Notes:

I wrote this because my general feeling is that the writers of the show will not put Clarke and Lexa together in the way I want. So, I said to myself, "I'll write what I want and read it over and over to make myself feel better." Be nice, please? I have written very little to no fan fiction, so I'm like, new and all that. Ok? Ok.

Translations for the Trigedasleng I used are at the bottom of the story.

Oh oh oh! ANNNND.

This is a slow burn. There will be no immediate fluff and/or smut. Cause Clarke's classy, alright? She doesn't just forgive and flirt, and I don't blame her. I tried to write inline with what the characters would actually do and all that stuff.

Also, the title of the piece, "The Show Must Go On", is taken from the song by Queen with the same name. Each chapter will probably be named after a line in the song. Why? Because Freddy Mercury was a God, and would have absolutely shipped Clexa. That's why.

Constructive criticism i.e. spelling, grammatical errors, general plot line holes and the like are not only appreciated but wanted! As long as they are polite. Yeah?

Feel like discussing your undying love for Clexa? Want to see the loads of pretty pictures I upload onto my tumblr? Who am I to deny you.

Dia

Sighing, Clarke squatted down in order to inspect the wound at eye level. It was deep and oozing blood, but it wasn't gaping and she couldn't see any subcutaneous fatty tissue. Flicking her gaze up to take in the tearless condition of the small feminine face that belonged to the bleeding leg, she rose with a groan. The girl hadn't said a word since striding into the healing tent a few moments ago, but she knew it had to hurt if she was here. The Floukru people rarely came to her when the regular healer Cheya was gone unless they were on death's door. She headed over to the wooden dresser that Cheya used to store the different medicinal herbs that she had been teaching Clarke how to use over the past six months, wrenching one of the rough drawers open and removing a pack of dried flowers and a jar of honey.

"You are lucky. You don't need stitches." Clarke muttered. Small green eyes fixed on Clarke's blue ones as she bent to look at the sizable gash again.

"Yu laik luky." She clarified in Trigedasleng, grimacing at the dirt surrounding the cut. Clarke had long ago given up on explaining how important it was to have some kind of hygiene to the Floukru people. Although they could be described as obsessed with water, soap was another matter.

The little girl just watched her, calm and motionless. This seemed to be a trait that all Grounders had in common. Little words, lots of staring. It was just as well. Even though this clan was not so far away from the Trikru people, their different accent was thick enough to make it difficult for her to understand their warped version of Trigedasleng anyways. At first, she hadn't even been able to tell if they were speaking the same language. Many of the Floukru people spoke conversational English, as they were mostly all traders and fighters, but they avoided speaking it if they could. Or maybe they just avoided speaking to her if they could.

Clarke took the lid off the pot of honey and dipped her fingers in, wrinkling her nose at the feeling before she slathered some on a strip of clean (or as clean as anything got in this place) cloth before crushing petals from one of the dried flowers and sprinkling the crumbled pieces on the honey. Cheya had taught her that a paste of honey and caldoola flower petals would help a wound heal and ward off infection. She had been more than skeptical, but the mixture had proven itself more than once, and it was the thing she used the most now other than a needle and thread. After wrapping the girl's leg with the poultice directly in contact with the bloody cut, she stood and fixed her with what she hoped was an authoritative glare.

"I'm going to give you some of this mixture for you to take with you. Change the dressing every night before bed, and use a clean cloth, you hear me? Check the wound every morning and come back if it gets red and crusty."

The child said nothing as Clarke handed her a small pot of the honey-sludge, so she waved the girl off with a flick of her wrist and a brisk nod. She had learned quickly not to tell the children here to be more careful or to expect a thank you after she tended to one of them. Bone breaks, abrasions, and concussions were a part of life when you were born into one of the twelve Grounder clans. Age and gender obviously did not change that fact. The girl she had just helped couldn't have been over the age of seven, but warrior training started at six in this particular village. This wasn't a world where children could be children.

Clarke felt her heart squeeze at the thought and shook her head, as if to clear it with the motion. Six months had done little to ease the ache she felt at the back of her throat over the innocents she had killed with one pull. She figured that even if she spent the rest of her life healing the sick and wounded, she could never make up for it. But at least she could try.

Straightening her back, she hastily pushed those feelings away and moved to the medicine dresser to check if anything needed to be replenished. Grounders did not revel in their sadness. That was another lesson she had learned here. They were not interested in her self pity. They had made that apparent when she had come to them, bent and broken with pain etched into the gaunt lines of her face. There was little regret to be had among these people, and it was just what she needed. She didn't need soft words and gentle treatment. She didn't need to be told that she had made the right decision. She needed to forget.

She needed to forget the Mountain. She needed to forget Jasper and Maya. She needed to forget the Heda and her green eyes, as she was sure the Commander had already forgotten her. Shaking her head again, she swiped a jug of liquid off the top of the dresser and took a long pull. Green eyes definitely always spell trouble.

