You feel tired, more than you think you've ever felt. The winter season leaving you drained, and the Azgeda bandits a constant, annoying, juvenile thorn in your side. You can't quite figure out why Azgeda is causing problems for the Coalition. You don't know.

But you do. It is always the same with her.

Since the fall of the Mountain you haven't rested, haven't slept, not properly, thoughts never straying far from that one thing that itches and writhes and buries itself into the recesses of your mind.

You now find yourself, back straight, shoulders squared, striding aimlessly, purposefully through the war camp that has sprung up, warriors greeting you with soft murmurs and you return their greetings with a nod of your head. You don't realise you've found your way to your tent until a guard greets you, moving to step aside.

But you don't enter. Something tells you to turn and to cast your gaze just once more across the war camp. So you do.

And you see her.

You see her, a tightly wrapped bundle tucked snug under her arm, body clad in the dark brown and green furs and leathers you come to expect from a Trikru warrior, a deadly blade strapped to her thigh, one across her back.

She looks well you think. Tired maybe, but you recognise that it is from exercise and not the demons that you live with. And you think she looks healthy and strong. But you think, more importantly, she looks alive.

But, she must sense you gazing upon her, you see her head turning and her eyes roaming the war camp, searching and searching until they land upon you. And just for a moment you think you feel a barely there spark, a soft rumble in the core of your being as blue meets green. You think you smile then, it must be faint, but you think you feel your lips quirk up at the corners, and your cheeks twitch just a bit, just a fraction.

And you see her eyes sparkle as the light hits them in just the right way. You've missed them.

You've missed her.

But then she turns, hearing her name being called and you too fade and slip back into the chaos that is now your existence.

To say that things between you and Cleo were awkward would be a monumental understatement. You don't think you actually called her Lexa, don't think you actually voiced any of the thoughts you had running through your mind, but regardless, you had pushed her and pushed up against her and done some exceptionally stupid things. One thing in particular and you grimace at the thought, and you can't help but wonder what Lexa's expression would be, incredibly amusing probably, if she were to have walked in on you and Cleo, with Cleo's face in your hands and you kissing her passionately.

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts,

You realise you were angry. You were hurt. You were feeling.

But you don't blame Cleo, you think you can even accept what she did, what she had to do to. You don't think you can hold it against her for sending reports to Heda about you, not really - but maybe you can imagine punching them both in the face next time you're at the training grounds - that never ceases to remove some frustrationsyou've had burning through you.

And you think you understand, too. You aren't stupid. Stubborn? Sure, but you're smart enough to really know what's going on in your mind by now, after all this time. But still, it gives you pause, makes you really think, really consider the why of the situation.

So you do.

You stoke the flame that burns softly in the middle of your hut, gaze flickering over to Yasmin's sleeping form, hair still sticking out wildly, and you smile for a moment before your mind drifts from situation to situation you've had, memories shifting back and forth of experiences shared, of lives lost. You think of being trapped, alone with Lexa, a raging beast and a sword the only thing preventing you both from being torn, limb from limb, and that infuriating, selfless, silly, sacrificial offer to give herself up, for you to let go and leave her. And you snort.

You selfless fucking idiot.

What's that they say though? The one's that are important are the ones that can hurt you the most? You guess it's true.

You now make sure Yasmin is with you almost constantly if you have to go anywhere for more than a few moments - a repeat of the fiasco that is Tobias and his rangers not on the table. You know you aren't her mother, can never replace her father, but you can't help but care and feel responsible, and perhaps you can be a sister as well as a mentor for your young second. You know she cares for you too.

You smile then, as you watch her finish a suture, before wiping the wound carefully and dressing it before she smiles up at the warrior, a man, maybe not much older than yourself, face still showing the signs of youth. He smiles then, inspects the bandages Yasmin has wrapped and then leaves with an affectionate ruffling of her hair.

"Good work," you smile at her, and she ducks her head, embarrassed and a slight blush to her cheeks but still, you see the pride in her eyes and you're sure it's reflected in your own, "You might not need me much longer," you joke.

She rolls her eyes then, a laugh and then a flick of her hair, "Maybe you should be the second," and you laugh too, all too happy to continue the easy banter that flows back and forth between you both as you continue to patch up the near constant stream of warriors that trickle into the healers hut, all sporting slight, superficial wounds of various shapes and sizes.

