five.

You're sitting with your back against the wall - slumping up against it, technically, but you were almost dead five days ago, so who actually cares. Clarke is sitting on her knees in front of you, a collection of medical supplies just off to the side. She leans forward to peel away your bandages, and you do your best to sit still without getting too tense. You're used to the routine by now, and you are ready to get this over with. You know Clarke's just looking after you, but every time anyone gets near the wound you get flashes of memories you're trying very hard to forget - blood on the rocks, the smell of burning flesh.

You shake your head to clear it, and try to focus on this moment, right now. Clarke's got this look of intense concentration as she inspects the injury. Basically it's a burn, patching up the hole the spear carved out of your chest. Apparently the grounders kind of saved your life, after trying to kill you. Clarke told you that if they hadn't cauterized the wound you would have bled out long before you were found. That was considerate of them, you guess. Still, you wish they just could have skipped the spearing altogether. It would have saved you from a whole lot of agony.

You know you've come a long way. A few days ago the wound was still oozing infection, but now it's getting pink and shiny around the edges. For days Clarke's been saying that you're getting better, and you're finally starting to feel like it's true. The worst of the pain has faded away, and now you're just sore, and mostly really, really itchy. Sometimes you almost don't even notice it, except when-

-except when Clarke rests two fingers on the still healing flesh and presses, not even very hard, but the pain sort of explodes, a supernova in your chest.

"Oh, wow," you say when you can breathe again. "I felt that, in case you were wondering."

Clarke glances up at your face, you guess judging if you're actually hurting that bad, or just being dramatic. She must decide that you're fine, because she shrugs. "You're healing nicely," she says, replacing the bandage and rocking back on her heels. "If you want to try leaving the ship today, I won't stop you."

"Really?" you ask, and then you get busy tugging your t-shirt back on- slowly, so you don't mess up the bandages, and because lifting your arms above your head is still not fun, so it's kind of a process. Clarke watches you like she wants to help, but doesn't. It's one of the million things you really like about Clarke - she knows when to step in, and when you need to do things for yourself.

She hovers, just a little, as you clamber awkwardly down the ladder for the first time, and she keeps a steady hand on your elbow as you totter out of the ship, which is good, because you probably wouldn't make it very far on your own. You get tired quickly, even with her help, so she sets you down on a log near the campfire.

The camp itself is entirely different from what you remember. The last time you saw it, before you left for that disastrous trip to Mount Weather, it wasn't much more than a crash site. Now there are tents and workstations and a mostly complete wall, made of trees and sheets of metal from the ship. It's supposed to keep the grounders out, but you find yourself thinking that it won't be enough.

You don't want to think about that, though, you don't want to think about any of it, so you look up at the sky instead. It's getting close to sunset, and the clouds above you are pink and blue and gold. You've never seen anything like it. You haven't seen much of Earth, actually, since you got here.

"It's not what I imagined," Clarke says, and her voice snaps you back to the present. She settles down on the log beside you, her arm pressing against yours, and tips her head back to share your view. "But it is beautiful."

It's terrifying, you want to say, because you know what's out there, you've seen it, even if you won't let yourself quite remember it. You know what dying feels like, now, you know how easily that can happen, and how fast. You know that you are fragile, and you know that you don't want to go through what happened to you ever again.

You don't say any of that, though. You breathe in deep, tasting campfire smoke and the autumn breeze. "Yeah," you say, leaning into Clarke's shoulder, just a little. "Yeah, it is."

I will update again as soon as I can, but I have several other things in the works - my drabbles, the high school AU, and also I am working on a fic that is basically just Jasper and Clarke on an adventure in the woods because their relationship is VERY IMPORTANT TO ME, so I guess keep an eye out for that sometime this week?

Oh right and also I teach children during the week, which means I don't actually have much time for writing, but I do my best! :)

Thank you for reading! :D