Summary: What was that saying? If you want something done right, do it yourself. (Or that time when Clarke is injured, Bellamy isn't too happy about it, and the decision gets made that Clarke's safety isn't entrusted to anyone other than Bellamy again.)

Truthfully, Bellamy probably should have seen this coming.

The 100 had gone two weeks without retribution, without a single bloody peep from the Grounders after their unfortunate meeting for a truce. But Bellamy had been taught long ago to never mistake patience for inaction and now they were paying for his lack of foresight.

It was Clarke's idea to branch outside the walls in search of food and medicine. They were running alarmingly low and with winter coming, time was running short to build up their defenses before the oncoming chill. So Bellamy agreed; he sent Clarke off with his gun, a small hunting party with Miller at the head, and a warning to keep their eyes out. And as much as it peeved him that he had to stay behind to oversee certain aspects of rebuilding the wall instead of watching Clarke's back, Bellamy trusted Miller to keep an eye out. After all, he had made it clear that if Clarke died out there, the entire camp would be fucked.

One: Because no one was equipped to heal like Clarke was.

And two: As much as Bellamy loathed to admit it, he didn't quite know how to run camp without her in his ear.

What was that saying? If you want something done right, do it yourself.

His mother used to say that to him. And the minute Bellamy had heard the screaming coming from the entrance to camp (the very same entrance he had sent Clarke and Miller and the others out of just hours before), he knew he should have just done it himself.

Octavia was at his side in an instant as he brushed the flap of his tent and peeked outside at the commotion. Her face was white and red and her eyes were panicked.

"They were attacked," she said, "I don't know who all came back, but Miller was carrying an unconscious Clarke."

That was all he really needed to hear.

They moved swiftly to the entrance where, little by little, the hunting party was shuffling through; some bleeding and bruised, others with limbs looking crooked. Miller was just off to the side, supporting a definitely unconscious Clarke with blood running down the side of her face. Bellamy strode up to Miller's side and said nothing when Miller immediately let Clarke's weight transfer to Bellamy's arms. He slid to his knees and laid Clarke down for a quick assessment.

"Bellamy, man," Miller was saying in his ear, sounding panicked but otherwise completely unharmed, "it all just happened so fast. We were fine, we were hunting- and then the Grounders came down from the trees. We didn't stand a chance."

"You mean she didn't stand a chance?" Bellamy uttered lowly, cradling Clarke's head in his palm. He hardly glanced at Miller, but his voice was like a steel band, squeezing tighter with every syllable. "One job, Miller. You had one job. To keep an eye on them. To make sure that this," Bellamy brushed a few strands of muddy hair out of her face, "Didn't happen."

Miller swallowed and shook his head, "I know. I'm sorry."

"Princess?" Bellamy murmured, choosing to ignore his friend's weak attempt at apology and instead refocus on keeping Clarke alive. Her eyes didn't as much as flicker. Bellamy ran his fingers along her hairline, searching for the cut that stained the right portion of her hair red. "Come on Clarke, open your eyes."

Nothing.

Damnit.

"What was she hit with?"

Miller was quick to answer, perhaps hoping to alleviate the fury building within the rebel leader, "A rock, maybe? Or a branch."

"Was it one of the Grounder's weapons?"

"No."

Bellamy closed his eyes for a moment in relief. If it wasn't one of their weapons, then it wasn't poisoned. He couldn't imagine what they would do if Clarke was infected with one of the Grounder's deadly toxins. Bellamy caught sight of Octavia hovering at the sidelines. Most of the 100 had gathered around their two leaders, giving them enough space to move, but close enough to feel claustrophobic.

Miller must have caught on to the feeling, because he was shouting for the camp to move back and give their leaders some room.

"Was your Grounder out there?" Bellamy asked, voice seemingly even and calm. Even so, Octavia flinched. "He probably was right? He's one of the ones who stalk our camp and report back when a group goes out. He might have even participated in the fighting."

"I don't- Lincoln wouldn't-"

"He wouldn't what?" Bellamy absently traced the crown of Clarke's head, but didn't take his eyes of his wayward sister. "Stab one of our own? Lead us into a trap?"

Octavia looked away.

Bellamy shook his head in disgust, "Clarke just had her head bashed in by one of your boyfriend's people. And if she dies, I will go find him and I will kill him and every single person who had a hand in tonight. If they want a war, I will give them a war."

"Blake," Suddenly Spacewalker and his annoying girlfriend were making their way through the hordes of teenagers. Spacewalker paused and let his eyes trail over Clarke. He swallowed and bent down as if to pick her up, "We have to get Clarke to the infirmary so we can clean and stitch her head."

"Fine," Bellamy grunted, sliding his hands around Clarke's legs and back, "But I got her."

Finn's jaw clenched, which in turn made Raven's jaw clench. Bellamy rolled his eyes. No one had time for their fucked up relationship problems.

Jasper and Monty were already in the infirmary and setting supplies up by the time Bellamy and the other's walked through the doors.

"Put her there." Jasper nodded to the same table Finn had been operated on not too long ago. And if Spacewalker made it out alive, then Clarke sure as hell could. Monty cracked open a cask of moonshine.

Raven rinsed her hands in the alcohol and grabbed some rags. "I can stitch her after I clean the cut."

Clarke's fate in the hands of Finn's scorned girlfriend? Bellamy didn't like it, but he also didn't think he could stomach stitching Clarke's head back together. Clothes, nets, tents, and tarps he could handle, but human skin? His mother never trained him for that.

