She wasn't near the blast when it happened, but it knocked her hard and low all the same. She felt herself drop to her knees as she waited, an ear pressed to the ground, hoping, praying, pleading. Please, she thought. Please let them be okay. Let Bellamy lead them home.

She was pulled back to reality by the thud of footsteps outside the gate.

Her people were filtering into camp, one by one. She took note of each head, each scar on each face, each pair of eyes, red and weary and weak, but alive, that she never thought she'd see again.

Harper was covered in scars, her face torn about by big red blotches, but she smiled at Clarke, squeezed her arm as she passed. Monty was skinnier too. His cheeks hollow and his eyes sunken. Miller and Jasper didn't have any scars on the outside but she knew that didn't mean anything.

They all passed her, brushed her hand, squeezed her elbow, patted her shoulder, but she wasn't paying attention. She could talk to them later. They were okay. They were fine. Harper, Monty, Jasper, Miller. They were fine.

But she was missing someone.

She waited by the gate, her hands wringing together, twisting and pulling at her own skin as each person passed her, each face smiling at her like she'd saved them, each one looking away as she whispered the name of the one who did.

"Bellamy?" she asked, as the numbers started dwindling down. Only a few footsteps had yet to pass her. "Where's Bellamy?"

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned to see Monty, shrunken in on himself, shoulders hunched. His head was down, eyes boring holes into the dirt below.

"Clarke," he whispered, and she knew. She shook her head. No, she thought. No, no, no. Bellamy saved them. He got them out. He was coming.

"Clarke," he said again, pulling her into his chest, and she felt an ugly sob rip through her chest. She shook against him, the fabric of his shirt scraping her cheek. "He didn't make it."

No, she thought. No.

She kept busy in the med bay at first. Her people had scars she could patch, and wounds she could mend. She could fix it, she could stop the damage and the hurting and the bleeding. She could. She could fix it.

Her knees buckled under her before she let herself rest. It was Raven and Jasper who had to drag her to her tent in the end. They shouldered her arms and walked in silence, her feet dragging far more than they should, her eye lids slipping, her chest clenching.

"I'm okay," she told them. "I can help."

Raven gave her a sad look as they eased her onto her cot, pushing her shoulders back until her head touched the pillow.

"You've done enough, Clarke," she said, before turning away. "Get some rest."

She woke up to the sound of crackling, the heat of a fire licking at her nose. She rubbed her eyes before pushing herself up. There was a root digging into her hip.

She looked around, unsure of where she was. She saw the fire a few feet in front of her. There was another log, not so far away. She could reach out her hands and touch it if she wanted to. So she did.

Instead of feeling the rough bark of the log against her skin she felt a worn pair of pants, coated in mud and grime, but warm beneath her fingers. She pulled her fingers back and looked up at the face attached to the warmth.

He was smiling down at her. She felt her lungs fill with air again. She hadn't even realized she'd been suffocating, but seeing him was all it took to taste the air she'd been missing in his absence.

"Hey," she said softly, returning his smile.

"Last time I saw you, you were telling me to sneak into Mount Weather," he said. Her smile dropped immediately, and she felt as if someone had taken a needle and pricked her lungs. The slow steady stream of oxygen whistling out, burning her chest, making her gasp.

He pressed his hand onto her shoulder. "Hey," he said, tilting her chin up to face him. "Had to be done."

No, she thought, but she couldn't speak. So she just shook her head. No, no, no.

"Our people are out aren't they?" he asked.

"Not all of them."

His hand was warm on her shoulder. She wrapped her fingers around it, clutching it tight, too tight, as if she thought she could pull him back to camp with her if she just held on hard enough.

"You're gonna be fine, Clarke." His whisper ghosted over her face and she wanted to hold onto that too. Hold his words, hold his promise, hold his voice. Her hand reached out to grab it, but there was nothing there.

She was alone, in her tent.

"You should eat something," she heard a voice call from the door to the med bay. She looked up and saw Octavia standing there, a pouch full of nuts and berries in her hand, held up in offering to Clarke.

"I'm fine," she muttered.

Come on Clarke, a voice rang in her mind. Listen to my sister.

A burst of warm air enveloped her body and she had to close her eyes for a moment to let it wash over her skin. It smelled like him. Like mud and dirt and trees. A spice she wasn't sure of, but that she always smelled when his hair got ruffled in the wind. She breathed in deep through her nose, twice, before he interrupted her.

You're going to work yourself to death. Then what good will you be? She could hear a smile in his voice. She could feel it in the air around her, and she felt it tug up the corners of her own lips.

"Okay, fine," she mumbled. She turned back to Octavia. "Give 'em here."

As she popped a few berries in her mouth, she felt his breath against her ear.

What? he whispered. Not going to share?

The dreams were the best part. She could see him. His smile and his eyes. His hands, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away or his fingers moving to poke a smile into her side.

She could feel the warm brush of his calloused fingers against her cheek, the smooth curls of his hair, the scratch of the stubble that had finally grown on his chin. The booming in his chest when he laughed. His warm breath across her neck.

Every night, she'd meet him by the fire, the flames dancing at their toes, their fingers tracing back and forth, making silly patterns in the dirt. He'd be there, and he'd be scarred, but she could feel his chest move up and down against her shoulder with each breath he took, and if she could feel him breathing then he had to be real.

"What if I don't go back this time?" she asked him the first time his lips brushed over hers. He frowned a little at her words, but simply pushed her hair away from her eyes and brought his mouth back down to hers. She knew what he was trying to say.

You can't stay forever, Clarke. But you've got a little time.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready for goodbye," she murmured as he dipped his head down to her neck.

"Me neither, Clarke," he breathed into her skin. "Me neither."

She was eating dinner by the fire when Monty plopped down next to her.

"It's good to see you smile again, Clarke," he said bumping her shoulder.

"Yeah," she said, feeling an invisible laugh trickle down her neck. "It feels good to smile again."