Three days later it was time to move Clarke back to her own tent. No clue who was more relieved, us or her.

The injuries didn't stop because our healer was laid up. They streamed in and Clarke turned into a little doctor dictator, barking out orders to Octavia and Monty while flat on her belly. She didn't know everything, but she knew enough for what we had to deal with. The whole thing would have been funny if it didn't worry me. She got frustrated by her inability to help. I let her get up once on the promise that she didn't make any sudden movements. That lasted literally six minutes. She reached for something while she was talking and almost passed out from the pain in her healing back.

Short of tying her arms to her sides, I couldn't do shit except make her get back to bed.

She was still frustrated, but she managed to keep her tone calm and professional most of the time.

Most of the time.

A kid came in a dislocated shoulder from horsing around on a log and then slipping on the wet bark. I just happened to be there, checking on Clarke, when he came in.

"At least get hurt doing something worthwhile!" she snapped.

All eyes turned to her, surprised. She glared back.

Intervention time. "Easy, Princess. Save that for after we fix him."

Her nostrils flared, but she nodded. "Fine. Monty, grab him by the—"

Too late. I had the kid in my hands and I moved with a sharp jerk. The kid screeched as the shoulder popped back into the socket. "That hurt?" I asked mildly. "Good. Shit happens, but the next time it happens while you're supposed to be helping with the wall..."

I trailed off and left it at that. I wasn't seriously planning on retaliating—at least, not yet—but planting the idea would go a long way.

I stepped back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Octavia," I said, my eyes on Bellamy, "wrap his arm tight to his shoulder. He'll be okay in a day or two, but he needs to let the shoulder heal before doing any heavy lifting."

His dark brown gaze glittered with intent. "Guess that means you're on soup duty," he remarked with satisfaction.

Ten or so rough wooden bowls were already in circulation. People had to share at this point, but it was better than nothing. I'd had soup earlier. The bowl actually looked pretty good. Baxter—I'd met him yesterday—had a lot of raw talent. He even added a little spout/lip thing so we didn't have to spoons to drink the broth. By the time everybody had enough bowls, he'd be an expert.

Speaking of experts, I thought as I lowered my eyelashes and smiling to myself, Bellamy was proving himself to be a master of more skills than I'd give him credit for.

Octavia and Monty took the boy away to patch him up in another corner of the drop ship. That left me with Bellamy in relative privacy.

I wasn't allowed to get off of the table, but I was allowed to sit up, so I did, gingerly. I saw his hands twitch. He wanted to help me, badly, yet I appreciated him holding himself back. Bellamy had a habit of trying to be inconspicuous in his hovering...but he hovered. Even when he wasn't in the drop ship, he hovered.

"That was suprising," I said.

He walked over, standing next to me with his thigh touching mine, arms loose at his sides. He'd left off with the jacket again, giving me a good view of his arms. "They do give some medical training to guards, Princess."

"No Octavia this time?" When he'd hugged me, held me close, those arms made me feel like life began and ended there. I'd just watched him use his hands to help somebody, but I also remembered watching helplessly as he pummeled Murphy half to death.

He shook his head. "Though to be honest, I was 98% sure she was the first person I'd have to use it on. We need to get these first aid classes of yours together quick. Other people should be able to handle the small stuff that keeps coming through here."

Small but serious. An infection was all it would take. "How are the waginogans coming?"

Bellamy flickered a knowing gaze at me. He did it every time I said the word he couldn't remember no matter how many times it was repeated. "Good. First one was a disaster, but that's to be expected. Peter knows his stuff. Said he used to build miniature ones out of spare plastic on the Ark."

"Building to scale must be a challenge."

"He'll pull through for us. The second one looked to be in pretty good shape. It fit all six of the building geniuses with room to spare. They slept in it last night to test it out."

I looked at him with interest. "And?"

"And they were still in there when I checked on them this morning," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Piled together in a heap. Didn't bring blankets."

"They slept together without blankets," I repeated. How was that possible? Blankets were so essential.

"One thing I'm learning about these technical types, Princess, is that they don't generally think like we do. Don't ask me to explain it. I don't get it either. I dragged their asses out and they said that they had to work on how tightly woven the sticks had to be."

"Did they shut the door?"

Bellamy gazed at me. "The waginogan doesn't have a door."

"It doesn't, or it's not supposed to?"

His mouth was twitching like crazy. "I guess Peter forgot something. There wasn't even a flap tacked up."

I tried to picture it. Couldn't. But it made me laugh anyway. "Mention that to him. They might find that it helps."

Bellamy grinned, then hissed, rubbing his multi-color bruised face. "Yeah. He's got a good head on his shoulders, so I'll go easy on him for forgetting."

