A/N: I do not own any of the characters, or the show.

Picture also not mine.

Please read and review, but most importantly, enjoy!


"He shouldn't even be alive, Clarke. Here on the ground, you take what you can get."

"Mom, don't."

"You know it, honey, and I know it. He's very lucky."

"And you're saying there's nothing you can do?"

"No, baby. There isn't."


He tried to open his eyes. Bright white light shone straight into them, and they instantly closed again. He raised a hand to shield his face from the cold air.

"Jackson, he's awake. Somebody get Abby!"

Arkadia's head doctor arrived, but not before her daughter. Jackson, walkie in hand, was clearly the one who had informed her of Bellamy's consciousness.

"Bellamy?" he heard her voice say. He opened his mouth to call to her but no sound came out.

"Hey, no, don't try to talk. Just rest." Bellamy felt her hand circle his, and suddenly he smelt her lavender perfume.

"Primary check," Abby said, interjecting. "Do you know where you are?"

Bellamy nodded, and clearly Abby was expecting a response. "Arkadia," he whispered.

"Do you know who you are?"

"Bellamy Blake; son of Aurora Blake. Brother to Octavia Blake."

"Do you know why you're here?"

At this, he stopped. "No."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Everything was hazy when he opened his eyes again, this time tolerating the brightness. He looked up to see Clarke's face in front of his.

She looked like she'd been crying. Her eyes were red, and despite the light inside, he could see past the med bay doors into the dark night. He looked back at her face. Dark circles embellished the red rims on her eyes. She had most probably abandoned sleep for the entirety of his unconsciousness. There was gauze taped to her cheek, bleeding. Tempted to stroke it, he held out his hand — but then realised what he was doing and retracted it.

As their eyes met, he shook his head, "No."

"Arkadia was attacked by Trishanakru last night," Clarke said softly.

The Coalition had been torn apart, and of the three clans that opposed them, Trishanakru has been the first to act. The attack had come late at night, when Bellamy had been on patrol. He had heard the alarm, and within minutes there were more guards at scene. He saw a grounder race towards the chancellor's chambers, where Clarke had set up for the night. He groaned as it came back.

"Bellamy, you saved my life."

The grounder had held a sword longer than his own leg. Sharp, glinting, and bloody, it caught Bellamy's attention immediately. He took aim and shot at him repeatedly. Each time, he missed by a hair's breadth, and the assassin entered Clarke's room. Tossing aside his empty rifle, Bellamy ran into the chambers.

He chuckled, and whispered, "You don't make it easy."

Clarke rubbed at her hands as she scoffed at him.

They both remembered how the grounder took large swings at Clarke's bed, with her scrambling each time to avoid its graze. Bellamy grabbed the intruder by the back of his shirt, whipping him away from Clarke. She shuffled around her bedside table, searching for her gun.

The grounder clawed at Bellamy, aiming to kill. He drew blood. As he was about the make a fatal blow, he was yanked back by a very angry Clarke. She held a knife in each hand, swinging mercilessly. The attacks caught him in the arms, but pain did not stop him. He punched at her sides, bruising and splitting her skin. One blow cut straight into her cheekbone, blossoming into a bleeding bruise. His sword came around to Clarke's thigh, ready to run her through.

He took aim and swung the weapon — just as Bellamy grabbed Clarke by either side of the back of her waist and pulled her into the room's corner, shielding her entire body with his. With his back to the grounder, he didn't see as the sword came down, stabbing into his shoulder blades.

Furious that the assassination was interrupted, the Trishanakru soldier hurled a knife into Bellamy's back, and watched his body fall onto Clarke.

"And the grounder?" Bellamy asked as he recollected his memories. Clarke was looking at the floor. "I found my gun in that corner by the clothes. I shot him in the head." Her hand tightened around his as she said the words, afraid of the truth they carried. "My mother operated on you for hours, but she really didn't think you were going to make it."

Bellamy nodded solemnly and tried a few more croaky words, "What made her put in the effort?"

