"Bel?" Clarke whispered and pulled aside the parachute hangings around his bed. "Are you awake?"
He was lying face down, his fur pelt pulled half way over his bare back and his arms hooked under his pillow. She was just about to slip back out the way she came when he stirred.
"Clarke?" he blinked in the dim light coming through the parachute parting.
"Hey," she whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you. I brought you something."
She sat down on the edge of his bed and twisted around to hold a cup in front of his face.
"What's that?" he grumbled.
"Willow tea," Clarke said. "It's a pain killer, made from the same stuff as aspirin."
The corner of his lip turned up and his brow furrowed but he pushed himself up to a sitting position.
"Thanks," he muttered and leaned forward to take the cup from her, his chest making contact with her shoulder.
"Did you just get back to camp now?" He asked and sipped at his tea.
"Maybe an hour or two ago," Clarke scrunched up her nose. "Had to stop off in the medbay first, Humphrey burnt his hand and needed treatment."
"Long day," he raised his eyebrows. "How long's it been since sunset?"
"A while," Clarke nodded. "Maybe a few hours."
"Catch anything?" he asked.
"Some squirrels," she shrugged and pulled her feet up onto his bed, hugging her knees to her chest. "A few rabbits. Monty set up snares, we didn't want to waste bullets."
"That's good," Bellamy nodded. "Smart."
"Yeah," she nodded. "Although I'm pretty sure everybody hates me since I had to ream out half the camp for eating too many rations," she said. "I was pretty hard on them but they're going to need to be disciplined if we're going to survive the winter."
Bellamy shrugged. "They can hate all they want as long as they're still scared of you. Better to be feared than loved, right?"
Clarke snickered. "Geeze, listen to you. We all read The Prince in 12th year, Bel. You're not Machiavelli come again."
"Says you," he scowled. "I think I've been very princely," he nursed his tea. "I don't surround myself with flatterers, do I? I only ever talk to you, Raven, or Spacewalker and you three do nothing but argue with me."
Clarke grinned and shook her head. "I'm not going to start complimenting you more often just to prove you're not a prince."
"I'd lose respect for you if you did," Bellamy smiled into his cup. Clarke smiled back and they sat in easy silence for a minute.
Suddenly Clarke stirred. "I meant to come in here and check your leg," she said and turned around more fully to face him. "Mind if I take a look?" she asked.
"Do I really have a choice?"
Clarke shook her head. "None," she admitted. "Just being polite," she said and pulled back the fur covering his legs. He was stripped down to his shorts so it was easy to access the wound. She cleaned it out and changed his bandage.
"How you holding up?" she asked when she was done, her eyes searching his face.
"Not good," he shook his head, causing Clarke to raise her eyebrows in alarm.
"I'm actually pretty upset," he continued, "starting to think you staged a coup."
Clarke's lips twitched but she managed to fight the smile off her face.
"Oh, really?"
"Uh huh," Bellamy nodded fervently. "You know, get me stabbed, so I'm out of the picture and then you can bump yourself up from princess to queen."
"Right," Clarke rolled her eyes, "because if there's one thing I want around here, it's more responsibility."
Bellamy snickered.
"But really," she said, "how are you doing? Any fever? Bleeding throughout the day that you managed to clean up before I saw it?"
"No, nothing like that," Bellamy shook his head.
"Good," Clarke nodded and covered him up with the fur again. "What about-" she faltered, "You know," she tapped her temple suggestively.
"What, mentally?" he asked in surprise. "Uh, fine I guess. Honestly, the boredom's the worst part. That and having to sit around while you're out hunting and foraging," he frowned.
"Hasn't Finn been around?" Clarke asked suspiciously. "Is he actually resting?"
"I don't know," Bellamy shrugged. "I haven't really seen him. I've been killing time just hanging out with the kids."
Clarke cocked her head. "Doing what?"
"Just teaching them stuff. How to tie knots and do first aid." He grinned. "You know most of them know nothing about what earth was like before the war?"
