This was written last week and I've just polished it up, so the details may be a little out of canon! However these snapshots will form a loose canon with each other. More on their way :)

I.

Clarke's field hospital consists of moss, rags and ferns – a poor stock, even by their make-do standards. But most importantly, Clarke's field hospital consists of her.

She's spent too much of her life as a healer for Bellamy to feel anything but damned relief at having her work on him. He trusts her, and yes, a lot of it is having his other half around to watch his back and make decisions with again, but there is some part of him saying he draws comfort from her just because she's Clarke. Even though she's actually deliberately trying to not be comforting right now. Her mouth is twisted all small and tight, tightly-balled anger drawing her shoulders up, her eyebrows together.

Weeks apart have bleached his memories of her, and knowing that it's fear for him – responsibility easily shared once more – fuelling her anger, he can't help the smirk that spreads across his face. And it's so ridiculous to be happy in the midst of an almost-failed escape, when they're sitting barely a hundred metres from the bodies they left behind (because that's as far as Bellamy and Murphy could drag Finn before Murphy passed out and Bellamy damn near followed him).

But still. This joy at being free and reunited is so ridiculous it just widens his smirk into a grin.

Clarke catches it as she looks up from her wrapping of his wrists, frowning even more. "What's so funny, jerk?"

"Nothin'." She narrows her eyes, tugs the ferns tighter around the moss packing that is makeshift bandage for where his hands were tied and dragged. He rolls his eyes. "Nice to have you back is all, Princess."

"Wish I could say the same for you," she retorts. "You won't be laughing if these go septic."

"I trust you." Plain and simple. The princess is startled enough that she jolts into looking up at him, lips rounded slightly in surprise. But then she just looks back down to the other unbound wrist and shakes her head.

"Grounders made you chatty, huh?"

"Nah, that's all you. They just make me wanna stab stuff. Mostly them."

"Yeah, want to, not actually manage it."

Ah. She's still pissed off because Bellamy got cut across the head when he threw himself in front of her, hands bound from the grounders' labour prison. Possibly one of the stupider things he'd done in the last hour, he reflects, but whatever, they're free and all five (six, counting their unexpected and very welcome rescuer) are alive.

"We couldn't have you beheaded in the middle of your daring rescue," he says instead. "Anyway, who said chivalry was dead?" His mouth quirks up, and when her eyes meet his, so does Clarke's, seemingly against her will.

"The arch-nemesis of the guy who said it was all girls who were the damsels in distress."

She'd looked like a warrior princess throughout the battle, Bellamy thinks, all predatorial protection for her noble cause. Hair shining, masked in anger and dirt, he'd only gotten a single proper look at her throughout. That was what happened when you were rescued from uncertain death by stealth rock-throwing, careful knife-passing, and branch-leaping gone slightly awry.

He shakes his head slightly to dispel the image somewhat. If she had been a warrior princess, he had been a blinking potato. By the time he'd recovered from the head wound and cut the rope in half, the battle had been pretty much over. In fact, he'd been freed just in time to see Finn get knifed in the thigh. He unsubtly tries to change the subject. "What do you want us to do with Spacewalker? Too bad there's no zero-G down here for us to float him through."

Clarke braids off the ends of the fern and turns his left wrist over for a final check, brow wrinkled in thought. "I think we'd better get him back to my mom. We've not got moonshine, thread or… or anything. Plus it could be poisoned, but Anya's definitely too long gone for any help there."

"We've had worse stab wounds," Bellamy replies. Clarke shoots him a funny look. "What?"

"Why're you still so upbeat?"

"We don't need anything else," he tells her carelessly. "We've got you."

She tilts her head back in a laugh that seems to light up every corner of the woods. "You sure they didn't poison you, Blake?"

"Not entirely," he admits. "But if you want me carrying Spacewalker in a fireman's lift all the way back to prison, you might have to find something to stop him bleeding the trail back."

"You up for that?" Clarke's eyes take in the measure of him, and he can see that she's noting all the hurts she can't yet heal and that she feels like she's failed with, but also… Bellamy can see her belief in him starting to rekindle, her knowledge that he'll do it even though he can see she's not happy with his condition.

And okay, his head will probably hurt like crazy the second he lifts it from this slumped position against the tree, but whatever. He's tough. And the home-shaped hole that had been torn in his heart feels like it's already being stitched back together.

If that's not healed enough to operate, he doesn't know what is. So Bellamy pushes himself up unsteadily and throws Finn's sorry ass over his shoulder while Clarke pulls Murphy upright and calls for Sterling and Monroe.

Yeah, it's good to be reunited.