Disclaimer: I don't own The 100.

So it seems I lied to my readers and myself. There's no way this could stay a one-shot. Not with the amount of chemistry zinging between these two characters. I don't know why I bothered trying to convince myself otherwise.

Read. Enjoy. Review. Reviews are payment and motivation. Keep that in mind. (and a huge thank you to everyone who took the time to tell me what they thought of the first chapter!)

There was no place to hide in camp. Not really. Everybody clustered in a group meant that every single person's life was on display. There wasn't a ton of privacy on the Ark, but at least there we had walls and our own quarters. Unless the drop ship and the flimsy makeshift tents counted, day to day life was essentially a play.

On the one hand that meant we all knew when trouble was coming almost instantly.

On the other, there was Bellamy.

I thought I was prepared for it. I couldn't imagine anything being more awkward than it already was between us. I knew I was going to have to talk to him. Interaction could not be avoided. I even spent some time considering various ways to approach the situation. In the end I decided that the detachment I'd worked a lifetime to cultivate was going to come in handy. That ability to separate myself from danger or blood or fear, to operate even when I just wanted to fall apart, was hardwon. I'd never fully tested it before Earth, to be honest. Now it seemed like I couldn't go five minutes without having to retreat behind that wall.

When I came out of my tent the following morning, I had already mentally prepared myself for another day of being at loggerheads with Bellamy and clawing for every inch of ground we could out of the wilderness. I didn't see him immediately, so I just went directly into my rounds. I checked everybody that need to be checked. I cleaned wounds, bandaged gashes, and generally got lost in the business of survival.

The stares weren't obvious at first. Just side glances. Nothing unusual. We all had to work together, but that didn't mean some of the kids had stopped assessing possible opponents. We were a motley crew of delinquints, radicals, and criminals. All of us had bucked the system in one way or another. I saw a hungry look in more than one face. Maybe they just wanted power. Maybe they just didn't want to be on the lowest rungs of whatever thing we were building here. Whatever the reason, I had no doubt that there were people amongst the hundred that wouldn't hesitate to kill if they thought it would help them.

Bellamy claiming that no one would challenge him was naïve, in my opinion. I just had to glance over my shoulder and at least three candidates would be staring back at me.

Staring. A lot.

I started to feel it between my shoulders. Being noticed like this was not good. I felt my lack of friends keenly. All I had were tentative allies. Nobody I could really trust to have my back if I needed them.

Monty and Jasper might try.

Finn, maybe. A very big maybe.

I shied away from that thought.

In the early afternoon I was washing my hands in one of the bowls, wishing for a chance to take a real shower, when Octavia came up beside me. "Hey."

I paused, wary. "Hey." She was the last person I expected to make conversation with me...after what happened with the Grounder. I don't think we were friends before. Not exactly. But it was better than now.

I couldn't blame her. I made a choice. I had to own that just as much as I expected Bellamy to own his decisions and their consequences.

"Bellamy exempted you from patrols. Why?"

I- "What?" I noticed people looking at us and stepped closer, lowering my voice. "What do you mean? When?"

"This morning. He said that if we had our one healer on patrol, we'd run the risk of having a sleep deprived doctor operating if something happened."

That sounded reasonable...except for what it meant. Bellamy essentially just afforded me a special priviledge, something no one else in camp had. Only the smallest kids were exempt from night patrol, for obvious reasons. Everybody else had to pull their weight.

He was making me into the princess.

My blood ran cold. There was logic to what he was saying. I was the doctor. Or whatever we had to call it until the rest of the people on the Ark landed. If I was on night patrol and something happened, the risk of me making a mistake increased exponentially with each hour of sleep I didn't get. Other people wouldn't see it like that, though. They'd see the daughter of the upperclass I used to be.

What the hell was Bellamy thinking?

Octavia was watching me, forcing me to move beyond my anger and fear to scramble for some kind of explanation. "We need to learn how to take care of ourselves," I said slowly. "If I'm the only healer we have, it won't be enough."

Her eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

"It means we should teach more people how to do basic first aid." I was thinking out loud, but it was a good idea. A very good idea. "Reinforce what they learned in Earth Studies."

