The boat on the horizon surprised Murphy as he fished close enough to shore that the monster fish thing couldn't get to him, but far enough out that there might be fish. When the monster attacked the boat, the person on board made the brute whimper and disappear.

"Huh. Maybe I should take a look. But then again why would I?" He threw his line out farther and kept part of his attention on the boat as it got closer. In the time it took the boat to get close enough for Murphy to risk getting in the water, he'd caught three fish. The boat looked empty at first, but as Murphy waded closer, he caught sight of a body. They were covered in caked on mud, sand, and blood.

He pulled the boat to shore, his bag of fish slipping down his arm. When the vessel was secure, he turned the person over. They looked familiar but with all the dirt, he couldn't place who it was. until a patch of clean blonde hair fell out from behind the matted disgusting mass.

"Shit." He left her there and fell on his ass in the sand, considering what to do. She'd been the one to cut him down when they hung him. And while it was her accusation that got him in that noose, she'd never wanted to hurt him. On the other hand, she was the one that banished him, leaving him alone and vulnerable. He got tortured because of her, but he didn't think that was what she had wanted to happen to him. She took care of his wounds when he came back to camp. She'd kept the others from killing him. And while she never forgave him for anything, she never treated him poorly. The deciding factor was not wanting to be alone anymore.

Murphy stood up, slung the fish bag over his shoulder again, and picked Clarke out of the boat. He fell on his ass trying to carry her over his arms, so on his second try he slung her over his shoulder. Her grunt told him she was alive.

The fish got tossed in the refrigerator and Clarke got set down in the bathtub. He had to cut the clothes off her. She had several large wounds that hadn't been treated, and her left leg was a giant bruise. He found a gun on her, but it had no ammunition.

Icy water woke her up fast. Her body jerked up, and she punched him in the face. But she was too weak to have any power behind it. He wrestled her down and as the water warmed, she calmed and allowed him to wash her off.

"I liked you better before," he muttered. "You're too skinny now. We'll have to do something about that won't we?"

She didn't respond, but her eyes were saucers as she peered up at him. Her breath hitched every time he got close to her wounds. All the injuries were deep. The puncture on her hip, the abrasion on her back, broken blisters on her feet, a large slice in her thigh, and the burn over her left breast, all looked infected.

When he got up to get the first aid kit, he heard her giggle and splash the now black water.

It took three hours to patch her up because she fought him every step of the way. She cursed him up, down and center, as he cut out the infection the way she had with him. But her fight died after he slathered her with antibiotic cream.

"What happened to you, Griffin?"

Clarke put a finger to her lips. "I was the bad guy. Shh, don't say anything or they'll come get me."

"Who will come get you?" he asked.

"The mountain men." Her whisper wasn't at all quiet, but he nodded and agreed to keep mum on the topic.

"How about I give you a stylish new haircut?" Murphy pulled the plug on the drain, and watched Clarke frown as the water disappeared, leaving a layer of scum. "You can take another bath when we're done."

"Fine," she said as she picked up a washcloth and tried to wipe the grime away, succeeding in mostly just moving it around.

"Hold still so I can cut your hair."

"OK." But she didn't stop moving, so he gave up and helped her clean the tub. He took clippers to her hair. She moved too much for him to use scissors. So instead of short hair, she ended up with no hair. His hair had grown out since clipping it, but it was still too short for his liking.

Clarke rubbed her head. "Fuzzy. Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear, Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair, Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy was he?"

He rinsed her off in the shower and wrapped a robe around her. "You've got to be hungry."

With her head cocked to the side, he could see the fog lift. "Murphy?"

"The one and only. I was about to make fish, you want some?"

She nodded. "Thank you." This time her whisper was barely audible. She sat at a bar stool and watched him clean the fish. Often her mouth opened like she wanted to ask something, but she never did and he wasn't in the mood for crazy, so he said nothing. The sound of fish sizzling in the pan scared Clarke until he showed her where the noise came from.

While he cooked she explored, but he kept one eye on her. She'd lost all her marbles, and he worried that she would burn the only comfortable place on this planet down. When she found the plates and put two out for them before taking her seat again, he smiled. Perhaps she had a few marbles left. She even got the right utensils out.

He served them a fish a piece, and she smiled big and bright but kept silent. Alcohol wouldn't do her any good, so he got her water, while he poured himself some whiskey. "What was it they used to say? Bon something or other?"

"Bon appetite." The bruises along her arms made her wince with every forkful. But the fish tasted good if the ecstasy on her face was anything to go by.

Murphy spent several minutes watching her eat before he remembered his own food.

There was only one bed in the lighthouse, but it was huge and he would rather share and know where she was, then have one of them take the couch and have her hurt herself.

It'd been a long day, and she seemed to think so too. He curled up behind her as he covered them with the quilt. She was asleep before his head hit his pillow. "Sleep well, Clarke." He wrapped an arm around her waist and drifted off himself.