So I decided to maybe continue this? Turn it into the "behind the scenes" timeline. Let me know if you guys are interested!
Bellamy was exhausted. Patrol this late—he couldn't do it. Not efficiently. Not on top of everything else.
"Bellamy…"
He froze. He imagined it. Right? That wasn't his name. That wasn't Clarke's voice.
"Bellamy!"
It was a shriek this time, and he didn't hesitate. He burst into her tent, prepared to gun down an attacker or beat Murphy into Kingdom Come.
But there was no Grounder. No insane criminal. She was alone, crying. Sleeping.
Bellamy stood there dumbfounded, brows knit together. Clarke's hairline held beads of sweat, streaks of tears. The fur blanket he'd gotten her was bundled to the side, like she'd thrashed to get it away from her.
Oh.
She was having a nightmare. She breathed rapidly, frightened by something in the dark spaces of her mind. And she was calling his name.
Bellamy swallowed, realizing with a terrible ache in his gut just what this meant.
She was terrified of him. Clarke, the one person besides Octavia he was sure didn't see him as a threat, was so terrified of him, the mere idea of him haunted her.
He started to back away, knowing he had no place here. He felt sick.
"Please don't go," she whimpered.
He paused, stricken by the desperation there. Shit, what now?
He turned back to her, preparing an excuse as to why he was in her tent in the middle of the night, standing over her like a creeper. He tried to think of a line that would embarrass her more than the mortification in his own stomach.
But she was still asleep.
What the fuck?
"Stay, Bellamy," she sniffed, hand curling around her pillow.
He tried to swallow again, but this time there was a knot in his throat that almost drained all the air out of his lungs.
He closed his eyes, breathing out like he was annoyed, even though he wasn't. He wasn't sure what he was. Relieved? Embarrassed? Elated by the fact she was dreaming about him, begging him not to leave her?
He didn't know what they were to each other. She had become his friend, he supposed, in an unfriendly way. She was his partner, without a doubt. He consulted her about everything, because she saw things differently. Untainted.
Octavia joked that he and Clarke were the parents of the delinquents. The brat let the comment slip, and now Monty and Jasper kept referring to them as Mom and Dad. But Bellamy believed they were more like their illegal guardians. Protectors. Bearing the responsibility. Bearing it together.
She told him she needed him that day, and everything changed. Somehow, someone saw the person he could be beneath the layers, the person he wanted to be. She gave him hope. And he sure as hell wouldn't abandon hope.
Tentative, he took a step forward, pausing twice, until he finally crouched down beside her, smoothing the blond fly-aways back from her face.
"I'm not going anywhere, Princess."
