The judge was about 20 feet tall, and holding a gavel that was half that length. Bellamy could barely see the judge, he was so tall.

The judge banged the gavel down, hard, and yelled: "BELLAMY BLAKE IS FOUND GUILTY AND SENTENCED TO 10 YEARS IN PRISON!"

Bellamy couldn't move. He wanted to scream, but his lips wouldn't cooperate. He felt so warm, suffocatingly warm...

Bellamy jerked awake with a gasp. It was just a dream. Sweat dripped down his face, and his breathing took much longer to return to normal again. He was suddenly aware that the warmth from his dream was real.

Bellamy kicked away the covers and pulled his shirt off over his head. The words echoed in his head, over and over again. "BELLAMY BLAKE IS FOUND GUILTY..."

He'd been feeling a bit off all Sunday, but he'd put it off, mostly because he'd been busy mostly all day, baking with Clarke. But now... the pounding headache was back, and he was pretty sure he had a fever too.

Clarke.

She would know what to do.

Bellamy stood up hastily, but the vertigo caused him to grab onto the door frame for a solid minute, just squeezing his eyes shut and breathing through his nose.

When he could finally walk again, he stumbled to Clarke's door and knocked. "Come in." she called sleepily after a moment.

Clarke was sitting up rubbing her eyes when Bellamy opened the door and promptly collapsed onto the floor. He curled up into a little ball and whimpered. "Shit." Clarke whispered, and he heard the soft pitter-patter of her feet approach.

Then a cool hand brushed his forehead. A soft murmur of disapproval. "You're burning up." she whispered.

"Tell me something I don't know." he hissed.

"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling good?" She pried.

"Because I was feeling fine, but then I had a nightmare, and-"

"You're having nightmares?" She asked, rubbing his back gently.

Bellamy sighed. "Maybe...?"

Clarke didn't say anything, just kissed him gently on the head then stood up. She returned a moment later with a glass of water. She proceeded to help him sit up before having him take small sips of the water. She stuck a thermometer in his mouth, and they both waited in silence until it beeped.

"102." Clarke told him.

"So... not serious?"

"No yet."

He stood up, but his legs immediately turned to noodles, so he had to grab onto Clarke for support. He was going to walk to his room, but then Clarke just wordlessly helped him into her bed, so he curled up into a little ball and slept.

...

Bellamy woke up at about noon to a pounding headache. He gritted his teeth and called meekly: "Clarke..."

She was at his side in an instant, balancing a tray on one hand and her computer in the other. "Good morning!"

"Nothing is good about this morning." he complained, huddling father down into the covers.

Clarke closed the blinds, and the pounding in his head subsided a bit. "That better?"

He winced. "A bit."

Clarke set down the tray on his lap. There was a glass of orange juice, some buttered toast, and a poptart. "Thanks." he told her as she got into bed next to him and set down the laptop. She scooted closer, setting up the laptop.

"You can lay in my lap." she told him as she loaded up another documentary- this one about Taylor Swift called Miss Americana.

Bellamy put his head in her lap. She pressed play, but all Bellamy cared about were her fingers, gently running a hand through his messy curls.

It was so calming, just knowing that she was there. Bellamy fell asleep halfway through the documentary.

...

When Bellamy woke up again, moonlight was streaming through the window and his fever had broken. He was still in Clarke's lap, but she was asleep. He didn't have the heart to wake her up, so he just stood and walked to the bathroom. He was cold, so he went to his room and got clean clothes and a towel before walking to the bathroom.

He turned on the shower and waited until it warmed before stepping in. The warm water pelted his back, and he nearly sighed in contentment. After a few minutes, he turned off the shower again and stepped out, pulling on the clean clothes.

Bellamy stood up and bounced on the balls of his feet. All this nervous energy made his fingers twitch. He needed to do something.

So he did the only thing he could think of- he went to the kitchen and got out the ingredients for pancakes.

...

"I see someone's feeling better." Clarke told him as she entered the kitchen.

"Good morning to you too, Princess. I made pancakes, you want some?" He gestured to the plate of pancakes sitting on the counter.

Clarke sat down and grabbed Bellamy's coffee. She took a sip, and he didn't even bother to scold her anymore. He handed her a plate, and she dished several pancakes onto it before drowning them in syrup.

"You always waste all the syrup." Bellamy complained and she rolled her eyes.

"It's wonder we even have syrup- since you never make pancakes anymore." She slapped a hand over her mouth as if that could take her words back. "I didn't mean it, I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He told her hastily.

He served himself some pancakes too, and they ate in silence. "Those were delicious." she told him when she was done, pushing her plate towards him.

"What? I'm not putting your plate in the sink, do it yourself."

"Oh, I wasn't-"

"Kidding, Clarke."

He took both of their plates and put them in the sink. An awkward silence filled the kitchen. "So," Clarke started hesitantly. "Raven told you about the surgery already, right?" Bellamy nodded. "Right, so it's this Friday."

Bellamy blinked at her. "Are we going?"

Clarke shook her head. "Only Murphy's going to the actual surgery."

Bellamy cocked his head. "Aren't her and Wick still together?" he asked, and Clarke shrugged.

She stood up and stretched. "Are you going to work?" Bellamy asked.

"And leave you all alone? Like hell."