Clarke doesn't remember the last time she felt like this, like she can stop worrying for a second, let go of the anxiety tethered inside of her brain. Bellamy's holding her tight, strides wide and even, marching back to the ark. The swaying is almost like being rocked, and all of the exhaustion just tumbles in on top of her all at once.

Falling is slow at first, gaining momentum as she lets go. Out of habit she can't help but cling to consciousness as long as possible. Her sense of sound is always the last thing to succumb, ears registering sound vibrations long after she's ceased to be connected with her sleeping body. She can hear Bellamy's voice rumbling low in his chest as they pause at the entrance to the ark. He's asking one of the night watchmen to go to the med bay and check on their visitors and her mother.

Then the swaying starts again, this time punctuated by heavy combat boots thunking against metal grating. It's such a distinct sound, and she knows exactly where they are, his steps coming to a halt at the doorway to their compartment.

She fights to open her eyes, succeeding only in whimpering against him as he crosses the threshold. She doesn't want him to put her down, to feel the vulnerability of defenseless again. All the armor and fighting skills in the world can't protect her when she's unconscious. It's something she's been struggling with since they plummeted to the earth, the constant need to be on guard. Sleeping with one eye open is a clever in theory, but an actual impossibility only resulting in dark circles under her eyes and a grouchiness that even she feels bad for inflicting on people.

Drifting again, she's barely able to register the feeling when he tugs off her heavy boots, or the way he gently slips her arms out of the heavy riding jacket still wrapped around her. By the time the furs settle over her, she's already gone, slipping into Morpheus' embrace with barely a sigh.

...

It's still when Clarke opens her eyes. The sound of Bellamy snoring softly is the only thing that eases into the thick quiet. The fact that she's in a cocoon made of warm muscular arms is something of a surprise. It sends a shiver up her spine, and she fights the urge to snuggle into his embrace, fearful that the movement will wake him and the moment will be lost.i

She shouldn't worry. When he shifts in his sleep, it's only to pull her closer, this time draping one leg across hers and sighing against the top of her head. She wishes like hell the weight of his limbs didn't put uncomfortable pressure on her injury, that she could close her eyes and drift again.

She grunts at him, wiggling to get back into a good position. It doesn't work, they're all arms and legs and twisted blankets.

Feeling overheated from her efforts, she gives up, and pulls back to whisper in his ear. "Bell."

It's too quiet. She doesn't know if Attie is with them, afraid of waking the possibly sleeping child, but the discomfort in her leg is morphing into pain. The palm of one hand presses against his chest, threadbare cotton warm under her fingertips. His heart thuds a slow and calm rhythm. She tries again, this time a little bit louder. "Bellamy…"

The heartbeat against her hand picks up pace, tattooing like the fluttering wings of a humming bird. His eyes fly open, and she can feel the arms around her tense, ready for a fight.

"Clarke?" He blinks slowly, figuring out where they are and when. His thundering heartbeat slows when he looks down at her.

"How did this happen?"

It takes a few seconds for him to answer, sleep still fogging his brain. Finally he sighs. "You were talking in your sleep… It didn't sound pleasant. I tried to wake you up, and you reached for me…" He smirks and continues. "I always knew you wanted me in your bed."

Clarke vaguely recalls dark shadows running along the edges of her consciousness, an echo of panic bubbling in her chest. She shudders. Another bad dream of course.

"Can you, um…" She angles her head downward, glancing with a pained expression at his leg draped over her.

He's quick to respond, disentangling himself from her. "Oh shit, I'm sorry."

She sighs in relief at the absence of pressure on her healing leg. The feeling is short lived, disappointment sweeping across her as he scrambles completely off the cot. An unreadable look flashes across his face before a mask slips back down.

She could let him go. Silence would envelop them again, and he would slip back into his own cot. They would probably never talk about it again, and that would be okay, in its own way. But it's not what she really wants.

Sitting up, she watches him rearrange his belongings, back to her. He's usually meticulous about his side of the compartment. Everything has a place, and he likes it that way, but tonight his things are scattered across the cot and in the floor. He was worried the few days she was gone, she can tell. She wonders if this is how he was when she ran away the first time.

Her eyes flick over to Attie's little bed, brow furrowing as she sees that it's empty. "Attie?"

"Abbey was already looking after her today, and you looked so… I left her with your mother for the night. She seemed happy about it."

This is something of a surprise to Clarke. Abbey had let her know how much she disapproved of Clarke taking on the responsibility of the child. But her mother had managed to reign in the disapproval, limiting it to heavy sighs and occasionally pursed lips.

She's too caught up in thinking about her mother to notice the stiff way Bellamy is going through the motions of getting ready for bed. She snaps out of it when he knocks a whetstone off his table. A soft curse escapes his lips as he bends over to pick it up.

"Are you okay?"

He stills, glancing at her over his shoulder. "I'm fine, just a little sore."

It's a gruff response, but he's more annoyed with himself than anything. He shouldn't have kept chopping wood after the first twinges of pain just below his ribs, but he had needed something to distract him, and taking his frustrations out by slamming the axe into the waiting hunks of wood had seemed cathartic at the time. Now it just seems stupid.

Clarke's interest is piqued, the doctorly concern written on her face as she sits completely upright, throwing back the furs. "Let me see."

"What? No, don't be silly."

"Bellamy, get over here and let me see if you've done some real damage." The command is firm, and he responds to it without thinking. He was once a guard, nothing but a cog in a well oiled machine. Instinctivelg he follows her order, thinking only to balk at it after he's crossed the space between them. It feels good to let go of control for a moment.

