Fuck this shit.

My head throbbed, I was too scared to feel real fear anymore, and I was not going to let Princess Clarke Griffin die on me. If Grounders were coming, let them. I'd rather die out there fighting for me and my girl then crawled up in a hole like a coward while she drifted into nothingness.

I shouldn't have waited as long as I did. That's what I got for trying to be the nice guy for once. That guy died over a year ago, when my mother was floated and those bastards on the Ark took my sister. The new Bellamy Blake was an asshole. Time to start acting like one.

I gently laid Clarke's head on the ground. It lulled to the side, her hair a mass of dull yellow tangles. So much for her bath. I'd smeared her up pretty good with my blood too.

Except there was no way I'd bled all over the front of her shirt like that.

Not the time to think about it. I smoothed her eyebrow and caught her mouth in a quick kiss. She was a fucking furnace by this point, her lips dry and her cheeks way too flushed. Goddamn Grounders and their poison.

Jaw firming, I looked up at the opening. Time to get this done.

I disengaged from Clarke as easily as I could, forcing myself not to look back as I crawled toward the opening. This little hole was literally a little hole. I don't know how she found it or stuffed me in here with snapping my spine in two. My back scraped the ceiling, if it could be called something that nice, and bits of dirt scattered.

Clarke mumbled.

I could see the tall grass and the exposed roots of a few trees. I listened, straining to hear any sounds of approach—a snapping twig, a muffled boot, anything. Grounders were good at hiding themselves, but they weren't ghosts.

I didn't hear anything but birds. That was a good sign. I would take what I could get at this point.

Octavia's face flashed in my mind's eye.

No. Keep going. She was fine. Octavia was a survivor. She could get through anything.

I had to believe that.

I inched into the changed sunlight enough to see the dead Grounder lying motionless a little bit away. Damn. Drag marks. A Grounder with one eyes would have been able to find us. Clarke was too careful to let that slide normally. She must have been in a hell of a hurry.

No wonder she thought we were going to be found. She was desperate.

I narrowed my eyes, shoving everything systematically into the back of my head that wasn't immediately necessary. All fear, all pain, all the things that would keep me from accomplishing what I needed to do.

I dashed over to the Grounder and quickly picked his dead ass up, slinging him over one shoulder. I dumped him into the brush and snatched a knife and a kit that looked a lot like the first Grounder's. I opened it; yep, vials of liquid. There would be more antidote in it. I rearranged the tall grass to hide the body and then retrieved my axe from where it lay in the dirt. It felt good back in my hand. I quickly slid it into its holster and kicked at the dirt to hide tracks. Time to go back to the hideout.

I found Clarke with her arm flung out, her hand opening and closing like she was looking for someone. Me or the Spacewalker? Hell with it; she was getting me.

I hooked my hands under her armpits, mindful of her injury. I didn't get a good look at it earlier; who knew how deep it went. "Come on, Princess," I grunted softly. "Let's get you home."

I pulled her out and turned her over to her stomach. The light brought her wound into full technicolor. She had a long gash across her back. An arrow must have caught her passing by. She came that close to dying. She was still teetering.

I gritted my teeth.

It was hard work, but I maneuvered her up onto my back, piggy back style. I hefted her up, draping her arms over my shoudlers and leaning forward just slightly so that she wouldn't slide off when I stood up.

Girls were supposed to weigh more than this. Clarke and every damn other person I knew wasn't eating enough.

"Fuck," I cursed under my breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." I didn't know what I was cursing—the Ark, Earth, the Grounders, or the fact that I couldn't seem to get shit together. I couldn't magically turn myself into a god with power over food and water. I'd have one of those steaks I'd seen in pictures if that were the case. A big fat one, and I'd eat every bite so slowly I'd get a few gray hairs before I finished.

I went from scared kid to guard to outcast janitor to leader of a hundred punks who didn't know their mouths from their asses half the time. I kept falling from one hellhole to another.

I stood up and shifted Clarke right where I wanted her. I may be in a hellhole, and I wasn't anything like what my mother wanted for me, but Blakes didn't quit. Ever. We fought tooth and nail for everything we had. Food. Status. Life.

