A/N: I'm obsessed with Bellarke. Like...it's unhealthy. And after 3x3...I'm dead. I'm writing this beyond the grave.

…At last, unable to endure,

To Venus runs, and begs a Cure,

Complaining that so slight a Touch,

And little Thing, should wound so much.

She smil'd, and said, how like to thee,

My Son, is that unlucky bee?

Thy self art small, and yet thy Dart

Wounds deep, ah! very deep the Heart.

-Dürer

"It's Bellamy."

Clarke was shocked to realize how much of an effect those two words had on her. Bellamy. Something had happened to Bellamy. She whirled around, chest tight.

"What happened?"

Octavia was scared—Clarke could see it in her eyes. The Blake siblings had an astounding and furiously irritating ability to mask their fear. The exception, she supposed, lay in the fear that blossomed for each other. Put one sibling's life on the line, and the mask would splinter right down the front and shatter into jagged pieces.

Clarke almost wished she had someone who could shatter her walls that way. Someone to love so wholeheartedly. It hadn't taken her long to realize that unlike Bellamy, she needed to keep her face of stone intact, to preserve her power. She couldn't risk emotion anymore. Love was weakness.

"I don't know…he's just…" Octavia breathed, trying to remain calm. "Please, you've got to help him, Clarke."

The desperation rocked the world beneath the young blonde's feet. It was serious.

"Where is he?" she tried to keep the tension out of her voice.

Octavia had already grabbed Clarke's wrist and dragged her towards the med bay. Clarke's eyes zeroed in on the hunched figure leaning against Jasper.

Bellamy.

He was having trouble breathing, and his eyes were fluttering like they were too heavy. They found hers, and he squinted up at her. "Clarke…" He tried to swallow and failed. It's bad, he told her with those big brown irises. Help me.

Clarke's worry kicked in, and the adrenaline set her back into a familiar zone of medical jargon and procedures. She could do this. She just had to remain unattached.

"Set him down quickly," she advised. Jasper and Octavia hauled the older boy onto the same table as her previous operations.

"Bellamy can you speak?"

He rolled his eyes between fits of wheezing. He didn't answer. Was his throat swollen?

She checked his pulse, stunned by the rapid thrum beneath her fingertips. "Someone explain."

"We got ambushed by these giant bees," Jasper said, expanding his arms wide, exaggerating. "Bellamy got the worst of it…after…you know, smashing the nest."

"You were stung?" she clarified. What an idiot. Of course he'd gone and destroyed a hornet's nest. He could be such a child sometimes.

Bellamy crammed his eyes shut and lifted his shirt to reveal his stomach. There were six large, swollen lumps, surrounded by red freckles.

Hives.

Without a second's pause, Clarke yanked his shirt up over his head. She pushed Bellamy back against the table to lie flat, lifting his chin so he could breathe properly. He groaned but didn't protest. He was trembling.

"Bellamy," she said nervously, her hands resting on his abdomen. She deftly extracted the stingers, but that would only do so much. "Bellamy you've been stung and you're having an allergic reaction. I think…I think it's anaphylaxis."

He made a face. Speak English.

"It's not good," she told him seriously.

He convulsed again, grabbing her arm like a plea for it to stop. She flinched, then she slid her arm of the death-grip and held his hand instead. "Hold on for me, okay?" His fingers were tight around hers, and she chewed her lip, thinking.

She didn't know what to do, how to handle this. Allergies weren't common on the Ark. If they were severe, children were always equipped with an EpiPen. Only, she had no epinephrine among the supplies they were given. No one had ever considered bee stings—least of all, radioactive bee stings.

Octavia and Jasper were staring at her, surprised she hadn't moved or barked any orders.

"Is he going to be alright? Tell me he's fine, Clarke," demanded Octavia.

Clarke glanced down at Bellamy, his ragged breathing. His throat was closing up. He was going to suffocate.

"I need you to find Lincoln."

Bellamy lurched at that, but she kept him grounded to the table, one hand against his cool and clammy chest, the other still folded in his hand.

"Bellamy, it's the only way to save your life. Lincoln might have the drug we need. There's…there's nothing I can do here without medicine."

Bellamy's jaw tightened, and a muscle rippled in his temple. He glared at Clarke, then at his sister.