I laughed again, and this time it was me hissing in pain. "Ow, ow. I need to lay down," I grumped, but not too badly. It felt good to laugh.

Getting back on my stomach was a lot easier said than done. I looked down at the table in distaste. I would have to do some awkward manuevering, which I did not want to do. Bellamy looked on, an inscrutable expression on his face.

Things were different between us. Warmer. More intimate. Something inevitably changed in that tiny hole in the woods, the way things do when put under extreme pressure. I had to trust Bellamy with my life and he saved it. It created this...bond, something more than the uneasy camaraderie we had to form after Charlotte and Wells.

He felt it too. I'd learned more about him in three days than I had in weeks. Little things, like how he looked up proper tea-pouring ettiquette so Octavia could have the full tea party experience. I learned big things, like with what happened to Sam. Bellamy took that personally. Some people would be able to distance themselves from the nature of the crime to do what they had to do. Not Bellamy. It ate at him.

And that won him respect.

Baxter was now so firmly in Bellamy's corner I was surprised he didn't start a fanclub. Bellamy had noticed the change in the boy, but he didn't say anything. As for Sam, I hadn't spoken to her yet, but I had seen her once. She hung back from the others, except for Baxter. And if she was clinging to Baxter, one half of the rescue duo, I had a feeling she would go to the ends of Earth for Bellamy.

He was winning people over one step at a time.

Which made me wonder why he needed me.

I knew he had feelings for me. Talking to him for just a little while would prove that. The first waginogan was going to go to the builders—They built it, they get it, Bellamy'd declared—but the second would be my med center. He was following through.

And the kisses. Those were...indescribably good.

He'd comforted me after Finn. I'd never forget how he let me cry on his chest. He didn't have to do that.

He was getting more and more familiar with touching me. A brush here. A caress there. All that attention was making me feel wonderful and afraid. I didn't want to rush into anything. I'd done that before. It didn't work. I wanted to get to know Bellamy slowly, build up what felt like a blossoming friendship between us.

The problem was that we didn't have time for that. People died here. Finn had died. Dating, or whatever someone would call it, was a luxury.

And what about me? What about my feelings? What were they exactly? Were they real? Was this me trying to attach myself to the alpha male after all? Was this me being grateful to him for saving my life?

I didn't know any of the answers. That as much as anything made every second I lay on this table, blocked from the normal activity I could gain perspective from, irritating.

I didn't think I'd miss tending to injuries myself, but I did. I hated feeling helpless. "Can we go now?" I asked abruptly. "I want to lie in my own bed."

"Somebody's cranky." But he nodded. "Let's get you out of here, Princess." He reached for me.

I held up a hand. "Wait. I'll do it."

His gaze flicked over me. His lips flattened and his eyes glowed knowingly. "Trying to assert your independence, Clarke?"

He made it sound like a bad thing. Like a cliché that wasn't worth the time it took to point out. "I have to be able to rely on myself," I told him. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"You know what the great thing about having a partner is? You don't have to. At least not 100% of the time."

"I know things between us are changing. I'm not going to fight you on that."

He shrugged. "Wouldn't do you much good."

I shot him a look. "Are you listening, or do I have to punch you?" I almost clapped my hand over my mouth. Punch him? Where did that come from? I'd never said that before in a civil conversation in my life.

He snickered at my dismay. "I'm definitely rubbing off on you."

"I made a bad call before, okay?"

"And now you're scared you're confused or something like that, right?"

I pressed my lips together.

He nodded to himself. "Or...you know exactly how right this is, and the truth of it freaks you out."

I stared up at him. "How do you just say things like that?" I asked at last. "Doesn't it bother you at all?"

"Nope. I know exactly what I want. I know who I want. It's one of the few things I know for sure down here." He gestured at me. "You've got logic on your side. I've got instinct."

I sighed. "Which of us is right?"

"Both of us. Call it a blending of strengths." He pursed his lips. "You don't trust your own judgement, so trust mine. Can you do that?"

Take a chance? A risk?

You already did.

I inhaled. "Yes."

The word fell between us. He didn't move, but something changed in him. The atomsphere grew intimate, like he was kissing or hugging me.

And all he had to do was stand there, looking me in the eye. "Good," he said softly.

He was happy.

I liked that. It made me smile.

"Let's get you out of here, Princess," he told me again. This time when he reached for me I let him help me off of the table. I could walk on my own, but he was right beside me the whole way as we walked out of the drop ship and across camp. People moved out of the way and gave us curious glances.

Before long we'd be the center of gossip, if we weren't already. Who knew what Bellamy's little announcement a few days ago to Miller and the others had done?

