Darkness hung heavy and silent over the camp. Flickering firelight cast dancing shadows against the imposing walls, sending shivers down the spines of the guards who bravely endured, prioritizing the company of the eerie shadows over the terror that the unlit night would bring. The wind rustled the dying leaves, branches occasionally scratching against the roof of the dropship, and the calls of creatures lurking just beyond the walls echoed against the metallic surface of the ship.
Clarke lay awake, staring at the ceiling above her. All these sounds warred around her, and yet it felt quiet. The insistent hum of the Ark had been a constant presence she, along with the rest of the hundred, had taken for granted. Now, despite the omnipresent sounds of the forest, Earth felt stifling in its silence, and she found that she couldn't sleep. Raven was fashioning a generator for the dropship, to provide some heat source and to recharge the flashlights that Clarke feared would soon run out of juice. Clarke hoped that this, perhaps, would offer some kind of surrogate hum - she knew that many of her companions pined for it as well.
A new sound shattered the silence that lay heavy around her, piercing through the blackness and sending her sitting up with a start. It was soft and at first foreign to her ear, but as she listened closer, she was able to identify it: the heavy, sharp-edged breathing that warned of sobs to come. Clarke stepped out of the blanket-strewn chair she was using as a bed, tiptoeing across the room to where Jeremy was cocooned on the med-bay cot. He was curled into himself, facing the wall, and his shoulders were shaking. Leaning over, Clarke confirmed that his eyes were squeezed shut, glistening tears creeping out from underneath his lashes as his eyes darted about beneath their lids. He was dreaming. The edge of his breathing was beginning to take on a low pitch, his gasps becoming groans, and his lips turned downwards as he cried out suddenly, and loudly.
"Jeremy!" Clarke whispered, putting one hand gently on his hip, avoiding the bandaged shoulder facing her. "Jeremy, it's okay. You're dreaming." He had begun to toss and turn, and Clarke cursed under her breath, imagining the damage he could cause his stitches in the process. When he rolled closer to the wall, Clarke took the opportunity to sit on the edge of the cot next to his head, and when he jerked upwards suddenly, she slid back to rest her own back against the wall, catching Jeremy's head and bringing it to rest on her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair and along his neck, humming softly on a monotone in hopes that the reminder of the Ark's soft song would calm him down. Sure enough, he began to settle, and as he grew more still, Clarke added a tune to her hum - not the lullaby she'd sung to the dying boy in the woods, but a lighter tune that she recalled from her preschool days, lilting and hopeful.
Jeremy finally settled, his breathing evening and the creases on his too-young face smoothing out. A serenity fell over him then, and Clarke breathed out a sigh of relief. She let gravity take control then, her head tilting backwards until it met with the cool metal of the ship wall. The pull of the earth seemed to extend then to her eyes as her lashes fluttered down to meet her cheeks, and she watched the stars dance on the back of her own eyelids. She'd almost succumbed to the tempting grasps of sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of Jeremy's breathing and the warmth his occupation on her lap provided, when he shifted in his sleep and spoke. His whispers drifted up, sneaking their way into her ears and past her defenses, piercing their way straight into her heart and wrapping around it in a vice grip. Two simple words:
"Thanks, Mom."
Just as her heart had constricted, now too did Clarke's throat take it upon itself to clench tightly closed, a watery sob trapped inside, and tears fell unbidden on her flaming cheeks. No. Could she have misheard him? One glance down at the serene peace painting Jeremy's face dashed her hopes away - her ears had not been mistaken. Her hand, which had been gently massaging the back of her young companion's neck, now floated upwards and found a new home clasped over her trembling lips, to prevent any errant sounds of her own from escaping.
