Clarke stirred, opening her eyes a tiny bit to see a wall of blue in front of her. Blinking blearily, she tilted her head back a few inches, simultaneously realizing that the wall of blue was Bellamy's chest and that he had been trying to wake her, rubbing her back and saying her name softly.

"Hmm?" She asked, disoriented.

"You have to work at 9, right?"

"Oh. Shit!" She started scrambling, trying to get up, which unfortunately made her slightly hungover brain seem to slosh around a little.

He held her more firmly against him. "Calm down. It's 7:30."

"Oh." She leaned back, resting her head on his arm, which was curled under her. As last night came flooding back, she also realized exactly where she was. Apparently, she and Bellamy had both fallen asleep on the couch. At some point, they'd readjusted so they were laying down. They were both currently on their sides, facing each other, his left arm under her neck and his right arm banded around her waist. Clarke wasn't sure if she'd gotten cold in the middle of the night, or if she'd just been seeking comfort, but she'd apparently burrowed into his chest as much as possible. It was also worth noting that their legs were tangled together.

Clarke wasn't sure if she should feel uncomfortable with this new physical proximity or not, but honestly, she just kind of never wanted to move.

She frowned as she realized what he'd just said. "Why are you up? You're off today, right?" Although he sometimes had to work Saturdays when they were behind on projects, she knew he'd mentioned being off today last night at the bar.

"Yeah. I set my alarm though so I could wake you. Didn't want you to be late for work."

She smiled, pressing her nose against his chest. "You're the best."

"Mmhmm," he muttered against her hair, his hand still rubbing her back. She was pretty sure it was unconscious, at this point.

Reluctantly, she started to disentangle herself from his arms. "Go back to sleep. I have to get going if I'm going to make it all the way out to my mom's and back before my shift starts."

"Do you have to?" he asked, sitting up and watching as she did the same beside him.

"Do I have to what?"

"Go all the way to your mom's before work."

"Oh." She frowned, contemplating. "Well, I guess I don't have to. I'd rather not use the showers at the hospital though. They're kind of gross and the water pressure sucks. I tend to save them for emergencies." She stood up, grimacing as she realized her skinny jeans had apparently left permanent indentations in her stomach. Turning the top down a little, she glared at the angry red mark left by the button. "Please remind me never to sleep in jeans again. I'm pretty sure that's never going to go away."

Grabbing her phone off the coffee table, she winced when she saw the time. "I need to get going. I'll…"

"Stay here," he interrupted quietly.

She stopped just as she was stepping over his feet. "What?"

"If a shower is the only reason you're driving all the way out of the city, then just stay here and use mine."

"Bell, you don't have to…"

"What? Offer up my totally unoccupied shower? Yeah, it's such a hardship for me, Princess," he said, rolling his eyes.

As the long-forgotten nickname slipped out, he looked appalled while she looked ecstatic.

"You called me Princess," she said, as if in wonder.

He winced. "Sorry. I don't know where that came from…"

"No! I like it!"

He raised an eyebrow.

The nickname was one he used to use in derision, back when he thought she was a spoiled brat. Once he'd learned his assessment of her was wrong, he'd tried to stop using it, but it had still slipped out on occasion, typically when he wasn't thinking.

The way he'd said it just now…it almost sounded like a term of endearment.

When she realized he was still waiting for an explanation, she blushed slightly. "I just…it felt like us again, you know?"

He looked up at her, his face soft but unreadable. "Yeah."

Clarke glanced away.

"Anyway. Do you have an extra change of clothes or…?" he asked.

"Yeah. I keep a spare pair of scrubs in my backpack. It's down in my car. I can go get them if you're sure you don't mind lending me your bathroom."

He stood up, waving her off. "Go ahead. There are clean towels in the closet. Use whatever you need." He slipped into a pair of sandals that were sitting beside the front door. "Give me your keys. I'll leave your backpack outside the bathroom door."

Clarke raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You sure? I can go…"

He wordlessly held out his hand.

