He's not in camp when it happens. He's out hunting. He spends a lot of time in the woods these days. It's easier to be there, away from camp, away from Clarke. It's easier to ward off the panic attacks under the canopy of the trees. He wishes he could say they were slowing down, but really, they were getting worse. The one he had last night, while on guard duty at that, had almost driven him to the medical bay.

Almost.

But not quite.

He's leading the group he took out with him, a few deer, a turkey, and several squirrels to show for their efforts, all and all a good day, when Miller meets him at the gate. He knows that look. Something is wrong.

"What?" he demands, already passing off the squirrels he is carrying to whoever is closest. Miller is nervous. He too has noticed Bellamy hasn't been himself. He considers Bellamy his closest friend, knows there's a lot more going on than Bellamy would ever admit too. He knows, too, that it has to do with Clarke, which is why he's dreading delivering the news he has. "Dammit, Miller! Did a grounder cut out your tongue? What's going on?"

"There was an accident," he starts. "A group was stacking wood, working on the winter stockpile. It was slow in the medical bay, so Clarke came out to help…"

Bellamy is already marching towards the medical bay.

"How bad?" he demands. "How bad is she hurt?"

"I don't know," Miller admits. "She was standing on the wood pile and it collapsed. I didn't see it happen, but Jasper said she hit her head pretty hard when she fell. He helped carry her to the medical bay."

"How long ago?" Miller has to jog to keep up.

"About an hour, maybe two." Bellamy curses.

"You should have sent someone to find me!" He barely registers Jasper, Monty, and a couple others he had assigned to firewood duty hovering around the entrance of the medical bay. He thinks he hears one of them say his name, but he doesn't bother to reply. He bursts into the medical bay, his heart racing, his blood pumping.

"Where is she?" he demands to no one in particular. It's Jackson's luck of the draw that he happens to be the nearest one to Bellamy. The brief moment he takes to collect himself to face the formidable Blake is a moment too long for Bellamy. "Where is she?" he asks again, raising his voice and taking a threatening step forward.

"She's being treated by her mom," Jackson answers. There's no need to ask which "she" Bellamy is referring to. Octavia and Clarke are the only two he cares about, and Octavia is fine, assisting Abby in caring for Clarke. "She hit her head, but she's going to be okay…" Bellamy interrupts him by moving towards one of the makeshift rooms, blocked from view by thick canvas doors. His instincts always lead him to Clarke.

"Bellamy, you can't go in there," Jackson says, bravely stepping in front of him.

"The hell I can't." He steps around him again and nearly reaches the canvas door when Abby comes out.

"What is going on out here?" she asks. Her voice is soft, but her tone leaves no room for argument.

"I need to see Clarke," Bellamy informs her. He knows she knows what he did. He knows she didn't like him before, and truly hates him now, only begrudgingly putting up with him on the council because she can't deny that he is a valuable resource.

"You can't right now," she tells him. Octavia slips out of Clarke's room and comes to stand beside Abby, ready to take sides if needed, although she's not sure whose side she's on. "She needs to rest."

"I'll only be a minute," Bellamy states. He goes to maneuver around Abby, but it's Octavia that stops him this time, her small hand reaching out to grab his arm.

"Bell," she says gently. "Not now. Clarke is okay. She's going to be okay. But, she needs to rest. She needs quiet. You aren't helping her with all this noise."

Bellamy and Octavia lock eyes. Octavia stares him down, not willing to back down from this. She understands. She knows Bellamy needs to see Clarke with his own eyes, needs to know she's okay and not going anywhere. But, she also knows Clarke likely has a concussion and doesn't need the storm Bellamy is sure to stir up if he enters her room.

"She didn't lose consciousness when she fell," she continues quietly. Jackson starts to herd those who followed Bellamy into the medical bay out the door. "That's a good thing, Bell. She does have a wound that needed a few stitches. Abby thinks she has a concussion, but there's no way to know for sure without a functional CT scan. Abby also thinks she's going to be fine – with some rest. I love you, Bell, but we both know you showing up at her bedside right now isn't going to help her relax."

