"What the hell's wrong with her?" Bellamy's voice cut through the quiet of the night like a knife. Clarke winced as it seemed to echo in her head, sending waves of pain through her forehead. She tried to bring her hands to her ears, to block out the noise, but they didn't respond. She frowned, trying again. Nothing. She opened her eyes, flooding her senses with light. She was laying on a table

"Shh." Monty's face appeared above her, concerned. He looked back over his shoulder, speaking to someone Clarke couldn't see. "Keep your voice down. It's bugging her." There was a grunt, which Clarke recognized as Bellamy's. She tried to sit up, but it was as though a massive weight was holding her down. She could barely move, so she watched as Monty disappeared, reappearing with an armful of blankets.

"No." Her voice was weak, and raspy. She was almost surprised when Monty heard her. He set the blankets down and pressed a hand to her forehead. It was cool, and she closed her eyes, reveling in it.

"Clarke." It was Bellamy's voice, close to her ear.

"Mmm." She didn't have the energy to open her eyes. She didn't want those blankets. She was hot, swelteringly so, and she didn't understand why they were trying to smother her.

"You need to stay warm. You're sick." There was another hand on her face, equally cool, but somehow more soothing. It pressed against her cheek and she turned into it, sighing. When it pulled away she made a noise of protest. There was a chuckle from somewhere else in the tent.

"You know she's sick when she actually wants Bellamy anywhere near her." Octavia. She was saying Clarke was sick. Clarke tried to concentrate, to force the fog in her mind to recede. Someone else had said something too. Bellamy was saying she was sick. She certainly felt it. Forcing her eyes open once again, she managed to crane her head to the side. She saw Octavia and Monty huddled over a small pile of leaves. Bellamy stood beside her, looking down at her. If she didn't know any better, Clarke would have accused him of being worried about her.

"What-" Her voice cracked, it was as though all the moisture in her mouth had dried out. She coughed. "What's wrong with me?"

"I don't know if there are enough hours in a day to answer that one, princess." Bellamy grinned down at her, the smile not quite making it to his eyes. Clarke coughed again, this time hard enough to make her stomach roll. Once she started, she couldn't control the spasms as they rocked through her body, and strong hands hauled her into a sitting position. When the coughing stopped she stared at her hands, the ones she had tried, weakly, to press to her mouth. They were covered in blood. She looked up at Bellamy, her fear mirrored in his face.

"Monty!" Bellamy reached out, grabbing the younger boy by the back of his jacket. Monty rushed to the table, taking in the blood on Clarke's hands with a grim expression. "What does this mean?" Bellamy's voice was low, like he thought Clarke wouldn't hear if he was quiet.

"I don't know. I've never seen anything like this. The only one who could help Clarke is…" He turned back to her, staring at her as though staring at a dead man. It sent a wave of panic through her. "Clarke. But she's too sick, she can't remember anything." Clarke stared up at him. He was trying to tell her she was going to die. She wracked her brains for something, anything. She had a fever. From the tremors vibrating along her body she gathered that much. The coughing, she shut her eyes in concentration. The coughing was a sign of… it was a sign of… She could feel herself going limp, Bellamy's arms still holding her up from behind. She had to remember, but what? What did she need to remember? The exhaustion crept up on her, infiltrating her senses until she could no longer make out the voices beside her. One voice seemed to cut through the static, just for a second.

"Clarke!" Bellamy. She smiled. Her head was heavy, she let it loll to the side. It hit something firm. She could smell him, that mixture of forest and sky. She sighed into his chest. It seemed a good place to be, as good as any. "If you don't wake up," his voice was in her ear, his breath tickling the back of her neck. It was cool on her hot skin. She shivered. "I will kill you myself." There was something sweet in that, she thought, as she lost the battle to the darkness. Okay. She tried to tell him. Okay, I'll wake up. But her eyelids were heavy, and there was something calling to her in the void, and so she tried to tell him but she ran out of time. The ocean crashed in around her, it was roaring in her ears, and she couldn't hear him anymore as she slipped away with one word repeating in her mind again and again. Okay.