The blow landed directly on her cheek, and she knew that if Jos hadn't been holding back, the bone underneath the area would have shattered from the impact. Stumbling back, she tried to steady her reeling mind so that she could ready herself for his next attack, but it was useless. Within a second, she found herself flat on her back, a whoosh of whining air exiting her lungs involuntarily. At least they were training on the beach today, the grit of the sand helping to soften her fall caused by Jos's leg sweep. Jos was grinning above her, and she fought back her agitation at the superior tilt of his chin as he surveyed her.

"You're getting better, Prisa." Jos chuckled, his eyes dancing. Clarke snorted at this, scrambling to her feet and gingerly touching the area he had punched for the impending and inevitable bruise.

"It does not feel like it, Joka." She spat out, allowing her body to fall into the crouching defensive position once again. She was aching all over, her breath still coming in and out a little louder and faster than she would have liked, but she was determined to learn how to fight. She had been training with Jos for almost three months, and on days like today, the pursuit felt more than a little hopeless. When Jos shook his head at her, she blinked in confusion.

"Daun ste plenty." He said, plopping down on the sand and surveying the brackish water.

"Ai laik nou odon!" She replied, flapping her arms impatiently at her sides. Jos only placed his hands behind his head and leaned back closing his eyes.

Kicking the sand, she glared at him, but didn't say anything else. When Grounders don't want to do something or don't want to answer, they just don't. Society full of stubborn assholes. Plopping down next to him in resignation, she huffs and turns her eyes on the water as well.

Clarke was pretty sure that the ocean that was only a few miles away from the village and that she was currently looking at had once been called the Atlantic. They had all learned basic Earth geography on the Ark, but she knew that the landscape of their planet had been changed dramatically in the years they had been gone, carved out by the wars that sent them to space and the resulting climate changes. When she and the 100 had stepped onto soil for the first time, she remembered feeling absolutely stunned by the beauty of their abandoned planet. She had let herself have a minute at most to feel the wonder and awe before sliding back into cautious and responsible Clarke.

That day felt like it had happened in another lifetime and to another person. Had it really been less than a year that she had been on Earth? It had taken mere minutes for her to stop seeing only the beauty in her ancestor's planet and start seeing the danger. All she had thought about since her first footfalls on Earth was survival. The survival of herself and of her people. She had used survival to justify actions that she now knew she would never forgive herself for completely.

Wrapping her arms around her legs and dropping her chin to her knees, Clarke continued to survey the water before her. Jos had offered to teach her how to swim several times, but she had always turned him down. As her previous line of thinking had taught her, the more beautiful the feature, the more inherent the danger when it came to this planet, and the ocean was breathtaking. Clarke figured that she had spent too much time and too many other people's lives on surviving to get herself killed swimming. The Boat People spent most of their lives on or in the water, fishing and taking short trips to other small villages along the shore. Jos had tried to convince her that his expertise and ease in the water would prevent her from drowning, but she still didn't trust the open expanse of blue liquid.

There had been a time when she was wandering, just after Mount Weather, where she had seriously contemplated letting go of her own life. When Jos had found her, emaciated and dangerously dehydrated, she still hadn't been entirely sure if she wanted to be saved. He didn't take no for an answer, and she knew she owed him more than just her life now. No one else knew how hard he had fought to get her just to eat something, and she felt shame heat her cheeks as she remembered it. She knew now that if she had let herself die after all she had done – all the people she had killed – that it would have been a waste.

"Luna wants to see you when we get back." Jos said, breaking Clarke out of her reverie. She felt fear climb up her spine and she locked her gaze on his. Laughing, he smacked her lightly on the back with his wide hand. "Do not worry, little Skai Prisa. You are not in trouble."

Glaring back at him she scooped up a handful of sand and dumped it in his hair before quickly springing up and running back towards the path that led to the village. She may not be as good at him at punching, but she always outran him.

"I do not wish to go." Clarke said stiffly, her hands balled into fists at her sides as she tried to keep her expression at least slightly respectful.

"It does not matter what you wish, Clarke of the Skaikru. You and Jos will leave for Polis tonight. You will pack your things. If you do not obey our Heda's command, you will no longer be welcome here. Either way, you will not be here tomorrow."

Clarke shifted from foot to foot, her lips set in a thin line as she regarded Luna's stoic face. She knew deep down that there was no arguing with the leader. Even the small protest she made could be see as treason here. Lexa had apparently put out a call for healers to come to Polis, and as Cheya was fully trained and needed here, that meant Clarke was to go. When she had asked Luna what the Heda wanted, she had simply stared back at Clarke silently, no answer in her wide-set brown eyes. She felt the anger welling up somewhere deep in her stomach, but she tamped it down, barely managing a curt nod as her answer to Luna before she stomped out of the leader's tent.

Jos caught up with her a moment later, his steps falling into rhythm with hers as they walked towards the tents at the edge of the wide village. She was fighting to stuff down all of the emotions rolling through her body at the moment, so she stayed quiet even though she could feel his eyes on her as they walked. When they reached the home she shared with Cheya, she was surprised to feel a pang of sadness when she gazed at the tent. She had complained about it often, and to be honest, it was a leaky piece of shit that did little to protect her from the cold and the heat, but she realized that it had become home in the past few months.

