Clarke awoke to a strange sound. She would have assumed it was canvas being torn, but at that moment it had sounded so shrill, so loud and invasive, that she could have laid there for hours and would never have guessed it. For some reason - perhaps the suddenness or the unexpectedness - the sound made her go cold inside and made her feel sick. She pried her eyes open, searching for the cause of the terrible noise.

The air caught in her throat at the sight.

Someone was standing outside of her tent, using a knife (or some other kind of sharp object) to pry through the material. It was too dark out to see who it was, but the moonlight had been kind enough to shine on the person, leaving a shadow on her tent for her to see.

The shadow was obscure, with long, thin limbs. Whether male or female, that was unclear - but Clarke was dumbfounded by the femininity of the person's frame. The figure struck the tent slowly, with pauses in between, as though unsure whether to continue.

Clarke sat up, ready to hurl herself out into the night, when she caught sight of movement within the tent. Bellamy had awoken. He was sitting up too, his chest heaving - obviously on high alert, and he gave her a quick nod before the two flung themselves out of bed and sprinted out the tent.

The cold midnight air hit her like a splash of ice water. She gasped, but kept running - only to knock into something hard and fall to the floor. Her chest and chin stung, but she scrambled to her feet in a matter of seconds.

"Bellamy!" She exclaimed, staring at the solid wall she'd just bumped into. Man, he was solid. Bellamy frowned at her before making a 360 turn, looking for the person that had long since scurried off.

"DAMN IT!" He yelled, kicking the side of her already vandalized tent.

"Did you see who it was?" He barked at her. She held in a groan and glared at him instead.

"Do you think if I'd seen who it was I'd still be standing here?" She asked rhetorically. He let out a huff and rubbed his nose.

"This is unbelievable. They were right outside!" He said, his voice rising. Clarke took a step towards him and laid a hand on his back, urging him away from the tents.

"Listen. Whoever it is obviously knows that you're sleeping arrangement has changed, so who in camp have you told?" She asked, keeping her voice low. Her question earned her a hard look and a clenched jaw.

"Listen, Princess, I'm not an idiot. I haven't told anybody in camp. Maybe it was Finn. Or maybe it was you." He retorted accusingly. Clarke raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"You think I'm going to go around telling people Bellamy Blake is my new roommate? And Finn wouldn't tell anybody. He wouldn't spread rumours, especially if he didn't know the truth." Bellamy rolled his eyes and put a hand on his hip.

"Okay, fine. So we didn't tell anybody. Maybe"-

-"Bellamy," Clarke interrupted, suddenly realizing something, "Bellamy, they're still here." She said, her blue eyes wide. Bellamy frowned in confusion, only to understand a moment later, a look of determination now set on his face. The two split up and began to move cautiously between the tents, searching for any signs of movement. Clarke crouched down, peeking through some tents' entrances, but it seemed everyone in camp was sound asleep. She saw Bellamy do the same, and when he finished he headed to the dropship. She opted to follow. They drifted in, silent as possible - any semi-loud movement would cause an echo - and looked around, but to no avail.

"Damn it!" Bellamy all but bellowed through gritted teeth. Clarke stood in silence, watching him pace around the entrance of the dropship.

"Bellamy, you're going to wake everyone up," she scolded. He stopped pacing and advanced her way, carrying a fierce expression and an intimidating step.

"Clarke. Someone in this camp tried to kill me. Someone," he said, pointing towards the sea of tents, "that is probably in one of those tents right now, tried to rip yours apart. They know I'm sleeping in your tent, and they're obviously not afraid of letting us know that. So I don't know about you, but I think it's time we let people know what's going on." His words spilled out in a rush, and his dark eyes were wide and alert, and it was unsettling to see. Clarke swallowed and took a deep breath before trying to reason with him.

"I understand, Bellamy, I do. But what would the point be of waking them all up now, in the middle of the night? All that's gonna do is piss them off and make it harder for everyone to wake up in the morning. We can tell them tomorrow; when everyone's awake and you've calmed down. Okay?" She argued, placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep her voice even. He stared at her for a while, before he nodded slowly and she led him back to her tent.

