When the silhouettes of soldiers returning from the attack on Mount Weather appeared in the distance like ghosts in the mist and solidified only to show that there weren't even two dozen survivors out of the two hundred and some sent, a wave of despair washed over the awaiting villagers.

Lexa sent the dead retrieval crew to do their job and had the rest of the villagers take care of their returning heroes. Some were sent to help the medics while others provided blankets and food and alcohol.

Without waiting to see every homecoming warrior, not even waiting to see if Murphy made it, Clarke took charge of the two other healers, Raven, and the extra hands she was sent. While determining who would get treated first and who could wait, her hands were covered in blood within the first few minutes.

Out of all her pains from birthing twins, her torn perineum irritated her the most, but she ignored it as she put a tracheostomy into a woman's throat, allowing her to breathe again. Washing her hands in alcohol as she moved from that table to the next, she sized up the needs of her next patient-three bullet wounds around a kidney that probably needed removed.

Around thirteen hours later, Clarke got to sit down. Her clothes crusted with the blood of a half-dozen people, her feet swollen and purple, she fell asleep sitting in the middle of what had served as the operating room.

After having shocked four people back to life, Raven sat down with a bottle of booze she hoped would drown her despair. Finn was dead, she didn't know what had happened to the Ark, and the only survivors from home were Clarke, who she hated, and Octavia, who had supported her from the start. Her ankle would get nobetter than this, and if she wanted to have any kind of family down here, she had to include Clarke.

While the wine around here passed muster, the harder liquors tasted like battery acid. But they succeeded at blitzing a person in three belts or less. One down and the world tilted.

Octavia grabbed the bottle and took a gulp, bumping into Raven's shoulder as she sat. "Can't let you drink alone. Not a proper wake with only one person."

"I guess." Raven snatched the bottle back and took another swig while concentrating on how her head swam and her limbs loosened. She gave the bottle back to O, watching her profile. How could Octavia sit there looking as though it was just another day? Like her brother hadn't just died?

As if Octavia had read her mind, she said, "Bellamy made it his job to give me a life, protect me, make sure I was as happy as he could. Growing up, I knew in some abstract way that my existence would kill him eventually. But when we got here and found Earth survivable, I thought our fortune had changed and we'd both live and be happy. And it turns out he still died making sure I had a life, was safe, and could be happy one day. I kinda hate the bastard for that." O's next swallow should've killed her, so much alcohol ran down her throat, but she handed the bottle back to Raven with a steady hand. "That old rag of hating the dead for daring to die without your permission."

Uncomfortable emotions crinkled Raven's face before she jumped head-first into intoxication by swallowing this poison until the concentration of foul taste forced her head to the side, booze pouring down her chest. Her wet clothes would have made her colder, but at this point she felt nothing. Words from a manuscript she'd read when she was twelve muddled through her fading thoughts.

'There will come a time when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you.' Another quote followed from a different source. 'I want my expiration date to be a long time from now. Like a Cheeto.' Consciousness dimming, a final thought entered her mind: 'What the hell's a Cheeto?' And then she fell into Octavia's lap.

Anya feathered her fingers over Lexa's cheek as they lay under several blankets. "I think picking Clarke to take over as Commander was a good choice. Took you long enough to find someone though. Your Council died half a year ago, and if you'd waited any longer to change the guard, certain factions would have used that as an opportunity to force their agenda."

"My first choice refused to accept the position."

"Sorry, but I'll never understand why you even tried to pick me after I refused the mantle more than once." Anya rolled onto her back and stared at the patchwork ceiling. "I have more power than I want. And being leader cost me my child. And it cost you Costia. Why anyone would want to lead mystifies me."

"Because peace is built on the back of sacrifice and those who are capable need to think of their people before themselves. You know that as well as I do." Lexa lifted herself up to study Anya. "You could have another child."

"The scar tissue in my womb disagrees."

"I didn't know." Lexa pressed her cheek to Anya's. "You train wonderful leaders, Anya. You'd make a wonderful mother. I'm sorry that you never got more than a few months as one."

"It's late and we have yet to respect our dead." Anya turned away from Lexa and closed her eyes.

Lexa sighed as she lay back down, staring at Anya's mane and shoulder.

The sound of her babies crying bolted Clarke awake but her brain didn't function until after she'd attached the infants to her chest, which was a task and a half. Viola didn't want to latch on right and balancing her and Sebastian at the same time took some puzzling out. When she scanned around, she realized that she and her children were alone in the room. Just enough light made it through the cracks to see that.

In this moment, where the only sounds were suckling infants, Clarke allowed herself to grieve. She let herself grieve not only for Murphy and the other warriors she thought of as family, but for the entire Ark. The light from the Ark had been missing from the Sky for longer than it should have been. They'd never managed to contact it. Any hope of the Ark's survival lived in fairy tales and wishful thinking. It was time to forget her time living in the Sky.