She grabbed her keys from his counter, where they'd been left beside the empty take out bag. Walking over to place them in his outstretched hand, she also stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "You're the actual best."

He nodded, clearing his throat self-consciously as he turned to leave.

A half hour later, Clarke opened the bathroom door, walking through Bellamy's empty bedroom and into the living room.

She'd found almost everything she needed in his bathroom, and everything else had been waiting for her in her backpack outside the bathroom door as soon as she'd gotten out of the shower.

Now, in clean scrubs, tennis shoes, and with her hair, which she hadn't bothered to wash, in a braid, she sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, placing her backpack on the floor behind her. Finding a cold bottle of water already on the placemat in front of her, she grabbed it and drank half of it without even thinking.

Bellamy turned around briefly, taking in her change in appearance, and then turned back toward the stove. "Find everything okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks again for…" She paused when he turned around again, setting a plate in front of her. "What is all this?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What does it look like?" He went to the other counter, grabbing the blender and splitting the contents between two small glasses before setting one next to her plate.

She stared at the plate for a moment before raising her eyes to meet his. "It looks like Hangover Breakfast."

One side of his mouth lifted in that trademark smirk. "I was starting to worry there for a minute," he mocked, taking a sip of his smoothie.

Clarke stared down at the food and drinks in front of her, a little dumbfounded.

The first time Bellamy had picked her and Octavia up from a bar, at the tender age of 18, they'd both been too drunk to take back to the dorms, which had a zero tolerance policy for underage drinking and an RA that practically carried around a breathalyzer and write-up sheets to turn in to the disciplinary committee.

Bellamy had driven them back to his apartment and spent most of the night holding their hair while they got very well acquainted with the inside of his toilet. When he wasn't on vomit duty, he'd been practically force feeding them water.

By the time they both rolled out of bed the next morning, with stomachs still queasy and the room still spinning, they both knew they were in for the mother of all lectures.

They didn't even bother speaking to each other…not that they were even capable of it. After taking turns in the bathroom, they reluctantly marched out into the living room, where even the overhead lights were painful to their sand-filled eyes and throbbing heads.

Bellamy had his back to them, apparently making something on the stove. He didn't even turn around when he heard them come out.

Octavia and Clarke glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.

"Bell…I'm sor…" Octavia's apology was cut short by her brother, who waved his hand dismissively.

"Not now. I really don't want to clean up any more puke." He walked to the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water and plunking them on the breakfast bar. He motioned to the seats across the counter from him. "Sit. Drink."

They both sat, then stared reluctantly at the bottles in front of them.

"I don't think I can," Clarke muttered.

She'd had a few drinks before, at high school parties, but she'd never consumed half of a college bar's liquor shelf before, and from Octavia's matching response beside her, she guessed she wasn't the only one experiencing her first truly awful hangover.

Bellamy turned around, rolling his eyes. "You can. And you will, unless you want to spend the entire day puking and generally feeling like the world is going to end."

They both looked at him in disbelief.

He laughed. "Seriously. This feeling you're feeling right now? Your brain sloshing around in your head…the pounding headache…the room spinning like a carnival ride…your stomach turning over every three seconds, especially if you move. It's going to last all day. Hell, as much as you two apparently had last night, it might even last into tomorrow."

His speech was met with groans.

"You're dehydrated. The alcohol flushes all the water out of your system." His tone softened a bit as he looked at them with a tiny bit of pity. "I know it seems counterintuitive right now, but water will make you feel better. Just keep drinking and you'll start to feel halfway human again." He waited while the girls eyed their bottles warily. "Trust me?"

With matching sighs, the girls both lifted the bottles to their lips.

A few minutes later, Bellamy walked over to the blender, cutting up bananas, tossing them in, and then filling it with milk. He looked at the girls. "Might want to plug your ears," he said just as he flipped the switch.

Both girls winced at the noise, which seemed to be equal in volume to that of a jumbo jet.