"No." It was weak, but still authoritative.

"How long does he have?" Octavia whispered, ignoring her brother, her idiosyncrasy.

Clarke closed her eyes. On the Ark? He'd be fine after a few hours of treatment. Here? Here...

"Half an hour, at most," she revealed.

Octavia was gone in a heartbeat.

Clarke nodded at Jasper. "Go with her. Bring her back."

Jasper obliged, disappearing with an anxious expression.

She turned to Bellamy, and he glowered.

Clarke disregarded the heat in his eyes. She just pushed him back down, focused on the bee stings. "Stop moving. You need to lie still. And whatever the hell you do, don't panic."

He scoffed.

OoO

She busied herself with adjusting his body to make him more comfortable, elevating his legs, wiping back his sweaty curls from his forehead, mainly because there was nothing else she could do.

She tried to be strong for him, but she couldn't burry her concern. They had nothing to combat this kind of reaction. Worst of all, she doubted the grounders had medicine advanced enough to treat shock. His blood pressure was decreasing, his airways were closing; he was dying.

Bellamy, invincible, jerkwad Bellamy, was dying.

If he died on her, she wouldn't be able to run things by herself. Her decisions were only recognized by a majority of the camp because they were recognized by Bellamy. She was still on the top of the hierarchy in their eyes, their Princess, and although they respected her decisions and her leadership, they didn't want it. She wasn't one of them. She was Bellamy's advisor, his doctor, not his right hand, not his partner. If he died, the likes of Murphy would rise up, reinstate the doctrine 'do whatever the hell we want,' and order would disintegrate. She wouldn't be able to protect them anymore.

No one would be able to protect her.

Dammit.

She really did need him. He'd become something like a friend. She was dependent on his strength and the burden they shared. Bellamy...Bellamy was, in the oddest sense, her rock.

Her annoying, obstinate boulder.

She glanced down at him again, and he was watching her, like he could read her thought process. He clenched his teeth, fighting the tremor and the pain. "Take…take care of O…"

"Bellamy," she said, heartbroken at his understanding.

She wanted to berate him for having no faith in her, but she merely nodded, aching for whatever reason. She'd never felt so hopeless, useless. A tear slid down her cheek, and Bellamy's face softened.

"How am I going to do this without you, asshat?" she murmured, wiping it away.

His breathing slowed, strained. He fumbled for her hand again, and she delivered. He pulled their linked hands to rest on his heaving chest, and he closed his eyes.

"May we meet again," he whispered, voice catching on the old phrase, and his breath became shallow.

Clarke squeezed his hand. "Bellamy?"

Her fingers slid to his wrist, and she couldn't find his pulse.

OoO

"Bellamy?" she repeated.

She didn't believe it. She wouldn't believe it.

She checked his pulse again, and she didn't even notice the tears raining down her face.

Octavia and Jasper were on their way back by now. He'd held out for forty-five minutes of fatal anaphylaxis. He couldn't have held out five more?

She frowned suddenly, the lump in her throat rising. Bellamy Blake didn't just give up. There was only one way he'd let the devil win:

He'd accepted.

She knew how much self-loathing existed inside him, but she'd never thought he'd give in to his pain. Hadn't she told him he wasn't alone? He wasn't the only one with demons! He wasn't the only one hurting! Feeling guilty!

How could he just…ditch her?

She performed chest compressions with renewed anger.

Out of her peripheral she saw Finn and Miller enter the tent, but she didn't mind them. She pumped Bellamy's chest fiercely, crying stupidly. Something so small couldn't have killed the infamous Bellamy Blake. A bee wasn't his Achilles heel. Octavia was.

This shouldn't have happened.

Someone's hands covered hers, and she looked up. Finn. She was about to yell at him to let her continue, but then she realized he was taking over. He was stronger. Heavier.

She blinked at him, and they shared a silent understanding as she moved aside. At the proper count, she dipped her head and breathed into Bellamy's parted mouth. 20. 21. 22.

Through the rush of blood in Clarke's ears, she heard a shriek, and Octavia was suddenly at her side, gripping a green bottle with white knuckles, petrified at the site of her brother's unmoving chest.