She watches the fight leave Bellamy as he realizes she's right. If Clarke needs to rest, the best thing he can do is stay away. Reluctantly, he nods.

"You'll give me updates." It isn't a request. Octavia nods.

"Of course," she promises.

It damn near breaks her heart when Bellamy slinks out of the medical bay, his shoulders sagging.

He skips dinner.

He couldn't eat, even if he wanted to.

He still has a few hours before his guard shift, but he's been on guard since he got back from hunting, sitting outside the door of the medical bay, alternating between finding tasks to keep his hands busy, and just sitting there, wallowing in his thoughts. There is a steady stream of people in and out, some there for treatment, some to visit other patients. A few of them spare a greeting, but most of them know better than to try. They all look at him with pity.

He hates pity.

There are other things he should be doing. The list of things they need to accomplish before winter seeps in is long and not nearly close enough to complete for him to rest easy. The temperatures are already cooling rapidly once the sun goes down. Time isn't on their side. Despite his task list, he can't leave the overturned bucket he has been perched on for hours. He can't see Clarke, but he can't leave her either. If this is as close as he can get to her right now, he has to take it.

He's scratching at the dirt at his feet with a stick when Abby approaches. She stops several yards away, Bellamy unaware of her presence. She takes the time to observe him.

Her well-trained medical eye can tell he isn't sleeping. She doesn't like the color of his skin. He hasn't lost weight, exactly, but he's trimmed down. She sees him at the campfire at meal times, knows he eats his rations, which leads her believe he is pushing his body too hard.

Taking off her doctor goggles, she looks at him once more. He hasn't left that bucket since Octavia delicately kicked him out of the medical bay earlier. He has been keeping watch, guarding Clarke as best he can. It's not lost on her that her daughter is asleep on the other side of the wall he's leaning against.

She's been weary of Bellamy Blake since she learned he made his way to earth. His fearless nature, his rash decision making, his bravado. He shot Jaha, seemingly without a second thought. She has since learned from Clarke that he was far from a murderer. She has even seen it herself. He cares too much, maybe. The lives the young man has taken were out of necessity. To protect his people. To protect her daughter.

Standing there, she struggles with her feelings towards her second youngest council member.

Under the pretense of believing he is alone, his bravado has crumbled. He sits on the bucket, shoulders slumped, head hung low, his eyes on whatever he is carving into the dirt around his feet. He is only 23 – her records tell her he will be 24 in a few more weeks – but he looks so much older in the moment, weighed down by the life he has been handed. He has been through so much, fought so hard for so long against so many enemies, even before he found his way to earth.

He is his own worst enemy.

He broke her daughter's heart. She can't forgive him for that, not when Clarke hasn't. But, watching him, she can't deny that he loves Clarke. He is lost without her. She sees it in council meetings and when their paths cross within the camp walls. She sees the looks he gives Clarke, the moments where he hopes she will look at him, give him some sign that she sees him.

With a sigh, she steps forward. Bellamy's head snaps up and his eyes land on her. She holds his eyes as she approaches, but words aren't exchanged as she passes him and makes her way into the bay and then into her daughter's room.

She's not surprised to see him standing outside Clarke's door when she returns. She confirmed when she came in that Clarke has been left alone to rest. Blake hasn't tried to enter her room again. Abby wonders why that is, but ultimately, she knows. She heard what Octavia said to him. He hasn't tried to see Clarke again because he wants to do what is best for her, even at his own expense.

"How is she?" he asks. His voice is scratchy. Abby softens minutely towards him.

"She's sleeping," she answers. "I gave her a tonic after she ate some dinner that should help her sleep through the night."

"She's going to be okay?"

Abby nods. "She will have a headache for a couple of days, but she's going to be fine. We're going to keep a close eye on her, make sure she takes it easy for a week or two." Bellamy chews his lip for a moment, debating. Abby waits.

"Can I see her?" he asks so softly Abby almost misses it.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Bellamy," she replies, torn between a yes and a no.

"Please." Abby knows he doesn't beg, but he's close now. "Just for a minute. I just… I just need to see her."