After a minute or two of blending, Bellamy split the concoction between two glasses, setting one in front of each of them. Then, he turned back to the stove, putting food on plates and also setting those in front of the girls.

They eyed their plates and glasses dubiously before glancing at each other, then at Bellamy.

"You're trying to kill us, right? This is our punishment for last night?" Octavia practically croaked.

He snorted. "No. I really should have thought of that, though," he said cheekily, taking a sip from his coffee mug.

Clarke looked down at her plate again. "So…eggs, bacon, and some sort of banana…something…are supposed to cure our hangovers?"

"Cure? Probably not. Help? Yes."

Clarke engaged in a stare-off with him until her eyes finally couldn't take it anymore. Sighing, she picked up her fork, cut off a piece of fried egg, and put it in her mouth.

She'd gotten through half of her breakfast before Octavia would even try hers.

"Seriously. How did you figure this out?" Clarke asked, gesturing to the food and drink in front of her.

Bellamy smirked. "Miller and I had a few too many nights like the one you guys had last night when we were your age. One morning, his dad found us passed out on the lawn chairs in their backyard, sick as dogs. He poured water down our throats and then made us eat bacon and eggs. Told us that if we were old enough to drink like men, then we were old enough to work the next day. Something he learned when he was in the army, apparently." Bellamy smiled, almost fondly. "He made us lay paving stones in their driveway about an hour later. Bastard," he chuckled.

"And the banana thing?" Octavia asked.

Bellamy shoveled some food off his own plate into his mouth. "Honestly? Went through the Sheetz drive thru one morning on my way to work when I was hungover. Ordered an iced coffee, didn't even realize they'd given me some sort of banana milkshake or smoothie or whatever until I was already out of the parking lot. Drank it anyway. Realized about 20 minutes later that I was no longer contemplating suicide by nail gun, so it got added to the roster." He pointed his fork in their direction across the counter. "And see? You two get to profit from my trials and errors."

"Were there errors?" Clarke asked, only somewhat evilly.

Bellamy ignored her tone. "Oh, God. So many errors." He grabbed their empty plates, added them to his, and set them in the sink.

Octavia sighed, taking another swig from her almost empty water bottle. "Okay, my head doesn't have an entire drum line marching through it anymore…maybe just a symbol player or two. So, go ahead. Let me have it."

Bellamy turned toward them, leaning his back against the counter opposite them and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to yell at you."

Octavia's eyebrows rose. Truth be told, Clarke's did, as well.

"Huh?" Octavia asked, pretty much dumbfounded.

"I was going to. Oh, trust me, I was going to after all that bullshit last night. But then I realized that I don't have much room to talk. See: Me and Miller passed out on lawn chairs at 7 am." He ran his hand through his hair, somewhat nervously. "Listen, I might not like it, but I get it. You're 18, living on your own for the first time. You're in college. You're going to go get hammered, it's pretty much a requirement, right? And if I try to tell you you're not allowed or read you the riot act over it, you're just going to stop coming to me, right? And I don't want that. I want you to always, always feel like you can call me. If you've been drinking and you need a ride, or a place to stay…or if you're at a bar or a frat party or whatever and you don't feel safe…just…anytime you need me…you call. Okay?" His eyes fluttered nervously toward Clarke. "That goes for both of you."

Clarke could only raise her eyebrows again, completely stunned to be included in that offer.

Bellamy continued, "But I do want you to do something for me."

Both girls waited expectantly.

"Any time you're going to have more than a drink or two…always make sure you're with someone you trust."

Octavia's brow furrowed. "Bell…"

He held up a hand. "I'm serious, Octavia. You're both young, pretty, and, frankly, you wear too little." He gestured sort of uncomfortably toward Clarke's cleavage, which wasn't indecent, but was sort of hard to ignore in her low-cut V-neck from last night.

Clarke had her mouth open, ready to argue, but Bellamy was already prepared.