And sometimes we fought dirty to get exactly what we wanted.

I took off at a fast walk. I couldn't do better. My face was swelling and I was pretty aware of how long it had been since I had had water. We had to get back to the camp soon, but running would probably kill us both.

I was taking a huge chance.

Fine. Fuck it. Acceptable risk in the face of my choices.

And wasn't the word choice just a big joke? Clarke said I'd been talking bullshit. Maybe I was. Choices on the Ark were illusions. Choices on Earth depended on what was trying to kill us that day. We made decisions, not choices.

Clarke was plastered to my back, her hot cheek on my nape, urging me to get my ass going. "So help me, Princess, if you die, I'm going to be pissed." I used my grip on her thighs to lift her higher.

Part of me wanted to remind her that we needed to finish our conversation, but that wasn't the truth now. Those kisses wiped all that out. Clean slate. I had a taste of that good, golden Princess. I wasn't giving that up. Prince Charming I wasn't, but this anti-hero was going to sweep in and save the day at least once before everything was said and done.

Clarke may have thought that there was something to that romantic crap, but I didn't grow up reading a lot of fairy tales. I read Octavia books about the jungle. I showed her pictures of panthers. I talked about the lions of the serenghetti and the wolves of North America. We spent hours digging up everything we could about all the animal life on Earth from Before. I told her about Roman emperors and Vikings. Those were the stories I believed in, where people took what they wanted and held onto it to the death. Not half-assed plots with some chick waiting to be rescued. I wasn't going to read that bull to my sister.

Even if Clarke Griffin looked like a princess—golden hair and creamy skin, with that haughty chin stuck up in the air—she was the last person on Earth that needed rescuing.

Usually.

Hell. She was entitled once in a while. I wasn't doing that hot today either.

I trudged through the forest with every muscle in my body protesting. I was getting used to that feeling. Since we'd come to Earth, I'd been punched, hit in the head with a log, thrown down a hill, attacked by some kind of giant cat, and shot at. I went to bed every night in pain. Physical...and God help me, mental.

Clarke moaned. Shit. The fever was getting worse. How long was the human body supposed to withstand high temperatures again? I couldn't remember.

My heartbeat had picked up speed and wasn't slowing down any time soon. I never asked for this thing I had with Clarke. Nobody could have convinced me it was even possible two weeks ago. She was a royal pain in the ass, this girl who tried to follow the Ark's rules like they were commandments. She was a nag, an idealist, and a threat. But she was smart too. Tough.

I didn't want to respect her, but that's not something a guy can control. He either does or he doesn't. It snuck up on me. I know exactly when it hit me over the head, too. That crazy herb kid, Monty, wanted to start a garden. And what did I think? Sounds like something the Princess would like.

There is was. The beginning of the end. Startled the hell out of me to realize I was considering her in my decisions. Then I began to notice how much easier it was to talk things out with her. Two heads better than one and all that crap.

Then I realized I was watching her.

And I liked what I saw.

Some animals just know when they've found a good match. Clarke's mine. Pure and simple. And just like the Romans and the Vikings, I wasn't giving that up without one hell of a fight. "And you probably won't like that a bit," I muttered to Clarke, needing to keep her focused on my voice. "So what if Spacewalker was your first? You think anybody's first time is off the charts? Princess, the things I could show you..."

I laughed a little at myself. "I'm too tired to show them to you now and you're in no shape for it, but let's just say stars don't just come out at night."

"You're...such...an ass...Bellamy," she croaked.

Elation bolstered me for a second. "You still with me, Clarke?"

"You keep talking."

"Keep listening. I've got a lot of things to say."

"Like what?"

I ducked under a branch. "Like you're going to get through this. Like I'm going to give you the best med clinic I can. I'll even build youa real house." A small one to start with, because I sure as hell didn't know what I was doing in that department.

"You mean...get the engineers to help."

"Yep."

Her voice dropped to an exhausted whisper that ghosted over my skin. "What do you get?"

I grew a little wary. "What do you mean?"

"From me. What do you get?"

I turned my head and met her bleary, fever hazed green eyes. "I get the girl who gets me, who can deal with my shit and makes me want to believe anybody can be better than they are."