He heard a snort behind him and watched Abby Griffin approach the bed with a glass of water. She handed it to him and said, "Clarke."

He looked at the girl on his bed, and her eyes closed. "I couldn't lose you too," she whispered.

"Hey," he said, and squeezed her hand. "You're not going to."

Abby coughed and brought attention to herself. She focused on her patient, asking him to sit upright if he could.

Bellamy let go of his grip on Clarke's hand to hold onto the bedsides, and felt the loss of her warmth immediately. He lifted himself into a sitting position, almost tipping back into unconsciousness as the blinding pain flashed through his spine. He cried out and Clarke reached to steady him instantly, gripping his bare shoulders to maintain his balance while Abby rearranged the pillows behind him. "It's okay, just relax," she said, easing him back down. He nodded, clutching the bandages wrapped around his upper abdomen. He noticed he didn't have his shirt on, and he was freezing. Abby disappeared to look for a blanket. Beside him, Clarke sniffed and took a deep breath.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, but that was all it took for her to let her tears fall. He gestured for her to come closer, pulling her against him in an effort of comfort her.

"I thought you were dead, Bellamy," she said into his shoulder.

"It's okay. I'm okay." He had one hand in her hair, while the other one lay limp by his side. Her hands encircled his waist as she lay her head on his shoulder. His head rested over hers.

They closed their eyes for a minute, but fell into sleep within seconds.


When Bellamy woke, it was before Clarke. She still lay beside him, in heavy sleep. She looked peaceful, with her pale blonde hair and a silent snore. Her hand still rested on his waist, a small reminder of the night they had wasted with sleep. He gently lifted her fingers, placing them on Clarke's chest slowly as to not wake her. Then, after removing the blanket off himself, he left her alone to rest.

Pulling a talkie from the pile of his belongings by the bed, he radioed their mechanic.

"Raven, come in." He waited a moment. "Raven, this is Bellamy. Are you there?"

Her voice came back staticky. "Bellamy? You're alive?"

He smiled. "You can't get rid of me that easily, Reyes."

"You had us all worried there, Blake. How do you feel?" Her voice was a mixture of relief and static. He glanced at Clarke beside him and lowered to volume of the talkie to avoid waking her.

"I've been better — but now's not the time. I need you to do some research for me."

"Sure thing, Blake. What do you need?"


When Clarke got up, Bellamy was already gone. The warm blanket that had been laid on him was now wrapped around her. She could still feel his warmth on it. He hadn't gone far.

"Bellamy?" She called.

He shouldn't have gotten out of bed. She knew the toll it would take on a human to be stabbed in near the spine; any further disturbance could cause permanent damage. She grew concerned as the list of potential calamities that could befall him increased in her mind. He could be looking at paralysis if he wan't careful.

It was beginning to brighten outside. The red and yellow hues of a sunrise lit up the entirety of the med bay.

"Bellamy!" She tried again, this time louder.

"Clarke!"

She heard her name coming from camp, only it wasn't Bellamy who had spoken it.

"Clarke, we need you, right now." It was Raven, now in front of her by the doors of the med bay.

"We found something," she said with excitement, swerving on her heel to lead Clarke back to her tent. When the girls entered the canvas room, they were faced by the usual suspects: the delinquents.

Monty, Harper, and Murphy all looked up at Clarke as she came in, moving out of her way when she charged past them towards Bellamy, on Raven's bed. He was sitting, pretty uncomfortably, bandages loosening. Miller made the smart move to quickly get out of the picture, away from Clarke's wrath.

"Bellamy," she started, looking him in the eye, "What on earth were you thinking?"

The older Blake sibling only smirked and scoffed, but avoided her gaze.

"We've found the reason why Trishanakru broke the Coalition," Monty interrupted, hoping to lower Clarke's level of anger. It worked. She turned, facing Monty.

"Trishanakru and Floukru were both informed in a private meeting that Skaikru was hiding the existence of a second radiation shelter, similar to Mount Weather. They want to take it."

