Bellamy held Clarke's cold body close to his chest. Her skin was like ice and her breathing slow. Even her heart rate was beginning to decrease. There was no way to protect her from the cold; there was no way for him to lessen her pain. He looked down at her, so soft and fragile in his arms, and remembered that only hours ago she was bossing him, telling him how to run camp. Bellamy had no words. He had not felt this hopeless since Octavia had been discovered on The Ark, when he was powerless to help her.
This was worse.
On The Ark Bellamy had at least known that his sister would be safe. But right now, he wasn't so sure that Clarke would come back. This was all his fault. He had insisted that he should be the one to go out and find Finn. He should've known that she would have followed.
Bellamy was about to lose the one person he needed most; that The 100 needed most.
He didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, that he relied on Clarke more than anyone. She was the one who kept him grounded, who kept him sane. Octavia was his sister, she was his comfort. But Clarke? Clarke was the heart of The 100; she was their hope and Bellamy their protector. How could he expect to be a protector when he couldn't even protect the one person he cared about most?
Bellamy brushed Clarke's blonde curls out of her face, leaving light touches as he went. She unconsciously leaned into his hand. Her skin temperature remained the same, cold as ice.
"Clarke," he begged, his voice hoarse. "Clarke… I need you. You don't understand how much everyone needs you."
He lifted her up into his lap, his back firmly against the wall. Bellamy couldn't stop gently rubbing his hands up her arms, trying to warm her. Softly, he brought her golden curls over her shoulder in attempt to shield her neck from the howling wind. Bellamy didn't understand why she was so affected by the cold and he wasn't. He was defiantly cold, colder than he had ever been in his entire life, but he wasn't on the verge of hypothermia. If only Clarke was awake she would be able to explain this to him.
Clarke was beautiful.
Bellamy had never met anyone quite as stubborn or full of passion as his Clarke. Whereas most people would back down in a confrontation with him, she would spit fire right back at him. She was kind and calm and nurturing, never did she once complain about helping someone in need. That was what made Clarke beautiful, her compassion.
He pressed his forehead against hers, whispering the names of all the people who cared about her, including himself. He regretted that day, the day when he told her she meant nothing to him. He was only lying to himself, she meant everything to him. The pain expressed on her face and the anger he had invoked, just knowing what he had done prevented him from being able to sleep for weeks. He had tried to numb the pain by screwing around with other girls, but it did nothing to lesson his feelings for Clarke. He was not one for whom people came to for comfort or solstice. Bellamy was never taught, was never raised to be compassionate; he didn't know how, neither did Octavia. Being raised as a solider, that's what The Ark taught him.
"Bellamy?" Clarke stirred in his arms.
"Clarke! Thank God, thank God you're alive." he said and hugged her to his chest.
"Of course I'm alive you idiot! Do you seriously think I was going to die on you when I have a camp to run?" she retorted in all seriousness. She coughed into his chest and it racked her entire body.
"Clarke?" he asked again, running his hands through her hair, attempting to soothe her.
"I'm fine," she waved. "Just… cold."
Bellamy said nothing. Night had fallen and the snowstorm was still fiercely blowing outside. He looked back down at Clarke who was resting her hand on his bicep and studying his profile. All he could do was stare down in amazement at her. Clarke was in his arms, she was safe and she was alive. They sat like that for several long minutes, Clarke leaning into his chest and Bellamy rubbing her arms, her legs.
"You should sleep Clarke." whispered Bellamy. He felt her nod against him. He reached over, grabbing the blankets. Clarke laid up against the wall with Bellamy between her and the frost outside. He lay down beside her, his arm supporting her head. Lifting the blankets around them, he settled in close to her. Clarke pressed up against him and breathed in deeply. He couldn't help but notice how perfectly she fit against him and how right it felt. Bellamy wasn't sure the last time he had ever wanted to protect someone this badly, keep them safe. Probably since Octavia, but she was different, she was blood. His body shielded Clarke from most of the cold. A warmth he had never felt before bloomed in chest, and it was a warmth for Clarke.
"Thank you Bellamy…" she murmured, her breath teasing his skin. Moments later he could make out her soft snoring and smiled. His mind flashed to what could be: sleeping every night with Clarke curled in his arms, waking up every morning together to take on the world. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead.
"Don't you ever leave, Clarke Griffin." he whispered into her hair. Bellamy did not sleep that night, his mind was wandering. And, if something happened to Clarke again while he was sleeping, he would never forgive himself.
He never wanted the sun to rise. He wanted to lay there with Clarke in his arms until the next apocalypse came.
But, Bellamy could never tell Clarke what he felt. If Clarke knew, she would form an attachment to him, and if something ever happened to him, she would need to be strong and lead The 100 without him.