It's the way his voice cracks at the end of his sentence that causes Abby to give in. Clarke is asleep, she reasons, and Bellamy is holding on by a thread. He needs this. She sighs, resigned.

"Just for a few minutes," she tells him. She sees his eyes light up, surprise register that she is actually agreeing. "Don't wake her up and Bellamy, whatever you do, don't upset her. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he says in a hurry. "I won't wake her. I just want to see her. Just for a minute. Then, I'll go." Abby nods and steps aside. Bellamy crosses the room and at the entrance to Clarke's room, his hand on the canvas, he looks back at Abby. "Thank you." She gives him another nod of her head in response. He pulls back the canvas and steps into the room.

He can breathe again.

They said she was okay, but he hasn't believed them until now. Standing at the foot of her bed, he watches her, makes sure her chest is rising and falling. Even in slumber, a bandage above her right eye, she is beautiful. He feels his heart splintering off even more as he takes her in. He wants to go to her, hold her, whisper to her that he loves her and won't let anything happen to her.

Instead, he takes a seat at her bedside. He doesn't pick up her hand, but he lets his rest as close to her as he dares without touching her. He doesn't want to risk waking her, aware that it would upset her to see him. That is his cross to bear. He continues to gaze at her, purses his lips as he watches her.

"Princess," he whispers so softly he barely hears his own voice.

He loves her. That's his sole thought as he listens to her soft puffs of breath fill the otherwise quiet space. He loves her.

He loves her, and he hates himself.

His breath starts to shorten.

With the reflexes of a cougar, he stands, leans over her, and barely ghosts his lips on her forehead. He is out of her room so quickly Jackson doesn't realize he's passing his makeshift desk until he's breezing through the door.

He barely makes it into the shadows beside the medical bay before he falls apart. He doesn't remember hitting his knees, but he's in the dirt on all fours. He knows he needs to focus on his breathing, but he just can't. All he can think of is Clarke, lying in a bed, hurt. He hadn't been there to keep her from getting hurt – and he believed wholly that he could have prevented the whole thing had he just been there – and he can't comfort her, take care of her. He's not able to catch his breath.

He can't breathe.

Abby Griffin is suddenly in front of him. She's moving him upright and he's powerless to stop her. She's telling him to breathe, encouraging him to breathe with her, to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. She's running a soothing hand up and down his arm, and telling him he's going to be okay, to just breathe, that it's almost over. She keeps telling him to breathe as the minutes tick by.

Slowly, the world stops spinning.

He can breathe again.

It takes him several more minutes to look at Abby.

"How long?" she asks him as his eyes meet hers. He knows there's no use in lying.

"A while."

"What is 'a while,' Bellamy?"

"Since…," he grits his teeth, "Clarke."

Abby sighs. She's torn. He's on her council, one of her strongest leaders. She needs him whole, healthy. He is neither of those things right now and she should suspend him. But, she also needs him. The remaining 100 will walk through hell for him – they already have – and she has noticed a number of the Ark members starting to look up to him as well. She can't suspend him. Not yet, at least.

"Bellamy, I need you healthy," she tells him sternly. "I know you've been through a lot – both personally and, for lack of better term, professionally." Bellamy snorts at the idea of what he's doing on earth being considered a profession. He's merely trying to survive. "But, you're in charge of the guard. They need your leadership. I can't have you having panic attacks while you're also in charge of this camp's safety."

"I know," he admits.

"I can give you some medicine," Abby tells him. "There isn't much of it, but I can spare a few pills for you to take when you need them. " Bellamy shakes his head.

"No," he says firmly. "I'm not taking medicine. Not for this." Abby doesn't try to change his mind.

"At least drink some chamomile tea," she instructs. "It will help you sleep."

"I'll keep that in mind." Abby sighs once more. He's as stubborn as Clarke.

"The next time this happens, I want you to come find me," she tells him.

"I know we're not on the Ark anymore," Bellamy replies, "But I'm assuming I can still expect doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"For now," Abby agrees. She knows he's asking her not to tell Clarke. They both stand. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Bellamy."

"Don't worry about me," he says as he begins to walk away. "Just take care of Clarke."