"But there's no such thing —"

"I know," Monty snapped, "But they think there is. Trishanakru spread the news. Now most of the clans are planning an attack — they just got to us first."

The room was quiet for a long time before anyone spoke. "So what do we do?"

It was Raven who had spoken, and the delinquents all turned to look at her.

"We can give the evidence to Kane," she suggested when no none spoke. "Have the security team plan a defence."

They all nodded solemnly, none of them saying what was on all their minds. Most of Arkadia's guns had burnt with Illian's fire, along with any grounder weapons that may have been stored there. They were absolutely no match for nine clans.

"Will Azgeda help? Floukru?" Clarke's voice was soft as she addressed Miller. He spent many days with his father's security counsel; he knew the ins and outs of dealing with the grounder clans.

"Azgeda, possibly," he replied, "But they're still recovering from the backlash of the Ascension. They won't want to be on our side of this war. As for Luna, she's already lost too many of her people to the radiation. And they're a peaceful clan. No go."

Clarke cursed, and tried to think of an alternative. "Bellamy," she turned to look at him, "What do you — oh my God, Bellamy!"

The group turned to Raven's bed as Clarke pushed through them, making her way back to the back of the room. Bellamy was on the floor, shaking —seizing. Clarke fell onto her knees beside him, grasping for his arm in an effort to turn him on his side. Murphy tossed one of Raven's pillow to Clarke, which she placed under Bellamy's head to stop it from hitting against the hard ground.

"Someone get Abby Griffin!" Jasper yelled out into the camp.

Minutes felt like hours, and in the few it took for Abby to arrive at Raven's tent, medical kit in hand, Bellamy had stopped. He lay soundlessly and still on the floor, his head in Clarke's hands.

"Baby, what happened?" It was Abby's voice, but Clarke didn't hear.

"Bellamy?" She whispered, "Can you hear me?"

His face was warming up in her hands, his long curls got in the way of his eyes. She pushed them back, feeling the warmth of his forehead.

"Clarke." This time she heard her mother's strict voice. "Tell me what happened."

Clarke looked up at her mother's face, "I don't know," she said, trying to hold back her tears. "I just saw him on the floor."

Abby had only ever seen her daughter in such a state once before; it was the day she had come back to camp, bleeding and bruised, and had asked if Finn and Bellamy had made it. Unable to keep her breath, shaking, close to crying. But she didn't have time to comfort her now. She kneeled beside Bellamy, checking for a pulse. It was weak.

Keeping him on his side, she lifted his eyelids. A flashlight darted in between each eye, checking for a response.

"He has a concussion — I don't know why we didn't catch this earlier." Abby turned to the crowd of teenagers waiting behind her. "Any of you see him fall?"

They all shook their heads, somber.

Abby cursed, "He might have hit his head again. We need to get him back to medical — right now." Then, she stopped. "Why is he here in the first place? Clarke?"

No one said anything.

"You kids," she mumbled under her breath. "Always up to something."

With the help of two nurses, Abby had Bellamy taken to her station. Clarke was still by Raven's bed, dazed and silent. Requested by her mother not to follow them, she had nowhere else left to go.

Her hands were cold with the loss of Bellamy's warmth. Monty knelt beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Clarke," he said, slowly. "He'll be okay. you know what Bellamy's like. He'll pull through."

"There's just nothing I can do," she mumbled back.

"Of course there is," Murphy interrupted, "You can get back on your feet and start working on this 12 clan shit we're in."


"Clarke."

No one answered him.

"Octavia."

Still, nothing.

He couldn't open his eyes, but he knew it was bright outside.

"Abby!" He called, pushing himself off the bed. Balancing on his elbows — because he felt too woozy to try any farther — he squinted for a look around the room. He was in Quarantine, hooked on IVs of fluids and blood.

"ABBY!" He tried one last time. This time, he caught someone's attention. A nurse looked up at him, exasperatedly gestured for him to get back into bed, and held up one finger to indicate that she'd be bringing back the doctor.