A rustle of movement from by her cot sent goosebumps prickling along her arms, and Clarke stiffened, the hand pressing against her mouth now repurposed to mask the sound of her own, still erratic breathing. There shouldn't be anyone else in med-bay at this hour... should there? If someone was hurt, they would have announced themselves. Her mind was racing and, with the adrenaline pumping energy and fear through her system, she was finding it difficult to remember whether she was expecting anyone. With her other hand, Clarke reached over to the nearby table, closing her fingers around the flashlight she'd left there for Jeremy in case he awoke in the night. She took a steadying breath, then swung the light to face forward, flipping the switch as she hit her mark. A rectangle of light splayed forward and bounced back a snapshot image of the intruder, and Clarke released the breath she'd been holding with a haughty huff.
Bellamy. She had, in her moment of panic, forgotten his plan to return, and she felt her stomach flip in momentary embarrassment at the fear his arrival had instilled in her. He now stood in the pool of light, one hand lifted to shield his eyes, a grimace twisting his mouth downward. "Hey, watch it there Princess." He hissed, shifting to escape the glares of both Clarke and the flashlight. She switched it off, and looked down, eyebrows knitting together. How would she move without waking Jeremy?
The smell of smoke and the forest washed over her and announced Bellamy's arrival at the cot, and she felt his fingers brush her knee - he was kneeling. The flashlight had forcibly readjusted her eyes, and in its absence now she found herself suddenly blind and cursing herself for her impulsive reaction. Something else, folded and soft, pressed against her lap, and she realized Bellamy had brought over the blanket from her chair across the room. Clever boy. She slid one hand gently under Jeremy's head, the other meeting Bellamy's at her knee to let him know they were on the same page. In one fluid motion, Clarke slipped out from under the sleeping boy and Bellamy propelled the folded blanket to catch his head. Jeremy stirred for a moment, and both leaders froze until he settled once more.
"Grabbed your coat." Bellamy whispered, his hand floating out to rest on Clarke's back to locate her in the darkness, its match following in suit to drape over her shoulders the jacket that had previously been taking up residence on the back of her chair. She slid her arms into the arms as they moved to the door, the colder air of the camp making her grateful for the extra protection and prompting a 'hmm' of thanks to her partner for thinking of retrieving it. Once clear of the parachute tarp, Bellamy stopped, sitting on the ramp and stretching out his legs. Clarke dropped to sit next to him, more able to see now that the flickering torches of the night watch were reaching them. A coppery smell reached her nose suddenly and unbidden, and she gagged.
"Are you bleeding?" She asked, her voice heavy with the accusation. Bellamy scoffed, shaking his head.
"Of course not." He shot back. Clarke frowned. Was she bleeding? A quick self-inventory confirmed that she was not, and yet the stench remained, every intake of breath refreshing its pungent presence in the front of her mind. Another soft sound of disgust escaped her, and Bellamy glanced over, his eyes narrowing a bit. "Uh... Is that your jacket?" He asked. Clarke looked down, and her frown deepened.
"Oh, no, it's not. Whose..." The color drained from her face, and she suddenly ripped the coat off, holding it up in front of her. The back was slashed open and crusty with dried blood - it was the jacket Jeremy had been wearing on the hunt. Miller must have brought it back and left it draped on the chair, and in her exhaustion, Clarke hadn't noticed how poorly it fit her. Bellamy snickered, and Clarke shoved the offending jacket into his lap before brushing desperately at her shoulders, as if that would remove the smell that still clung to her.
"Sorry." Bellamy smirked, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, and Clarke rolled her eyes, curling now to bring her knees to her chest in an attempt to replace the warmth she'd lost at the removal of Jeremy's jacket. Bellamy's gaze swept her now bare arms, taking stock of her discomfort, but if he worried that she was cold, he did nothing about it. "Miller's got ideas about those traps." Clarke's mind raced to catch up - traps. Miller. Grounders. Jeremy. Jeremy. Clarke squeezed her eyes closed, giving her head a small shake to clear thoughts of what had just transpired inside the dropship from clouding her judgment. There would be time for that later. For now - traps. Miller. Grounders.
