The sudden change makes Bellamy gasp and reach for his stomach, clutching at the vest and shirt covering his torso, feeling for wetness and a wound that isn't there anymore. Whatever the hell is going on, Bellamy hopes he never has to do that again.

And he hopes he never has to see Clarke like that again-- let alone be the one causing all that pain.

"I'm alive," he repeats, unable to look away from Clarke, not for one second. The look on her face is all he can see, and Bellamy knows that when he wakes, it'll haunt him for a long time to come.

"Where's the radio?" he asks when he finally breaks out of it, forcing himself to look away from Clarke and back over to Monty. He wants to move toward her, to comfort her and be comforted, but Bellamy knows if he does he won't want to leave Clarke's side.

He wants to be back in the apartment, in bed, safe and warm. He doesn't want any of this.

When he reaches the desk Monty's stationed at, Bellamy gives the monitors a glance, trying to remember how long it was before Emerson blew the door. Two minutes? Five at most? Not nearly enough time.

"Can you cut the lights to the lab? That might distract them long enough."