"Find me Clarke!" Bellamy called after her, but he wasn't sure she heard.

Abby arrived soon later, with Clarke nowhere to be seen. She remained behind the barrier, but turned on the intercom. "Bellamy; how are you feeling?"

"Why am I here?" He asked, straight to the point. "Where's Clarke?"

"Bellamy, we have reason to believe that the weapon you were hit with was poisoned. You'll remain under strict quarantine observation until we can confirm otherwise."

"Where's Clarke?" He repeated.

"Clarke's with the war council. Nine of the clans plan to move against Arkadia within the week. Now — hey, no — Bellamy, you need your rest. Get back into bed!"

Bellamy did no such thing. Allowing the IV stand to carry his weight, he was beginning to move towards the airlock.

"Bellamy — don't. You need to sit down. Do you understand the number your body has gone through? I'm only going to ask you this nicely, one more time." Bellamy still showed no signs of stopping. "Hey, hey! You'll contaminate the entire ward!"

It was the only thing that made him hesitate. With an exasperated sigh, he stopped walking.

"Get back into bed, young man."

He did, but not without his own complaints.

"How am I supposed to get anything done from the inside of this plastic cage?"

Abby's response was simple. "You don't."


Clarke came to visit him a few hours later, after he had skipped absentmindedly through a few medical books. They were the only ones Abby had left lying around, and the only source of dull engagement she could provide him with.

"Hey," she called from the other side of the intercom, and his head snapped towards her. She looked around his holding cell, overcome with white. He was stationed there in the middle of it all, with his black hair and tan skin and dark eyes, a sheer contrast of his atmosphere.

"How are you feeling?"

He nodded slowly, and said, "As good as can be expected, I guess. You okay?"

Clarke smiled and nodded. "Are you in any pain?" She asked.

"No."

She looked Bellamy in the eye for this first time. She saw the slight shiver of his arms, and the purple bruising all around his bandages. "Are you lying to me, Blake?"

He paused. "Yeah." He smiled softly at her. "How did you know?"

She returned the smile. "I know."

They were silent for a short while, because neither of them knew what else to say.

"Bell," Clarke then said, so quietly he almost didn't know if he actually heard it. He looked at her, meeting her gaze for only a moment before she looked away. Her face was pink, brightening with every passing moment. "I'm so sorry."

It took him a moment to realise that the soft hue of her skin indicated shame.

"Clarke, don't even go there." He tried to stand, supported mainly by the walls and the IV. He made his way up to her, though slowly, and stopped only when the only space in between them was the airlock's plastic sheet. She still wasn't looking at him, even though she saw his bare feet approach her.

"Hey. Look at me."

She looked.

"You couldn't have known that Trishanakru was going to attack. You didn't ask that grounder to attempt an assassination on you. You also didn't choose for me to get stabbed in the back. This is not your fault, Princess."

She smiled at the long-forgotten pet name. "Thank you, Bell."

"You're welcome." He tried to look stronger than he was as he said it, as though standing itself wasn't too much pressure on his spine. But, once again, Clarke saw through his exterior shield.

"Bellamy, please, sit down. You look like you're going to fall."

He only nodded, understanding that it was no use trying to convince her of a lie. Anyone else, maybe. Not her.

He turned to head back to the quarantined bed, slowly.

"You know what they say, Blake." A sneering voice came from behind the both of them. They both turned, more effort extruded from Bellamy. "Slow and steady wins the race."

"Shut up, Murphy," Bellamy growled back, ignoring the snide comment and continuing on.

"Don't listen to him, Bellamy. It's not like he knows what its like to save someone else's life by taking a hit to the spine." Clarke turned to make a point a finger at Murphy, but he just looked past her.

"Are you sure he's alright?" he prodded, butting out his chin to indicate to the quarantine.

"Stop it, Murph—," Clarke was saying, when she was interrupted by a soft voice.

"Clarke, get your mother."

It was Bellamy.

But he never asked for help.

That scared her.

"Murphy, stay here."

And she ran.