"I know, I know. Women's rights, equality, dressing provocatively isn't an excuse for unwanted sexual advances. I agree wholeheartedly. But let me just let you in on a little secret..." He paused, as if to build suspense. "…guys are dicks."

Both girls snorted, in spite of themselves.

"No. Really. We are. And some guys are just your average run of the mill assholes. They'll hit on you, try to get you to go back to their place. And if you say no, they'll probably leave you alone. But there are a few guys out there…they won't leave you alone. And if you've had too much to drink and you're alone…or if you're with someone who doesn't give a shit about you…I don't want to think about where you could end up."

Octavia just nodded, sort of mesmerized by his speech.

"So, please, for the love of all things holy, stick together. Or with Jasper and Monty," he said, referring to Octavia's high school friends who'd also become Clarke's friends. "They're idiots…but they're good guys." He frowned. "Or me and Miller. But I have no idea why you'd ever be at a bar with me or Miller." He shook his head as if to clear that thought.

Clarke had her head tilted slightly to the side, contemplating his advice. "So…if we're not in complete control of ourselves…make sure we're with someone we trust enough to make decisions for us."

His eyes darted to hers in surprise. "Yeah. Yeah, exactly."

Octavia nodded. "I promise."

"Me too," Clarke said softly.

Getting up, Octavia headed for Bellamy's bedroom. "Bell, is it okay if I lay back down? I think a nap might make me almost human again."

He chuckled. "Knock yourself out."

Octavia paused with her hand on the doorknob. "Coming, Clarke?"

Clarke gingerly shook her head. "No, I'm not really that tired right now. Go ahead."

Octavia nodded, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "Don't kill each other," she said off-hand, shutting the door behind her.

Clarke picked up her empty glass, slowly making her way over to the sink to rinse it out.

By the time she turned around, Bellamy had finished cleaning up their trash and was wiping his hands on a dish towel.

Resting her hands on the sink behind her, Clarke broached the subject quietly. "Did you…mean what you said?"

He turned toward her but kept his distance. "About what?"

"Me calling you if I ever need you."

He frowned slightly. "Yeah. Of course I did."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why would you offer to do that for me? You hate me."

He sighed, setting the dishtowel on the counter. "I don't hate you, Clarke."

Her eyebrows rose so high, it was a wonder you could still differentiate them from her hair.

"I think…we got off on the wrong foot. And that was partially my fault. Listen, you're probably never going to be my favorite person, but I meant what I said, okay? I'd never want you to not be safe." He ran his hand over the back of his neck nervously. "You're important to my sister, so you're important to me, okay?"

With that, he turned on his heel and walked into the living room, putting the television on low and sitting down on the far side of the couch. "How do you feel about Bewitched?"

Blinking rapidly at the about face, Clarke tried to catch up. She made her way to the couch, sitting down on the other side. "Dick York or Dick Sargant?"

He just smiled, clearly pleasantly surprised.

Clarke got comfortable, pulling a blanket over herself and then hugging a spare pillow against her still slightly queasy stomach.

She waited a few minutes before speaking softly. "Hey, Bellamy?"

"Hmm?"

"…thanks for caring."

Clarke snapped out of the memory abruptly. Hangover Breakfast had become a tradition after that, and although he waited until they were both 21 to join them, eventually he needed the breakfast with them more often than not.

"You didn't have to do all this…" Clarke said, still not really sure what she'd done to deserve it.

He shrugged, slightly uncomfortable with the attention. "I couldn't have you hungover all day at the hospital. Pretty sure that's not a good look for a doctor, Clarke."

She knew he was trying to play this off with humor, like he always did. "But I didn't even have that much to drink. Why…"

He sighed, setting his glass down on the counter with more force than strictly necessary. "It just felt like us again, okay?"

Clarke smiled slowly.

Before it even registered what she was doing, she was out of her chair and in the kitchen with Bellamy. Standing on her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, pulling him into a hug.

"Thanks for caring," she said softly.

His arms banded tightly around her waist. "You're important to me," he replied, even softer.