"I can't believe they were right outside." He muttered bitterly in bed, after a long period of complete silence. Clarke turned her body to face him and looked up at his tired face.

"Bellamy. We'll get them." She whispered soothingly. He closed his eyes and exhaled, and then he turned on to his side too, so that he was facing her. His eyes flickered to hers and he nodded. Clarke smiled and closed her eyes, and minutes later she was asleep.

•••

"Stop moving," she scolded, her eyes darting from his face to the paper in front of her. The pencil she held in her left hand was flitting over the page, recreating his face, his neck, his shoulder. She looked up at him again, and caught him grinning at her.

"Bellamy! Serious expressions only," she groaned exasperatedly. Bellamy's grin turned into a smirk and he arched his eyebrow.

"What? Like this?" he teased, suddenly frowning. Clarke threw one of her extra pencils at him, which he dodged, and it landed next to him in the bed. Clarke shook her head in frustration and went back to her drawing.

"You know you have to look at me in order to draw me, right?" He asked. She could hear his smile, but she refused to look up at him, deciding to draw from memory instead.

"You're too distracting to draw," she muttered from her seat. Bellamy cocked his head and laid back in bed.

"Maybe I'm just too good looking." He offered. Clarke scoffed and met his eyes briefly. They were dark, but light, and full of mischief. Suddenly;

'SNAP.'

She looked down at her drawing. The pencil in her hand had snapped.

"Shoot," she muttered, "Bellamy hand me that pencil." She said, holding out her palm. When there was no reply or sign of movement she looked up to where he lay.

What she saw made her blood run cold.

"BELLAMY!" she cried, scrambling to his side. He was lying in bed, his eyes closed, as if he were asleep. The knife protruding from his stomach and the mass amount of blood pooling on to the sheets inclined to disagree.

"BELLAMY?" She screamed, trying to find his pulse. But there was no pulse. No breathing. The only sign of life was the blood still streaming from the long gash on his waist. Her hands shook as she pulled the knife out, before hauling it to the other side of the tent. Hot tears were flowing down her cheeks, dripping from her chin on to his bloody skin. Her body was trembling as she pressed down on the wound, fighting to stop the bleeding.

"Bellamy? Bellamy? No, no, no, no," she cried out. Her bloodied hands went up to his face and she checked for his pulse again, but he remained still.

"SOMEBODY HELP ME!" She yelled out, unable to control her sobbing. Her trembling fingers moved from his face to his wound to his face again, leaving bloody prints in their path. She clutched the side of his head and cried into his chest.

"Wake up, Bellamy!" she yelled, looking up at him. His face was pale, nearly as pale as hers. She moved closer to him and leaned down.

"'You have to wake up, Bellamy," she whispered to him, her voice shaking and cracking mid-sentence, "For me, Bellamy. I need you, Bellamy. I need you. Wake up. Please wake up." Her sobbing continued and she collapsed, hugging him, hanging on to him. She curled her legs up next to him and put her head on his chest.

"Please, Bellamy. I need you." She whispered. Her sobbing began to subside and she worked on evening her breathing.

"If you go I don't know what I'll do. Please, Bellamy. Please just wake up" She whispered. She looked up at his face - his peaceful, sleeping face, and put her lips to his. They were cold against hers, and the reminder made her eyes water. She sat up and looked down at his wound. The bleeding had stopped and the blood was already drying. Clarke brushed the hair from his face, only to replace it with his blood. She shut her eyes squeezing them tightly.

"It's not real," she whispered to herself, "It's not real."

"It's not real," he heard her murmur. He turned to face her, to wake her, but stopped dead when he saw the tear stains on her cheeks. She was curled up into a ball, frowning in her sleep. Whatever she was dreaming about was causing her pain, and the need to comfort her overtook him. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into him, hoping it would soothe her. He waited for her breathing to steady before he let himself drift back to sleep.


That was so hard to write and it took me forever, so I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews feed my soul, so keep em coming, and how excited are we for the finale? Enjoy your weekend further xx