Clarke didn't even ask before snatching the bottle. Moving at a godly speed, she found the only syringe in the med bay and professionally jammed it in Bellamy's thigh.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but she hadn't anticipated her dead patient to gasp and arch upwards on the table like he'd been electrocuted.

Clarke hurried to Bellamy's side, pushing Finn away, and she waited, eyes glued to the man she both despised and respected.

After what felt like a lifetime, he inhaled softly, his eyes twitching. She almost collapsed in relief and absurd happiness.

Luckily, Octavia was there to catch her before she really did faint. The two girls embraced, shell-shocked, gazes rooted to Bellamy's unconscious figure.

OoO

"Clarke…" Octavia said suggestively

"I can't leave. I have to stay in case he has another reaction or something. We don't even know what I injected him with." That fact bothered Clarke immensely. She'd been so caught up in the moment, she hadn't stopped to think. And she always stopped to think. That's what separated her from Bellamy.

What if she'd overdosed? What if she'd injected him in the wrong location? She'd been so…impulsive. Reckless. And yet, she wasn't sorry, not when she could hear Bellamy breathing softly, or monitor the rise and fall of his chest. Not when she could detect movement in places she'd feared would never move again.

Octavia rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Doc, I'm getting some sleep." She turned to leave, but paused, back straightening. "And…thank you, Clarke."

"Don't thank me yet."

Octavia turned, shaking her head. "Seriously. You saved his life."

"We saved his life."

Octavia grinned. Her eyes flitted back to her brother, and she smiled slightly. "I'm never gonna let him forget this."

"Oh, no way," Clarke agreed, matching the mischief in the younger girl's eyes. "This is blackmail gold."

Octavia laughed, disappearing under the flap of the tent, and Clarke was left alone with Bellamy.

She took his hand again—she liked the security it gave her, even when it was limp.

After Bellamy had died, something in her snapped. She had been angry at him for ditching her. Then horrified. Then desperate. The emotions were still churning, and she felt exhausted. She refused to sleep in case Bellamy needed her during the night, but maybe she could just shut her eyes…

The twitch in her hand brought her back. Bellamy was peering at his surroundings, then at her, attempting to string together his fragmented memories.

"Octavia?" he wondered.

"She's fine," Clarke assured him, laughing at his immediate brotherly devotion. "Are you? How are you feeling?"

He sat up on his elbows with difficulty. "Lousy."

Clarke watched him, trying to keep her emotions out of her expression, but probably failing.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Princess?"

She didn't answer. She just kept staring. Unable to tear her eyes away.

"Clarke?" he tried, softer, unsure.

That did it.

Slowly, cautiously, she drew him into a hug, managing to kill her sob and save herself from pure mortification. "You idiot."

Bellamy was taken aback by her affection, but eventually, one of his warm arms circled her waist. He gave a few dainty, confused taps, and she snickered, retracting herself before things got weird.

Bellamy quirked an eyebrow at her, but he didn't ask. He probably had a good idea about what had occurred. And maybe she was reading too much into his expression, but he looked grateful. Sincere.

When another tear fell from Clarke's eyes, Bellamy smiled. "That for me, Princess?"

"No. You just stink. It's making my eyes water."

He chuckled in that Blake fashion, head bent, eyes crinkled. Clarke never thought she'd see him making that face when it wasn't at her expense in some way. He looked so much better when he was genuinely happy.

"Do me a favor, though, Bellamy."

He looked up at her, under his bangs. Anything.

"Don't ever die on me again."

His mouth twitched, and he shook his head. "Sorry, but I don't do favors, Clarke," he said. She crossed her arms. "I can compromise though."

She turned so he couldn't see her smile. Call her crazy, but she loved their banter. It was comforting in an annoying way. Home territory. "So what's your request? Eradication of bee hives within the perimeter?"

He waited to answer until she glanced back in his direction, driven by gravity.

"You don't get to die either," he said sternly, but with sanded corners.

He held out his hand, and after a lengthy pause, she shook it.

His hand lingered, and his palm was warm and calloused. "Deal, Princess?"

She met his gaze, unwavering.

"Deal."

I don't know. I just love them to death. I LOVE SLOW BURN BUT IT'S TOO SLOW. WHAT IF THE FLAME BURNS OUT. *prayer circle*