I wasn't going to worry about it. I could see my tent ahead, and I wanted to run to it. Comfort! Well, more than the drop ship. I was going to have to work on that. I didn't want any other long term patients feel as on edge as I had.

Once the new med center was finished, I silently vowed, I was going to make it something amazing. Or as much as I could with the materials I had at my disposal.

He entered first and held the flap open for me to get through. When I rose, I noticed the bed right away. It was a real one, not my pallet. There was a bright red bundle on it.

I looked at Bellamy. "It's mine. You can't get up and down on the ground without pulling something. But don't get comfortable," he added. "I want that back."

I smiled at his ill-concealed teasing. "And that?" I pointed at the bundle.

Was that my imagination, or did he get a little red? "That?" He cleared his throat, walking past me and picking it up. "That's, uh—Here." He thrust it at me.

What was that all about? I took it.

He wiped his hands on the back of his pants.

Strange.

"Open it," he said.

What did he have to be so nervous about? Frowning, I did what he asked.

And stared.

"Needles," I whispered in awe. I picked one up and looked at it. There was a tiny hole etched into the end. It was such delicate work, and there were a variety of sizes and widths in the pack. "How did you...Did you make this?"

"With these hands?" He flexed them at me. "Not a chance. I was just the idea man." He jerked his chin at the pack. "Like 'em?"

I softened. I couldn't help it—he had suture needles made for me. "Oh, Bellamy. I love them."

He ducked his head and smiled. He bit his lip. "Look again."

"Again?" I dug through and found another object wrapped in a piece of red parachute. I set the pack down and pulled the smaller thing out. "What's this?" It was bigger than my palm, but smaller than my whole hand. It felt hard, like wood.

I gently untied the knot and pulled the edges away.

A comb.

A wooden, double edged comb.

For me.

I couldn't say a word. I couldn't. There wasn't anything remotely adequate for the swell of feeling in my chest. I traced a finger over the teeth on one side, more widely spaced apart than the other, and commanded myself not to cry. I was not going to get sobby over a comb.

"What do you think?"

What did I think? I thought it was wonderful. I tilted my head up to meet his gaze. To be honest, I thought he was wonderful. That meant something to me.

A long time ago, Finn gave me a colored pencil. Back then I thought that was one of the best gifts anybody had ever given me. It was just like him to give me a gift that could create beauty.

I never thought I'd find suture needles and a comb romantic. I was wrong. It was all about who gave them to me.

A man who was practical to the bone.

A man who, I had to admit now, knew me better than I'd thought.

He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, had Sam make another one for Octavia. So she wouldn't get jealous." He straightened his shoulders, going for the casual look. "So. Think you could use—"

I slipped my arms around his waist and hugged him tight, face pressed to his chest. "Thank you."

He hesitated, then chuckled. "Sure, Princess. Anytime."

His arms came up to draw me closer, but I stepped away, beaming up at him. "I want to use it. Right now."

"Now?" he echoed. "What about my victory hug?"

"First me, then you."

"I'm taking second place to your hair?"

"First my hair, then yours," I corrected, as I carefully leaned over to swing my hair to one side. "Then Monty's, then Jasper's."

"Wait a minute. That puts me in fifth place."

Bellamy was no slouch when it came to arithmetic. I had to be careful about raising my arms, but I caught my swath of hair and pulled it over one shoulder. Using the wider part, I started at the bottom.

I moaned at the first stroke, eyes closing in pleasure. "That feels so good."

Bellamy didn't comment.

I tried to raise my arm higher to get more of the tangles out, but the stretching of my stitches made me stop. "Dammit."

"Here. Let me."

Oh, this was so much better. I handed him the tool and let him turn me around. He was tall enough that I didn't have to sit, but that would have just been the most luxurious feeling. "Start at the bottom," I reminded him.

I could practically hear him roll his eyes. "I know what I'm doing, Princess."

His hand gathered up my hair, holding it away from my shoulders. He started combing with brisk, short strokes, moving up and up. He didn't miss a thing. It didn't even hurt. He stopped every so often to get the little whorls of dead hair out of the comb, then he'd start over.

With every slight rasp of wood on hair I felt renewed. I couldn't believe how much of a difference it was making. It was like he was brushing the worst of my problems away. I felt lighter.

I closed my eyes again and let my head fall back. He released my hair as he got to the top. His fingers cupped my crown for balance. He reached forward and ran the comb through the tresses above my ear.

I moaned again in the back of my throat.

He paused. "Do me a favor, Princess. Don't make that noise."

I frowned, still concentrating. "Why?"

He sighed and pulled my hair to the side, stepping up until we were pressed back to front. His arm snuck around my waist.

My eyes popped open, wide and aware.