"How long will it take?" Clarke asked. Bellamy frowned for a moment, her momentary lapse not lost on him, but he too seemed to shake it off.
"He can sweep the woods a half-mile out surrounding the camp with a team of three in a day. Training another team to disarm would take as long as doing it themselves." He anticipated Clarke's question before she had even begun to ask it, and she nodded, lips pressed together. It was moments like these that she considered how lucky they'd been, that the egotistical boy who'd decided to seize control of their ragtag camp was, beneath his rough edges and smirking, a capable and level-headed leader.
"Okay." Clarke agreed. Bellamy paused a moment, then pressed on.
"I'm going to pull three of the gunners off the wall tomorrow and send them hunting. With Miller disarming so close to camp, he can warn us just as easily of a Grounder attack." A note of finality in his voice affirmed Clarke's assumption that this was all he'd come to report, and she nodded again.
"Okay." She echoed her previous assertion, and let the lull in conversation live for a moment. Bellamy didn't move, in fact settling back on his elbows and tilting his gaze upwards to where the clouds had begun to clear to reveal twinkling stars through the overhang of the trees. "Why wake me up to discuss something you sound like you've already figured out?"
"I didn't wake you up." Bellamy's answer was softer, deeper than before, his gaze never leaving the sky above them. He had shed his air of business, and Clarke was struck with the notion that she was no longer speaking to the leader of a hundred - eighty-two - delinquent teenagers.
"No, you didn't." She agreed, letting the guard slide out of her own voice to meet the gentle rapport he'd offered in his tone. She let her chin rest on her shoulder, watching Bellamy watch the stars until, after a pregnant pause, his gaze flickered to meet hers. There was an accusation in it, a gentle probing statement that made Clarke draw her lips inwards, feeling the dimples on her cheeks tighten. "You heard what Jeremy said." Her accusation met his in the space between them, and his expression softened, that alone proving her right.
"Get some sleep, Princess." An instruction. Clarke was too tired to argue, and nodded slightly, pushing herself to her feet and heading back for the dropship. Bellamy's hand shot out and caught hers as he rose as well, placing himself between her and the door. His hand slid out of hers, and he caught hold of both her shoulders, holding her at arm's length in front of him. "Not here," He clarified, beginning to propel her back down the ramp towards camp, "You haven't spent a night in your tent in a week, and I know you aren't sleeping when you're in med-bay. I'll watch Jeremy tonight."
"No, I'm fine." Clarke protested, moving to push past him and back into the ship, but Bellamy would hear none of it, easily holding her in place.
"Go. Sleep. You earned it." An order, tucked behind.. a compliment? Clarke met his gaze, defiant and with every intention of arguing, but Bellamy's expression silenced her. He was a leader in full form, his smirk gone and replaced with a firm resolve. There was no convincing him, and if she was honest with herself, the prospect of finishing the night out in her own bed was the most appealing thought she'd had in days. Bellamy seemed to recognize her acceptance, because his vice grip on her shoulders loosened, and his hands dropped back to his sides.
"Goodnight." Clarke finally conceded, stepping backwards off of the metal of the ramp and turning to move towards her tent, rubbing her arms to replace the warmth his hands had taken with them. Reaching the flap of her tent, she cast a glance over her shoulder - Bellamy mirrored her at the entrance to the dropship. Although too dark to tell, she imagined that their eyes met, and she understood that he was waiting to make sure she was truly headed to sleep. Fair. It had occurred to her more than once on her minute-long walk to her tent that Bellamy would be helpless if Jeremy's stitches split in the night. His presence at the dropship door confirmed, however, that were she to attempt to return to med-bay, she would not be allowed to reenter. The finality of that silent declaration washed over her, the comfort of her lack of choice helping her to turn and retreat into her own tent, asleep almost as her cheek met her pillow, her thoughts mercifully devoid of anything but the heavy slumber that accompanies the desperate need for rest.