Clarke narrowed her eyes in disbelief. "Really?"
"I know right? Jesus, the education system on the Ark must be going to shit."
"No, I mean really? That's what you've been doing all day? I didn't think you'd have the patience for that."
"Are you kidding me?" He smiled. "You've met Octavia, right? It was patience or murder and I-" he stopped talking abruptly and his face darkened. "Well, I didn't work my way up to murder til well after O was grown up so-"
"Stop it," Clarke commanded, her voice soft. She was still sitting on the edge of his bed, adjacent to his hip with her feet tucked up.
"Don't do this tonight," she shook her head. "You don't have to."
"Yeah, I do," he muttered and reached past her to set his cup down on the floor. "I don't think about it half as often as I should. It's not right that I get to forget about it for such huge gaps in the day."
Clarke put a hand on his forearm and looked at him imploringly but he cut her off before she could speak.
"Stop looking at me like that," he grumbled and jerked his arm away from her.
"Like what?" She asked hotly.
"I don't know," he swallowed. "You're too understanding," he picked at the fur pelt that laid at his waist.
"Oh geeze," Clarke rolled her eyes. "Well in that case, I'm so sorry. I'll work on being less understanding."
"It's not funny Clarke. I don't deserve it," he growled. "Sometimes I feel guilty even being around you after everything I've done," he spat and raised his hand emphatically. "I shouldn't get to be this, this-" he trailed off, all his anger fizzling out of him.
"This what?" she demanded.
His shoulders sagged and he stared down at his hands.
"Happy."
Clarke inhaled sharply and pursed her lips.
"It's not up to you to decide how much you deserve, Bel. And it's especially not up to you to decide how much you deserve from me," she insisted.
He clenched his jaw and raised his dark eyes.
"Maybe not," he said, "but I can decide how much I'm willing to take from you."
Her cool composure slipped and her face went slack but within a second, her features had turned stony again.
"Yeah," she nodded. "I guess you can."
They stared each other down. Clarke dropped her gaze first, twisting around to rest her elbows on her knees, her seat precarious on the edge of his bed. Bellamy slouched down to lie on his back. Clarke took his change in position as an invitation to leave. She was pressing her fists into the mattress, lifting herself to stand when a hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist.
She froze and turned to look at him.
"Fuck," he whispered and let her go. He rubbed his face in his hands.
"Bel," she said and peeled his hands away from his face. "What do you want?"
He laughed and shook his head at the ceiling.
"What I want and what I should do are two very different things, Princess."
"No," she said firmly. "That's not what I asked. Bellamy, what do you want?"
He shook his head again, staring pointedly away from her.
"Fine," she said softly. "We'll talk again tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever you're ready to stop punishing yourself."
She turned on her heel and pushed her arm through the parachute hangings.
"Clarke."
She stopped and turned to face him.
"Don't go," he choked. "Just. . .stay," he drove his fist into the mattress. "I want you to stay."
She looked at him, blue eyes boring into his dark ones. There was a beat.
"Okay," she nodded.
And just like that she unlaced her boots, shrugged out of her jacket, and stepped out of her pants. She stood there in her tank top and boy shorts and shook her hair loose before climbing into bed with him as if she'd done it a hundred times before.
She dragged the fur pelt over them and laid her head on his chest. She could feel his hesitation- the hitch in his throat, the pitter patter of his heart and the stiffness in his arms.
"Bel," she muttered, "relax." Her breath was hot on his skin. "Just stop thinking," she ordered and pressed a kiss into his shoulder.
His chest rose as he took a deep breath and then his arms came up to circle her. One hand flat and firm against her back, the other tangled in her hair. His fingertips danced lightly at the nape of her neck and she smiled.
He sighed and Clarke felt all of the tension just ebb out of him. She wanted to tell him that he deserved this- that he deserved to be happy and he deserved to be loved and that he'd lost enough, he'd suffered enough. But she didn't, not this night. She just buried her face in his neck and placed her palm over his heart and let her love radiate through her to him, like a heat wave.