"Like what, have classes or something?"

I looked at her, the girl who was rumored to be found under the floor. I didn't know how true that was, but in any case she never attended formal classes. Whatever she learned, she learned second hand through Bellamy or their mother. Did she know anything about first aid? Field dressings? If she got hurt again—and the probability was high—would she be able to take care of herself?

Whatever happened in the first few minutes after an injury was critical. What if Octavia or someone else was alone in the woods? What if there was no one to help?

"Classes. That's exactly what we're going to do. Start with two or three people at a time, work our way from there, but everybody should be reaquainted with the fundamentals." It was common sense. Sometimes the truth was dangerous, but not when it came to medicine.

Octavia seemed to turn that over in her head, looking unsure. "When would we get started?"

"As soon as possible." Right after I talked to Bellamy.

That would have to wait. Someone fell and cut their leg on one of the exposed tree limbs they were using to strengthen the wall. The gash was deep and the risk of infection was high. It took all my attention for the better part of two hours.

It reinforced my conclusions, though. People needed to be trained. Soon.

I found Bellamy on my way to wash my hands—again. He was consulting with one of the kids that might have been in the engineering program. The hurricane did a number on us. It was clear more permanent shelter was needed, but the wall came first. Bigger logs, better tools for cutting, everything rudimentary man figured out thousands of years ago. We had to relearn it all.

I came up behind Bellamy and nodded at the kid he was talking to, who immediately quieted and backed off. Bellamy turned his dark head and looked at me over his shoulder.

Gave me a once-over, actually. Head to toe.

My lips tightened. "Can I talk to you?"

He nodded. I turned, intending to walk away when I felt a light pressure on my elbow. I looked down; long thick fingers were pressed, just at the tips, against my bone to guide me. Guide me.

I hated the way my cheeks heated. All thoughts of detachment went right out the window, as my dad used to say. I honestly did not know if I was embarrassed or angry, and it just wasn't worth the effort of finding out. I stepped neatly out of reach, chin up, pretending not to see the twinkle of dark amusement in Bellamy's eye.

We walked over a few feet, as much out of earshot as we could be with eighty eight other people around us. I kept my arm carefully out of reach, my hand clenched behind my back. "Why?" I asked the second we stopped. I didn't bother to explain and he didn't bother to misunderstand.

His arms weren't folded in his usual I am listening posture. "It's a good idea."

"It's making people take notice."

"There is that."

"Are you trying to make them hate me?"

"Why would I do that? We need you, whether they like it or not."

"There are kids here that would try to murder me in my sleep just for being born in better position than them. You know that. Giving me any kind of special treatment without a reason they can sink their teeth into is a very bad idea. Or was that the plan?"

"I'll give them something," he said, so self assured.

"What? How?"

"A permanent clinic."

I frowned.

"Just because you won't be on patrol doesn't mean life is going to get any easier on you. We'll set up a medical bay, with beds and enough supplies to handle just about anything."

"We don't have supplies."

"We'll get them or we'll make them. Whatever is necessary. As long as people know they have a place to go, they'll see how much sense it makes to keep you on your task. No distractions."

I couldn't help but wonder if he was isolating me even as I mentally applauded the basic idea. We did need a med bay, someplace to keep patients instead of me running all over the camp. It would be safer and more efficient. "I'll need helpers."

He turned his head just slightly, narrowing his eyes. "I'm listening."

"I can't do all of this alone. I need nurses. We need to teach everybody first aid."

I could see him thinking about it, considering all the angles. "That might be a good idea."

"It is." His idea might have had enough merit that I wasn't going to argue, but I wasn't asking his permission. "If this...collaboration is going to work, we have to communicate. This is me communicating. We need classes. Portable supply kits. We just need to figure out how we're going to organize everything in between finding food and rebuilding."

"You realize if you teach people what you know, you're giving up some of your power."

"I know. It's not about that. It's about making sure we have enough people to make something out of this whole repopulating Earth thing." To make it all worth it somehow. Wells was dead. The Ark was dying. We couldn't get through one day without some kind of trauma. I needed an end goal. Something to work for.

Thinking about Wells, I licked my lips.

Bellamy's gaze dropped.

