He doesn't know how long it's been, not in days, but he catalogues the time in the changes amongst their people. The way Raven stops pouring two cups of tea each morning, that moment when Jasper again offered a shaky smile to his best friend, how Octavia's blatant righteousness slowly melts to a concerned to frown. Stitch by stitch, step by step, they are healing. He pictures them sometimes through her eyes, tries to notice Miller's nervous ringing of his beanie between his fingers as his father sizes up the brilliant boy he finally brought home, how Fox picks fresh flowers for the breakfast table each day. But mostly, he just keeps his promise. And he tries to ignore the longing looks towards the trees, the pointless expeditions suggested once a week, the empty tent beside his own.
One day he discovers Jaspers goggles draped over the pole where Finn was slain, and he sees it in the boy's eyes, the silent "please come home".
They get word from Grounder warriors, that the truce shall remain, that trade will commence in spring; that the alliance will prosper. She is still looking after them.
When she walks back out of those trees the browns of autumn have set in. Monty, who has taken to working just outside the gate when possible, is the first to spot her, the first to run to her with a tearful laugh and throw his arms around her. It's Miller who alerts him, throws open the gates, and radios with a breathless "she's back". He finds Octavia standing before her, speaking grounder, poised for a fight, before they quickly embrace, and her gaze finally meets his.
Her hair is shorter, just brushing her shoulders, and her cheeks look hollowed. But her eyes are alive again, and when she looks at him he can see the flash of pain in them before she cracks a half-smile and utters a "how about that drink?" He chuckles before pulling her to him, feeling the new sharp edges to her body hidden beneath the new fluffy coat, with a "just in time, I hear the new still is finally operational".