She kept her sobbing under just enough control to not disturb the babies while she broke apart on the inside. Her heart anguished over how much she'd lost, how much her children wouldn't have, and how alone she was in all this now.

Sebastian and Viola finished eating with wide eyes. Clarke rinsed out their mouths and changed their nappies. Each of them held one of her fingers in their tiny grips. Viola chewed the tip and held on as tight as she could, while Sebastian flexed his fingers and grabbed his mother's in different places, exploring. But Clarke stared off into the middle distance, unaware.

Morning came and nothing had changed. It took Nyko and Sim checking on them for Clarke to feign life. Sim picked up both babies with practiced ease, and Nyko asked questions about the health of both Clarke and her children. When he was satisfied that they were well, he nodded and stood up. "The dead have started to arrive, Commander."

"I'll be out in a minute, Nyko. I need to dress."

He bowed his head and left.

With stiff arms, Clarke donned her armor-re-purposed rubber from tires and metal from anything they could find, with a wool sash. She applied her face paint with practiced ease, laced her boots, and then left her house to join the others in preparing the dead for their pyre. No matter their station, everyone worked together in washing and wrapping the bodies. The affair started long before the last of the procession of bodies emerged from the woods.

She knew the names of everyone that had died; knew their families, their dreams, their quirks; and seeing them, so many of them laid out and unmoving, drained her. Moving to the next body with her bucket of scented water and oilskin wraps, Clarke died inside a little more. She pushed the hair out of this one's face revealing Luther, a bullet wound in his cheek and another just above the hairline.

Her movements mechanical, Clarke stopped seeing anything other than the memories of her and Murphy training Luther, teasing him, joining him and his family for meals, hunting with him, and loving him like a little brother. Before she finished wrapping his face, she kissed his cheek above the bullet hole. "May we meet again." With a deep breath, she stood up and said she needed a break before heading to her hut.

The moment she stepped through the door, she heard Murphy making baby noises. She threw the curtain to their room aside and rushed to a stop when she saw him, battered and cut, but alive and holding Viola while Sebastian slept next to him. "My Murphy."

"Hey, Clarke!" He smiled at her like nothing had happened. Like there hadn't been a huge battle where almost everyone had died. Like it was just any other day. They gazed at each other for a moment before he saw her distress. "Clarke? What's wrong."

"I thought you were dead." She stumbled to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, making sure not to disturb the babies.

He reached back to cradle her head with his free hand, turning his own head to kiss her hair, forehead and eyes. "I'm okay. Didn't anyone tell you? I stayed with the dead to scare off scavengers."

"No. No one said anything." She stroked his face when she felt his temper flare. "Don't get upset. It's been insane around here. The injured and returned needed taken care of. And we've been preparing the fallen all day."

"Yeah, okay." He didn't seem calm though. His muscles felt tense under her hands.

Sebastian fussed, and the parents saw to their children before returning them to the care of Simone so they could tend to their obligations.

Murphy watched Clarke light the pyre and thought about Jasper and Monty and Miller and how they didn't get this kind of ceremony. Was there anyone that would mourn their deaths? The image of them lying massacred on the floor wouldn't leave him. Haunted by the memory of Monty cradling what was left of Jasper's head, he sniffed and rubbed his arm under his nose. His anger in that moment had led him to lock all those kids in a room before setting the charges on the missiles that had been sitting in the Mountain Men's arsonal. And while he might be able to fool everyone else into thinking he was okay, he knew he never would be. For months he'd fooled himself into thinking he had a soul, but now he knew the truth.

With a glance at Clarke again, he thought, 'She need not know.' And with a glimpse at Octavia and Raven, holding hands, he decided that they didn't need to know either.

Indra caught his eye with a knowing and kindred nod. She was someone he could share this side of himself with. While he'd be Clarke's spouse, he'd be Indra's second.

A smirk tugged at the edges of his lips. Finn had died believing that Clarke Murphy were lovers; that they'd had sex, a lot of it; and that she'd chosen that over sex with Finn Collins, Spacewalker extraordinaire and all-around heart-throb. Truth was, Murphy didn't like sex. Had no use for it. He knew that sex would never lose its stranglehold on people, at least not before every last human had become worm food. So Finn being crazed over losing that to Murphy amused him.

His smile disappeared when he saw the empty look on Clarke's face. He took her hand and squeezed because he knew it would comfort her. Sex or no, he loved Clarke and the twins. They were his home, and he was glad the Ark had died, because if it hadn't, he would never have found one.

In all the children's games he'd ever played, the person who made it home was the winner.

End