"That's why," he rumbled, his hard-on firm and nudging me in the lower back with playful insistence.

"Oh." I was mortified by the squeak in my voice. I wasn't a virgin. I wasn't stupid either. Why didn't I make the connection a second earlier? I craned my head back, catching a glimpse of his nose and his mouth and his chin.

He laughed. "Yeah. Oh."

He kissed my exposed, vulnerable neck, right over the pulse. "Do you feel better?"

Heat shot through me from top to bottom, starting at the bit of skin where his mouth tasted me. He moved up, kissing another spot, then another, making a sound in the back of his own throat that vibrated in me.

I caught my breath. This wasn't like any other kiss we'd shared. This wasn't comfort or teasing. Bellamy wanted me.

And I wanted him back, I admitted with a shaky exhale. Wow. How did my reluctant admission of his good looks morph into this? I didn't expect to get dragged under with him so fast. Like my skin was coming alive in away I didn't know it could. I felt every gust of air he breathed.

He peppered slow kiss after slow kiss over my jaw. My ear. Places I didn't know I was sensitive. "Clarke?" he whispered. "Still with me?"

"Huh?"

He chuckled, wrapping both arms around me. "Clarke Griffin, speechless. I'll have to mark it down somewhere."

"Ha ha," I retorted, gathering up some of my composure again. Not much, but enough.

"Gonna do me now?"

I almost tore my stitches whipping around to face him. "What?"

He grinned. "My hair, Clarke. What did you think I meant?"

My face flamed.

I didn't know a guy could look like he'd won a war over something like that, but that was Bellamy Blake. He went over to the bed and sat down in front of it on the ground, patting the fur behind him with a wicked look. He wasn't smiling anymore, but his eyes were. "Move it, Princess."

If he started whistling, I was going to throw something at him, I swore to myself as I walked over. I had to get behind him and he settled into the cradle of my thighs like he belonged there. He even threw his arms over my legs like I was his throne. "Comfy?" I asked sarcastically.

"Nope." He held up the comb without looking back. "But I'm getting there."

I took the comb, licking my lips, and tried to get it together. I was fine. This was nothing. Just an intimate grooming session.

I hoped I was fooling him better than I was fooling myself, but I had a feeling that wasn't the case. And to tell the truth, I wasn't even that mad. Embarrassed, yes, but not mad. It felt good to be like this, I thought as I went to work on his hair. Whatever this was.

It was something.

It didn't have a name.

I didn't want it to have a name. Not yet.

He had nice hair. Soft. He'd tried to wash it at least once or twice, it seemed, and it gleamed. One thing about not having access to chemical shampoos; we weren't washing away natural oils. None of us could claim frizz anymore, that was for sure.

I got lost in the task literally at hand, and he started to relax. He let his head fall back the way I let mine a few minutes ago, and I drank up his features from this angle. "That does feel good," he admitted.

"Like you're more than half human again?"

He hummed.

Suddenly I understood why my moaning bothered him. That was...sexy.

It didn't take me nearly as long to brush his hair as it had mine. That didn't keep me from continuing long after all the tangles were done. I let my fingers go through the strands, massaging his scalp and the back of his neck.

"Oh, damn," he whispered, letting his head fall forward. "Do that again."

I chuckled and set the comb aside, spearing his hair with both hands. Eventually I worked my way down to his shoulders. I'd never envisioned myself as the type to give a guy massages, but there I was. It wasn't bad, actually. He felt good, and I was making him feel that. And it gave me a reason to touch him without thinking about it very hard.

His muscles were tense and I worked them. "Thank you for my comb," I told him quietly.

"You have about an hour to stop thanking me," he murmured back.

"We should have same make more." I switched to the left shoulder. "It could do so much for morale."

"I'm beginning to see that." He took hold of my wrists and pulled my hands up, resting against me and wrapping my arms around his neck. His head brushed my belly.

"And I'd really like to stop brushing my teeth with a twig. Toothpicks would be nice."

"Clarke."

"Hmm?"

"Stop talking."

I arched a brow.

"I just want to spend some time with you. Nobody else."

We were surrounded by people. We were surrounded by problems. Still, I nodded my head and on impulse, kissed his forehead. "Okay."

He smiled, eyes closed.

Bellamy Blake was an ass a lot of the time. He was hard, stern, and unforgiving. But, I admitted as I brushed his hair back from his face, he was also right. We had something. Something with a lot of potential.

I wanted that. I wanted this comfort. I wanted his closeness. I wanted to be his partner. I wanted his kisses.

And maybe, just maybe, I really wanted him for me.

His breathing evened out.

He was asleep.

I smiled.

The future wasn't so dark and bleak after all.