The semi-permanent tent like structures were large but drafty, made more for the ease of transport and set up than for the life that happened in them. Cheya had told her that the Boat People sometimes had to move their tents because of floods or especially bad storms, but she hated how temporary the lodging seemed. She had often missed the cold glint of metal when staring at the faded fabric patches dotting the tent walls. Grounder life was not comfortable, she thought, ruefully remembering how shocked she had been to learn that most Floukru people didn't sleep with pillows or anything underneath their heads at night.

"You will miss it." Jos said, still and gentle beside her. It was not a question, but a statement, and Clarke knew it was true. Turning towards the Grounder, she nodded slightly once in confirmation. They stood there silently for another minute before Jos turned to her, the obvious affection showing on his face causing Clarke to swallow the lump that rose in her throat.

"You will not be alone in this." He said, placing his hand on the small of her back for just a moment before he turned to walk towards his own (much less leaky) tent. Clarke watched his retreating form, warmth spreading across her chest at the gentle giant's words. Jos was over six feet tall, with wild, bushy hair that fell past his well-muscled shoulders. He was more than a little intimidating when you didn't know that inside he was pretty much a big ole' softy. At the moment, he and Cheya were the closest thing she had to family and friends here.

Jos had asked her many times to tell him what had happened to her. He had pieced together that she had something to do with the Mountain Men disappearing from the small amounts of information she had told him and the rumors that had eventually made their way to Riva. He knew that she carried something "heavy in her heart", he said, and she hadn't denied it. He also knew that she wasn't a fan of Lexa, but he didn't know why. He was smart enough to know, however, that she would not be looking forward to seeing her again.

Lately, she had the feeling that Jos was interested in taking their friendship to another place, and she wasn't sure how to feel about it. He was attractive, but he was also Cheya's only son, and she wasn't sure if she had enough heart left to care for anyone that way anymore.

Thinking of the grumpy healer made her sigh. She was not looking forward to saying goodbye to her, but she could see the woman's cane leaning against the outside wall of the tent, signaling that Cheya was back from checking up on a pregnant woman who had been running a fever. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside. There was no way to avoid this.

"Yu laik na bants." Cheya was at the medicine dresser, taking out small pots. Clarke could see that she had already started to wrap them in bits of cloth in order to keep them safe during the journey. Shaking her head, Clarke stared at the woman's back before replying.

"Sha. Ai laik." Clarke was always amazed at the healer's ability to know everything that was happening in their village before anyone else. "Osir bants nau."

Cheya shook her head and stuffed all of the wrapped pots into a small sack before shuffling towards Clarke and shoving it into her hands.

"Get on with it, then." Cheya barked at her in English before turning to shuffle off into another room in the tent. Rolling her eyes, she caught the woman's arm and spun her around embracing her in a quick hug.

"Mochof." She whispered to her before letting the Cheya go. Almost immediately, she felt the familiar crack of the healer's hand smacking the back of her head like she always did when Clarke made a mistake.

"Branwoda." Cheya grumbled before ambling out of the tent. Clarke laughed out loud, and then quickly clapped her hand over her mouth in surprise. How long had it been since she had laughed like that? She shook her head as she began to pack her things in a small cloth bag she had used to collect medicinal herbs. When she heard someone clear their throat behind her, she whirled around, her heart jumping.

Luna was standing at the entrance of the tent, looking tense as always with a soft looking leather jacket in her hands. Frowning, Clarke stepped towards her, dipping her head in acknowledgement of her leader. Luna held the jacket out to Clarke, and waited until she took it before speaking.

"It is about time that you had a piece of Floukru clothing." She said formally, speaking only in English for Clarke's benefit. "You will be representing us in Polis. You should dress the part."

Clarke recognized both the sentiment and the warning in her statement. She was to be on her best behavior, and would suffer severe consequences if she was not.

"Cheya has said that you have done well while working under her. If you choose to come back to us, you will have a tent here." With that, Luna turned and exited the tent, leaving a stunned looking Clarke in her wake.

When Jos had brought her to this village, she had been told she was allowed to stay for a year at most. Enough time to heal and move on. The offer of a tent and clothing meant that Luna thought she was useful enough to keep. Looking down at the jacket in her hand, she inspected it. It was patched and worn, like everything the Grounders wore, but it was a beautiful gray color and had the Floukru symbol on a patch at the elbow. She slipped it on and stood for a moment, willing herself to stop being so sappy.

Yu laik luky - You are lucky

caldoola - Trigedasleng for Calendula flowers (actually used in natural healing)

Prisa/Skai Prise - Princess/Sky Princess (what Clarke had been called in the rumors about what happened to the Mountain Men)

Joka - Fucker

Daun ste plenty - That's enough

Ai laik nou odon - I am not done

Riva - Name of the village she has been staying in

Skaikru - the Sky People (those from the ark)

Yu laik na bants - You are going to leave

Sha. Ai laik - Yes. I am.

Osir bants nau - We leave now.

Mochof - Thank you.

Branwoda - A person who is too stupid to live.