"Take off your shirt and turn around."

Again with the orders. He obeys, wincing as he drags the thin cotton up over his head. There's definitely a strained muscle in his back, something he's dealt with before, no big deal. Getting examined is pointless, but he doesn't say anything, standing in front of her like an offering.

Her touch is pleasantly cool, fingers probing along the muscles of his back. She's not exactly gentle, the clinical examination looking for those troublesome points of pain. He hisses when she presses down too hard in a tender spot. "What's the diagnosis, ?"

She wrinkles her nose. Dr. Griffin is her mother, not her. For a brief shining moment when they'd stepped off the escape pod she'd wondered what it would be like not to have all this responsibility, to live in a paradise where she didn't have to set broken bones and battle fevers. "Clearly someone overdid it today."

"Remind me not to carry you around anymore." He smirks, braced for the feel of her jabbing a finger into his sore back. She doesn't disappoint. "Ow! Be nice, I'm in pain."

"Lay down." She pats the cot, scooting over to its edge so there's room.

"You're awfully bossy tonight." He's already climbing up beside her. He rests his chin on his forearm, giving in to the gentle pressure she's applying with her hands. It's not like her exam, the heel of one palm sliding down the ridge of his spine as she starts her therapy.

"How is that different than any other night?"

He lets out an involuntary sigh, eyes drifting shut as she works heat into his back, a pleasant tingle flitting along his nerve endings. "It's not."

He's tired, and this is pleasant, too pleasant to keep up the verbal sparring. She works in silence drifting across his skin. Instinctively she lingers on his lower back. That's where most back pain settles.

"Why did you kiss me that night?"

He's nearly asleep, but her abrupt question yanks him awake. "What are you talking about?"

She blinks. Contemplating what brought her thoughts to his place makes her blush, but she pressed on. "That night?"

There's no need for elaboration. She knows that he knows what she's talking about, in spite of the silence he gives her.

"I don't know."

He's not lying. He rarely does something without thinking two or three steps ahead. It's how he kept Octavia hidden for so long. Brief moments of impulsivity don't end well for Blakes, but for the life of him he can't articulate why he kissed her, or what he thought would come of it.

Clarke huffs out an aggravated sigh. "Are we just supposed to pretend it didn't happen?"

"Isn't that what we've been doing? Playing pretend?" Up on one elbow, he turns to look at her.

"What?"

"I thought… You're still keeping things from me… Most of the time I have no idea what's going through your head, Princess."

The nickname isn't derisive, it's soft and almost defeated. It's not like him at all. She was gearing up for and argument, but his quiet answer stops her in her tracks. Desperate to change the subject, she asks, "What was it like when I was gone?"

He drops his head back down into the pillow, willing to let go of the unexpected tangent she sprung on him. Rolling his shoulders back, he pretends there's a knot she needs to attend to. It's easier to talk to her when she has her hands occupied and isn't staring holes into him.

It works, and Bellamy tells himself that it's the only reason he enjoys this so much. "Everything was… normal, I guess. Abbey had people looking for you for a while, but she eventually realized you didn't want to come back… No one saw her for days after she called the search parties back in."

Clarke pressed down hard into a knot, easing the tension out of it. It's painful and pleasant all at once. A muffled groan escapes his lips against her pillow. God, how had he never had someone do this before?

She's talking again, and he has to pull his focus to pay attention. "I hate that I did that to her. I didn't understand what it was like for a mother. I think I get a flutter of it with Attie. Sometimes when I look at her it's like my heart is on the outside of my body. It's terrifying."

"I didn't know you felt that way."

Dropping her hands back into her lap, she looks at him sheepishly. "I don't know how it happened, honestly. The moment I found her it was like … Like when lightning races across the sky, and everything that was once pitch black is suddenly as bright as day. Something shifted, and I couldn't put it back where it was supposed to go."

"Suddenly all you can think about is protecting that fragile little creature…"

"Yeah."

The cot creaks, and suddenly Bellamy is sitting up, facing her, an earnestness in his eyes that she's never seen before. It's dim, but he's so close that she can still see the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Gently, he cups her face, pulling her close to him. His forehead touches hers, the tip of his nose barely skimming the soft skin of her cheek. She vaguely remembers one of the boys on the ark telling her about Eskimo kisses when she was too young to understand that he was flirting. That's not what this is. This is a pregnant pause, his lips hovering just out of reach, the hot breath shaky against her skin.

"I kissed you because I wanted to." He says it firmly, the tone familiar and assertive. Of course his answer would give her no insight into his feelings. He's too careful.

She opens her mouth to protest, but he's already captured her lips, kissing her slowly. It's more gentle than she knew he was capable of, the pad of his thumb fingering the pulse at her neck. She knows what he feels there, her racing heart out of control.

He resurfaces, just as she raises her arms to pull him under with her. Neither of them are inexperienced, and this feels like a natural progression, but he just shakes his head.

"Get some sleep, Clarke. We have a lot of work to do around here, even more now that you've invited a hoard of exiles to our front door." He doesn't get up like she expects, instead pulling her down to join him under the blankets. "I think I'm almost as tired as you. You look like you've been to hell and back."

He's smiling when he says it, looking once again like the confident rebel king that once made her blood boil. It's a side of him she didn't realize she missed.

The last thing she notices before she loses consciousness is steady thumping where her ear is pressed against his chest.