"Stay with me princess…"

Her heart was thumping lowly in her chest for the next three nights like a war-drum played by a tired, sick soldier. The only indication that she wasn't dying was the fluttering of her eyelids, the soft rising and deflation of her chest and the returning pinkness to her lips. Her golden hair was dotted with crimson strands, mostly from Octavia sweeping her hair behind her ear repeatedly after she stitched the wound up and waited for her to wake up.

Unfortunately, she hadn't woken up the first day.

Or the second.

Or the third.

But an exasperated hiss escaped her lips at 4:32 AM on the fourth day. She twitched, a painful shiver running down her entire body as she leaned upwards to access the damage. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." The deep, raspy voice caused her to turn her head towards the drop ship wall. "You'll rip your stitches."

"What are you doing here?"

Bellamy was annoyed, "Octavia needed to sleep—everyone needed to sleep. I'm here, get over it." Clarke rolled her eyes until her sarcastic look morphed into a wince of pain. "Clarke, you okay?" She nodded her head but moved her hand to cradle her side. She was unable to form the proper words to explain the discomfort. "Hey, princess…"

Clarke shook her head, her eyes tightly pressed together until she managed labored breaths and the ability to hold a hand up towards his actions to do something about her pain. "I'm fine." She said, her eyes darting around the room for a moment or two. "Moonshine." She snapped her fingers as multiple waves of agony slammed into her. Her body jerked up at an attempt to keep herself from crying out. Bellamy took notice of this, his fearful eyes colliding with her teary blue orbs. He tried to cover it up with his typical attitude.

"I'm going to overlook the fact that you're snapping at me. Don't do it again." Bellamy grumbled as he passed her the jar. She brought the rim to her lips, tipping it back until the contents were gone. She rather feel the burn of methanol than the sharp, aching of her stab wound. "Easy, princess."

"Don't tell me what to do, Bellamy." She growled, setting the jar near her. "What did Octavia say?"

"Her knowledge of the healing process didn't manifest because you were injured, Clarke. You're the only one that knows your true condition." She pulled up her shirt, not really thinking about Bellamy and his curious ochre eyes. The thread was tied off at the end like a chain stitch but Octavia had a decent backstitch going across the wound. Her admiration for it seemed to sicken him. It was a professional admiration, though. If she wasn't used to her own sloppy stitches and rush work, she would be just as disgusted by the look of tattered thread through disgusting holes in her skin. Bellamy cleared his throat and she lowered her shirt.

She looked at his wrinkled shirt, how his broad shoulders made the dark gray fabric a much tighter fit compared to his slightly narrower waist. She noticed the 'V', the teasing way it hung down to show how muscular he really was. She wasn't stupid, she knew Bellamy was attractive. He had the physique of a Greek god and there wasn't any denying it. He practically had fan girls getting weak at the knees and failing to do their jobs just to get his attention—negative or not. His smile, though, his smile usually belonged to her if her sick sense of possessiveness was correct. They could hold his body, try to catch him like Octavia catches butterflies, but they would never truly own a piece of what she owned even if she wasn't consciously owning any of him. Clarke was positive he

"I can't—" She let out an annoyed sigh because she felt useless even saying it, "I'm going to have to stay off my feet for a few days. I'm sorry."

Bellamy cracked a smirk, "Only person I know that apologizes for being attacked by grounders. Although, I guess it was a little negligent."

"Finn wouldn't stop." Her slight drunkenness made her into a snitch. She shrugged that off, though. It was all Finn's fault. If he stopped for a second and thought about his actions like a sane person, she wouldn't be in this position. "Should have let him go by himself."

"You wouldn't do that." Bellamy said, his voice lower than before. "Mostly because you're not the type of person the leave someone behind. Even when you've been stabbed. You should have said something before doing it yourself."

"You wouldn't, either." Her head shot up to look into his eyes the way she usually does. He blinked and broke their eye contact. What are you thinking about, Bellamy Blake? She emitted an uneasy breath while she looked down at her torn and tattered boots. "I'm lucky, really…I should be dead."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. If I was out for four days… I should be dead. I shouldn't have been asleep that long."

"You weren't asleep, Clarke. You were practically in a coma." Bellamy corrected her with a frown. "Don't do that again, Clarke. Don't ignore your own pain…don't risk your life. You're way too important in the camp to do irresponsible things like that."

She nodded her head, "I won't."

"We both know that you will." Bellamy said, "I just want you to hear me telling you not to do it in your head while you're risking your life next time."

"You should know by now that I'm more enticed to do it if you tell me not to." Clarke said, "I have a rebellious streak too."

He ran his tongue across his mouth, sucking his teeth before crossing his arms tightly. "Be careful. That's all I'm saying."

"Sometimes you treat me like Octavia."

He chuckled at her observation, "No I don't."

"Are you trying to argue?"

"I'm glad you're better, Clarke. Get your rest." Bellamy said, knocking his knuckles on the metal table before exiting the drop ship. She sighed in his absence, lowering herself on the table to look at the welded ceiling. Despite the pain, she crossed her hands over her stomach. Her blue eyes traced every mark, every dent and every engineered piece of the ship. Her wavy hair flowed from her scalp, the dead ends highlighted by the moment of silence. There were spots of dirt and blood smeared on her face, highlighting her peaceful blue eyes like war-paint. Her breathing was broken but she felt completely calm.

She felt alive.