It took him a minute to realize Raven was seeking his approval and seconds for him to give the okay.

"Do what you have to."

"Okay." Raven grabbed the sewing needle from Jasper and tied off the thread, handing it back to Jasper while she methodically cleaned out traces of rocks and dirt from the 3 inch gash. Clarke's hair made the process difficult and slow and with every passing minute and every drop of blood that dripped from the wound, Bellamy felt his patience grow thinner.

Finally, Raven gestured for the needle. She stood over Clarke and took a deep breath. "This is going to hurt a lot. If she wakes up, someone has to hold her down."

Raven looked pointedly Bellamy.

He jerked a nod and sat down at the side of Clarke's head, hovering his palms over her shoulders incase he'd have to force her still.

"Do it," Finn said, watching the process from behind Raven.

"Three, two… one." Raven began and threaded the needle through the end of the wound.

Clarke chose that moment to wake up.

Bellamy saw her snap open and take in a breath for a scream. He clamped his hands down on her shoulders, squeezing them, even as he felt her start to thrash. Her mouth opened and the sound that came out chilled him.

"Bellamy!" Raven snapped, "Calm her down! She's already tearing them open."

"Clarke," Bellamy tried, "Clarke! You have to calm down. Your head is bleeding and we have to stitch it up."

"No," Clarke gasped out, flinching away from his gaze. Bellamy didn't even think she was seeing him- not really. Her eyes were unfocused and bleary; she probably had no idea what was even going on. "It hurts. Please stop."

"Bellamy!"

"Can't do that, Princess." Bellamy applied more strength to his hold on her. She was going to wake up with bruises tomorrow with the amount of force it took to keep her still. "Keep your head still. Clarke, it's me. Look at me."

Her eyes bounced to everything except his face.

"Clarke!" Her green eyes found his. "It's me. You're back at camp. Grounders ambushed the group you were with and hit you on the head. We're going to fix you up but you have to stay still."

Her thrashing continued for a moment, before stopping. Her eyes didn't quite leave his, which was fine with Bellamy. If they were open and alert, she was alive.

Raven cursed and Clarke's eyes snapped close. She cried out, but clamped down on her lip to silence the pain. Obviously the brave warrior princess was back in control.

"Raven," Clarke ground out, "make sure the stitches are straight and tight. What are you using for thread?"

"Whatever was in your pack."

Clarke sighed and Bellamy grinned. Definitely back in control.

Her hand slid up and entangled itself in the sleeve above Bellamy's wrist. She wasn't quite touching skin, but the gesture was clear enough.

"Almost done, Raven?" Bellamy murmured, lowering his arm down so Clarke could grip it more comfortable.

"Just… a… second." Raven sighed and tied of two little black threads. "Done."

She poured what was left of the moonshine along the cut. Clarke gripped tighter and Bellamy squeezed her shoulder.

Finn moved forward to Clarke's other side. "You all good?"

"Fine," Clarke's eyes remained closed and her hand remained closed around Bellamy's sleeve. "But I need a moment or I might throw up."

Bellamy snorted and Finn backed away. "One little bump on the head and she's ready to blow chunks. Weak link."

The corners of her mouth ticked up a fraction and if her eyes weren't already closed, Bellamy knew that she would be rolling them. "Screw you."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"That's my cue to leave." Raven rinsed her hands off and gestured to her boyfriend, "Finn?"

Spacewalker opened his mouth, but closed it and followed her out the door.

Jasper and Monty looked at each other, then Bellamy, and to Clarke. "Well we're going to go… build things."

"Have fun." Clarke muttered and the two boys were gone as well.

"You going to let my sleeve go any time soon?"

Clarke's grasp immediately loosed. Her eyes flit open. "Help me sit up."

Bellamy did so, but not without a raised eyebrow, "Sure you don't want to take it easy?"

"This is me taking it easy." Clarke winced and gently touched the stitches, "If I wasn't, I'd be back out there looking for seaweed. The Grounders came before I could find it."

"You're not going back out there," Bellamy countered almost immediately. He crossed his now free arms over his chest, "at least not right now."

Clarke groaned, "You can't keep locked in here. We need the seaweed for survival."

"We need to be alive, for survival. Grounders ambushed you in an attack-"

"I was there."

"You shouldn't have been." That was his point, "Not without me at least."

Clarke rolled her eyes, "It wouldn't have made a difference if you were there or not."

"Maybe not," he conceded, "But I feel a lot better when one of us is the other's back up."

Clarke seemed to consider this, "Me too."

Bellamy reached a hand out and helped Clarke slide off the operating table, "Good. Now that that's settled- you get to come relax in my tent."

"Why can't I go to my tent?"

"Because I have to make sure you don't fall back asleep. Isn't that like Doctor 101?"

"Fair point." They walked toward the doors. Just before Bellamy reached out to slide it open, Clarke's slender hand reached out to gasp his wrist. Bellamy looked down at her hand, then quickly up to her face. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For calming me down back there. I didn't really know what was happening at first. I just kept seeing the Grounders everywhere attacking. But then I saw you and everything just kind of settled."

Bellamy dipped his head in acknowledgement. "It' what I'm here for."

Clarke hummed, "To see me at my worst moments?"

"To see you at your worst," Bellamy slid open the doors, "and to pull you back from it."

Another one

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