought to them on Murphy's back, a gift from the grounders. Some gift. Bellamy's mind turned to Clarke as he thought of the sick in the dropship. Clarke had specifically told him that no one could enter the dropship now. It was too dangerous for healthy humans to enter the contaminated area, but Bellamy didn't take orders from Clarke. He didn't take orders from anyone.

He detangled himself from his blankets, pulling a shirt over his head, and tugging on his boots. He crept through camp as quietly as possible, avoiding the groups of people that were still awake, gathered around the fire, or watching the walls for signs of grounders. No one wanted to go near the dropship, making it easy for Bellamy to slip past the curtain and tip toe his way through the maze of weak bodies until he reached Clarke's hammock. Clarke was sound asleep, but her eyes flitted back and forth between her closed eyelids, and there was a coating of sweat on her forehead.

Bellamy frowned, looking down at Clarke. Seeing her weakened had never left him more fearful. Clarke was strong and smart. She was a leader. They needed her. He needed her. He had prepared himself to face almost anything, but he had not been prepared for this. Clarke wasn't supposed to get sick.

Bellamy moved a stool closer to Clarke's bed so that he could sit next to her. Without thinking, he reached out to her, gently brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin was searing hot beneath his touch. He looked around until he spotted a bucket of cool, fresh water, and a clean washcloth, then he gently wiped the sweat from Clarke's face and neck. All the while, Clarke remained unconscious, oblivious to the tender way in which Bellamy cared for her. Bellamy took Clarke's small hand into his own, looking down at her, feeling helpless and worn. When had he begun to view her so differently? When had he begun to look to Clarke as a leader and friend? When did he realize he respected her so much?

"Come on, Clarke. You have to get through this." Bellamy whispered to her. "Who else is going to keep me in line?"

Clarke gave no sign that she had heard his whispered words. He sat there, holding her hand in the dim lights of the lanterns, his breath shaky, and his heart unsure. There were so many things he wanted to say to Clarke, but words weren't exactly his strong point. He felt silly, speaking to a girl who couldn't hear him, and might not want to if she could. His thumb rubbed gentle circles into the back of her hand.

"While I've got you here, I want to tell you a few things, Princess." He said quietly, trying to keep his low voice from shaking. "I'm sorry that I'm an asshole and I'm sorry that I'm not always the best person to lead beside. I know you don't think I listen to you, but I value everything you say. You're a good leader, Clarke. You're a good person…

"And I don't know when it happened, but I…I really like you Clarke. Not just as a friend. I'm glad that I went on that day trip with you. I'm glad that I didn't leave you. I'm glad that you asked me to stay…Even though sometimes I think I don't deserve to." Bellamy took a deep breath, steadying himself. "You like Finn. I get that. But, no matter who you're with, you deserve someone who will love and appreciate everything that you are. Even when you're a bossy ass." He smiled slightly, even though his heart felt as though it had settled somewhere in his stomach. "Just…please get better, Princess. We need you. I need you." He roughly wiped at the tears that had formed as he spoke. "Don't keep us waiting."

Bellamy stood, letting her hand fall from his grasp to hang limply at her side. He stared at her for a few seconds more, then he nodded to himself, his eyes dropping to the ground. Bellamy walked from the dropship, never looking back, forcing himself to keep striding forward.