Hello fellow writers! Welcome to my first ever 100 story. So, I've just started watching this and I'm already in love. This is such an amazing show.

As you can see from the stats about this story, my favorite characters are Bellamy and Clarke, and I 100% ship them. I'm praying that they will become a thing in the near future. In the meantime, it is up to us to satisfy the needs of those that want Bellarke to happen, so that is exactly what I'm doing.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this work of FanFiction. This is set in the beginning of season 3.

NOTE: CLARKE DIDN'T LEAVE! To make this story work, I needed to have her stay at the Arc. You'll probably see why. Anyway, enough of my rambling. Please make sure to favorite, follow, and review if you get a chance. I'd love to see your feedback.


Chapter One:

Clarke was in the med bay when she heard the shouts coming from nearby, and she immediately knew that he was finally found. The blonde ran outside, desperately searching for his face. A gasp escaped her mouth when she finally found him.

Bellamy, who had been missing for over a month now along with five others, was being carried in by Kane and Octavia on a stretcher, his trembling body marred beyond recognition. Blood tainted his once tan - now pale - skin, some of it dry, some fresh. His eyes were scrunched shut, and soft whimpers were escaping his lips, loud against the silence of the camp. He was clearly in a lot of pain.

"Oh, my God, Bellamy!" Clarke cried, tears forming in her eyes as she ran to him, her mother at her heels. Her hands hovered over him for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

"Get him inside," Abby ordered taking full control of the situation. Gently, she pressed a hand on the man's cheek, smiling reassuringly when he flinched away from her touch. "Bellamy," she said softly. "Bellamy, it's Abby. We're here to help you, sweetheart. Just try to relax. Everything will be just fine, I promise. Clarke and I will take good care of you."

"C-Clarke…?" Bellamy whispered hoarsely, voice cracking from misuse. He sounded weak, exhausted, hurt — a testament to the hell he had gone through in the weeks he'd been gone. "Clark-ke…" His voice faded as the rest of his remaining strength left him. Somehow, he managed to raise his hand, blindly reaching for his best friend.

"I'm right here, Bell," Clarke murmured, brushing some stray hair out of Bellamy's sweet face. "I've got you now. You're perfectly safe." She quickly looked at Octavia, who was sobbing quietly, staring at her brother with an unreadable expression written across her features. "I'll make sure to do everything I can to help," she said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

"Thank you," the woman replied, taking a deep, steadying breath before helping Kane carry Bellamy into the med bay.

The minute he was placed on one of the beds, Clarke and Abby got to work. By the time they fully examined the extent of his injuries, neither of them had any idea how Bellamy had managed to survive for as long as he did.

He was covered in wounds from head to toe, both old and new. The worst ones were the lashes on his back that looked like they came from a whip of some sort. There was a very big chance that they would become infected, since they were never cleaned properly until now. Aside from that, his shoulder was dislocated, and his wrist and ribs were broken. There were multiple cuts going down his arms, legs, face, and chest, thankfully already beginning to heal. Burns that were probably from a torch littered the rest of his body, most of them already blistering, and puncture wounds were trailing down his broad chest. Throughout the entire time, Bellamy struggled to keep quiet despite the agonizing pain, but was unable to towards the end, when the girls were relocating his shoulder. A heart wrenching scream let loose, his throat stinging from the effort, a small tear making its way down his cheek.

Quickly reacting, Clarke kneeled down beside him, interlocking their fingers together. "I know it hurts, Bellamy, I know. But you're doing great. Just a little more. We'll be done soon."

She was about to stand up and continue helping when Abby stopped her. "Sit with him for a bit," she said with a nod. "I got this."

For the next half hour or so, Clarke tried to sooth Bellamy, stroking his hair and kissing his temple whenever he was overwhelmed with pain again. She hated seeing him like this. Her heart truly ached for him, and she wished she could do more to help him. Sitting there and telling him that everything was going to be alright wasn't good enough. It wasn't going to take away his suffering.

Finally, Abby was finished.

Wiping the sweat off her brow, she leaned over her patient and held his face in both her hands. The more she studied him, the more she realized that even though he seemed to have aged during his captivity, he looking like nothing than a mere boy in need of comfort and love. "You did good, Bellamy. Thank you."

"I-It's you … I s-should b-be thank-king," Bellamy breathed out, pure gratitude in his dull eyes. "This w-was a-all you and … C-Clarke."Abby nodded, locking gazes with Clarke.