I froze. He was staring at my mouth. He wasn't even pretending not to. Every minute of last night's conversation came rushing back to me. I felt hot and cold all at the same time. I took a quick step back.

I regretted that the second I did it. I'd just given ground to Bellamy Blake.

I showed a weakness. No, I'd just shown awareness, that I was affected by him. It didn't matter that I was frustrated and upset—how exactly I was affected wasn't the issue. It was that he got to me.

And people noticed. Not everybody at once, but enough. They hesitated in their tasks, nudged their buddies, whispered something. One head came up. Finn looked right at me.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

I didn't want it to. Ther ewas nothing there. Just a mistake. A moment that was born out of fear and uncertainty. A human need for connection. That was all. He had Raven to think about.

I had myself.

I straightened my shoulders and turned back to Bellamy—who saw the entire exchange between me and Finn. It must have lasted only seconds, if that, but he saw. And he wasn't pleased. "Guess you did a better job of saving him that you thought, if he's already up and around."

"He shouldn't be. The last thing he needs to do is tear his stitches."

"I can think of a few more things to add to the list." The muscle in his jaw ticked. Then his full attention was back on me, and the air changed. "It's already starting, Clarke. You know that, right?"

I wanted to tell him that it wouldn't be if it weren't for him. He had a choice. I did not for one second believe there was anything remotely romantic motivating Bellamy. This was about consolidating power and sex, pure and simple. He was dragging me into it. I resented that. To say anything about it, though, would give him another foothold. So I didn't. I just turned my back and walked away, glaring at anybody who made eye contact.

That was a dangerous thing to do, but I wasn't going to act weak. There was no mercy here.

I saw him off and on the rest of the day, of course. That night when we gathered around the fire, he explained about the med center. There were grumblings. More than a few, but they quieted when Bellamy mentioned the nurses and the classes. People didn't seem to mind that details were still up in the air. For now they were pacified.

When I walked back to my tent, I was bone tired. It was late, a lot later than I wanted. Checking up on patients took time. The kid who gashed his leg was running a fever, but that was normal. I'd get up in a few hours and check on him again. Right then I just wanted to collapse on my bed and sleep.

I used to read in bed. Now I could barely imagine having the time or the motivation to while away the hours, lounging and poring over an ebook.

My eyes were already sliding down, and I hadn't even made it to my tent yet.

A shadow moved next to it.

I froze. A Grounder? Someone else?

Bellamy.

"You have got to be kidding me." I quickly glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

He held up his hands in a guesture of surrender. "Relax, Princess. I'm just here to talk specifics."

My shoulders sagged. "Can't this wait until morning, Bellamy?"

Dark brows drew together in a deep frown. "Someone giving you a hard time?"

"What?" I shook my head. "Patients. That's it."

He absorbed that, nodding a little. "You look rough."

I huffed out a laugh despite myself. "Thanks."

Quick as a blink, a smile flashed across his face. It totally transformed him. "Yeah, I guess I could have said that better."

I blinked, wondering for the first time just how old he was. With all the worry lines gone, he looked barely older than me.

The smile faded, but his eyes were still warm. "Go to bed, Clarke. It'll wait until morning."

I was almost pitifully grateful for that. "Okay." I walked forward, thinking he'd move.

He didn't.

His arms came up like two prongs, forming a box that I stepped right into. I managed not to run into his chest, but it was close—so close that when my head snapped back, I almost took out his chin.

This was kissing distance.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, glad I could find my voice.

He pitched that cocky smirk at me. "Wishing you good night." His voice was the deep hum of the Ark.

He smelled like the woods.

I narrowed my eyes—and stomped on his foot.

He almost yelped, but caught it in time. He limped back, biting his lip and half laughing. "You don't play fair, Princess."

"I'm not playing," I retorted, not bothering to hide how pride I was of myself. Nobody was going to push me around. It felt good to remind myself of that. I wasn't going to go around and start punching people for the rush, but right here, right now, I felt good. "Night," I tossed at him tartly as I strode past and ducked into my tent.

I felt good. I felt a little like the old Clarke again.

Outside the tent, I heard a chuckle. "See you tomorrow."