I don't know if she understood what I was telling her; she was flushed, fevered, and there was a good chance she wouldn't remember. But she also seemed surprised. I wasn't the type to bare my soul to just anybody. I didn't spill my guts. Too many people would take advantage of the weakness. Octavia couldn't really understand.

Clarke could.

Her eyes slid closed. She brushed her cheek against my shoulder, back and forth.

I took that as a sign.

A few more feet and there was the wall. It was still pitiful compared to what it needed to be, but right then, it might as well have been made out of fucking gold. A call went up when the patrol spotted us. The gate opened.

"Look, Princess, we're home." I jostled her. No response. "Clarke?"

My blood went cold.

"Clarke!"

Shit! I broke into a run. "Get Jasper," I ordered as I came through the shallow crevice between the gate and the wall. "Get Monty. Get anybody that's helped Clarke fix people."

"Bellamy." Miller came limping up. "We thought we'd lost you, man."

The part of me that wasn't panicking over Clarke was glad to see him too. "My sister?"

"She's fine. A little banged up. Most of the girls made it back. They got lucky."

They did.

I saw Octavia then. She ran up to me in a whirlwind of energy. "Let's get her to the drop ship."

I brushed past her, going on autopilot.

Monty and Jasper met us in the makeshift surgery. I let them take Clarke from my back. They laid her down on the table facedown, her hand dangling in midair limply. I was ready to bark for water but it was already there in a bowl, with Jasper planting the soggy cloth on Clarke's nape. Monty dug through his supplies for the antidote. Octavia was checking out the wound. "We've gotta get the shirt off of her. Help me pull."

"No time." I grabbed both edges of the tear and ripped. The thing came off in shreds, already threadbare. I tore it until it hung from her arms and revealed her bra. I'd take the rest off later.

"She doesn't have another shirt. She'll freeze."

"We'll get her a new one." If I had to fucking sew the thing myself from a parachute.

"Might as well use this, then." Octavia ripped a huge chunk from the thing and dunked it in clean water. She started cleaning the wound briskly. "Ready, Monty?"

"Got it." He opened the vial and poured it over Octavia's cloth. "Not much left."

"I've got more," I told him gruffly, eyes on Clarke.

"Hold her, everybody. This is going to hurt like a bitch."

Jasper had her shoulders, and Monty got her mid-back. I pressed down on her thighs. Come on, Clarke.

Octavia took a deep breath to steady herself and wiped.

Clarke jerked and screamed.

"Fuck," I hissed, nearly getting clocked by her back kick. I adjusted my hold. "Again."

Octavia didn't acknowledge me but she didn't hesitate either. She kept cleaning and cleaning, even when Clarke passed out again.

"Did it hurt Finn this much?" Jasper whispered, worried.

"Finn was out like a light," Monty replied. "How should we know?"

"Are you sure it's the antidote?" I demanded.

"Yes, I'm sure," he barked back. "Trust the herb guy, okay? It's not like you spent your life in Agro learning Latin names and nearly bashing your head in with a freakin' plant textbook-"

"Alright,"I interjected. "You're the expert. You better hope you are, anyway."

He didn't back down, glaring at me over Octavia's head. "I am."

"We've got to sew this up," my sister announced. "Where's the needle?"

"Here."

"That's it? We've got one needle? Why the fuck didn't anybody tell me?"

Octavia glared. "Do you want to do this now?"

"No. I want the needle." I took it out of Jasper's hand. "What are we using for thread?"

Jasper offered what looked like metal wire.

Great. Just great.

I elbowed between my sister and Jasper. Monty eyed me dubiously as I threaded the needle. "You know what you're doing?"

"You don't question me and I don't question you," I returned. I was already clearing my head, focusing on Clarke's back. She wasn't a person. Not right then. She was a piece of cloth that needed to be mended. I'd done as much sewing on the Ark as Mom or Octavia. I could do this.

And I wasn't about to trust anyone else to put Clarke back together again. "Hold on," I told the others. "If you thought cleaning this hurt..." I left the rest unsaid.

Everybody got ready.

I took a deep breathe. Steady hands. This was going to get done.

"Okay."

And then I got to work.