"I'll stay here," her daughter said. "Just in case. I'll call you if anything changes."

When the other woman left, Clarke realized that she was alone with the man she had missed so much. Now that her job was done, she had absolutely no idea what to do next. Once finding her voice, she squeezed his hand gently and said, "Sleep now, Bellamy. I'm right here."

Bellamy slowly let his eyelids fall closed, shivers making their way up his spine. He seemed to visibly deflate. "Thanks … P-Princess," he managed to say, curling into himself as he began falling into a familiar dark abyss he had come to love.


She sat with him all night, wanting to monitor him for any changes. Clarke could already see that a fever was beginning to set in, which worried her, to say the least. Silently, she prayed that Bellamy would pull through.

The first thing she did was try to clean him up a bit. She used wet cloths to wash off the blood and grime off of his body, grateful that he didn't wake up while she was doing it. By the time she finished, Bellamy already looked better, but not as much as she wanted him to be.

Towards sunset, Octavia came into the infirmary, wanting to see how her only sibling was doing. She gasped when she saw the state Bellamy was in. How thin he was, how tired he looked, how much discomfort he was in — it made her want to find the bastards that did that to him and kill them all. Slowly. She vowed that while her brother recovered, she would uncover the group that managed to take him and the rest of his hunting party captive and make sure that they paid the price. Blood must have blood.

After she'd left, Clarke continued keeping watch, reading a book to pass the time. She couldn't stand looking at him and thinking about how they didn't find him sooner. Maybe if we searched harder, we would've saved him from the worst of it, she kept thinking. So to take her mind off of it, she buried herself in The Count of Monte Cristo, one of her favorites novels.

Suddenly, a soft moan sounded from Bellamy's direction. Quickly slamming the book closed, Clarke's eyes fell on the sleeping man, who was writhing on his bed, clearly lost in the depths of a nightmare.

"D-Don't do this…," he said quietly, voice wavering with fear and exhaustion. "P-Please … I won't tell a-anyone. My people d-don't have to know … No!" He let out a strangled sob, slamming his head against the pillow. "No, don't! Please!"

Knowing that she needed to wake him up, Clarke stood up and took hold of his uninjured shoulder, rubbing soothing circles against his bare skin. "Bellamy," she spoke softly, caressing his jawline with her free hand. She could see him slowly starting to calm down, just from the sound of her voice. "Hey, Bellamy, it's okay. You're safe. Just open your eyes for me, Bell. You're okay."

With a gasp, Bellamy bolted upright, instantly regretting it as the motion pulled on his hurts. He watched as Clarke eased him down on the soft mattress, tears threatening to spill over his face. "Clarke…?" he said hesitantly, as if he couldn't believe it. "You're here? How'd y-you find … me?"

"We sent out a search party a week ago," Clarke explained, her fingers still touching his face lovingly. "Your sister, Kane, and a few others. They finally got back yesterday, having found you." She paused, waiting as Bellamy processed all the new information. "How are you feeling?" she asked, reaching to feel his forehead for a fever.

The man jerked away, clearly terrified of any sudden contact. For a moment, he just stared at Clarke with wide eyes, breathing a little harder than before. Soon enough, he calmed himself down and gave Clarke a nod of approval, waiting patiently as she quickly checked him over.

"You're a little warm," Clarke said when she finished. "Those lashes must be getting infected. You'll just have to wait it out until the medicine kicks in." The blonde frowned as Bellamy winced, understanding that she had brought up a sensitive subject for him. "I'm so sorry, Bellamy," she continued. "I wasn't thinking."

"It's a-alright," Bellamy whispered, closing his eyes to fight off the memories.

"Would you like some water?"

The idea of water made his stomach growl, and he desperately nodded. A sigh escaped his lips when he felt the cool liquid slide down his throat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd drank. It seemed like a lifetime ago. His captors only let him drink every few days and eat every once a week. He began to tremble as he thought about it, groaning when the water was taken away.

"I can't let you have too much or you'll get sick," Clarke said, apology in her tone. "You can have it later, in moderation … Do you think you can get some more rest? It'll do you some good."

Bellamy nodded. "I'll t-try," he muttered, even though he didn't want. The idea of falling into another nightmare made his head spin.

Within a few minutes, he was asleep, and Clarke was surrounded by silence, broken by the sound of her quiet sniffles.