Your afternoon continues like this for a while longer, a few hours you think, by the movement of the sun and you think you might be able to finish early, the number of warriors requiring medical aid slowing down when you're interrupted by the door banging open.

"Wanheda!" A women, dark skinned and fierce eyed, dressed in light leather armour, hair clinging to her face, sweaty and windswept calls, head poked into the room, "You're needed at the camp outside the walls," it's urgent, breathless from her run here. You glance at Yasmin then, to see that she is already rushing to pack any medical supplies that might be needed before tossing the bag to you, then you're both out the door, following swiftly behind the woman as she details what has happened.

"We've got wounded arriving on horseback, some are serious but not near death, but we thought you'd be able to help," she explains, quickly retying her hair back where thick brown strands had broken free. You nod your understanding, beginning to go over steps, thinking over best ways to treat the number of injuries you might be faced with, all the while wondering what went wrong during their training.

You realise the war camp - and truly it is a war camp now - is much larger than you had initially thought when you break through the trees and come to the open clearing. Seemingly overnight more tents have sprung up, fires burn in their pits and warriors mill about, some leisurely in their pace, but others weaving in and out and between tents carrying supplies and what you notice to be bandages, reddened and soaked in blood. You turn to Yasmin, to make sure she's ok, to make sure she is still with you and you see her eyes wide with shock and you worry for only a brief second before she catches your eye, grits her teeth and clenches her jaw.

At the moment, you're too focused on Yasmin and trying to understand why so many might be wounded to worry about too much else.

If you weren't so focused though, you would have noticed the familiar tent that stood out from the rest, erected in the middle of the war camp.

The woman leads you to a large tent, larger than you've seen in a long, long time and she quickly pulls the flaps open, revealing a familiar sight, rows upon rows of beds, some already occupied by bloodied warriors, some with clear gashes across their bodies, some you think with broken bones and a few with arrow shafts protruding from thighs and torsos and shoulders.

You think back to when the rangers arrived, and realise just how near danger you might actually be.

The woman quickly ushers you to the closest warrior, another woman, an arrow protruding from her thigh, fletching a dull, common grey, her teeth grit in a tense grimace. She greets you then, a murmured Wanheda, before you're pushing her back and down to lay flat on the bed, quickly rummaging through your pack.

You give a warning of this might hurt before you start cutting away her pants leg, revealing a jagged puncture wound that seeps blood, but luckily, you don't think it's infected, not yet anyway. You're glad to find that the arrow went clean through, the tip sticking out the other side of her thigh and you carefully prod and poke around muttering words of apology when the warrior hisses.

You think - and hope - that it hasn't severed an artery, you think it hasn't or she wouldn't be awake right now, but regardless, you worry, just a bit, "Hold her down," you say, looking up at the warrior who escorted you here, still lingering by the foot of the bed, you turn to Yasmin then about to tell her what you need, but she's already holding out the suturing kit, clean bandages laid out and healing paste ready. You give her a warm smile.

"The name's Dala," Your would-be assistant says to you, hands firmly holding your patient by the shoulders, and you throw her a quick smile in recognition.

"This is going to hurt," you say, before quickly snapping the end of the arrow off, removing the fletching. You pause then, glance to the wounded warrior who nods for you to proceed, jaw clenched tightly.

You continue working on your patient after you've pried the arrow from her thigh, cleaning carefully before applying healing past directly to the wound. You're partway through suturing, Yasmin providing fresh bandages when needed when Dala speaks again, "You're lucky," you look up at her to see she is holding up the arrow head, tip to her nose, "the arrow wasn't poisoned."

Your patient snorts then, "They are cowards, Azgeda, too afraid to attack us outright so they sneak and hide and pretend to be Bandits,"

"Why not use poison?" you interject, curiosity spiking.

"They can deny that it's Azgeda warriors attacking us, to avoid bringing Coalition law against them," Dala answer anger colouring her voice, her eyes dark and troubled, "Queen Nia's playing games, that much is certain,"

You mull over what you've been told as you continue your suturing.

The rest of the day is spent in the healers tent, Yasmin a great help, even handling the less serious patients on her own. Dala also stays close, providing what little aid she can as you move from patient to patient. Conversation, you find, flows easily between the both of you. She tells you she is part of Tobias' rangers and has been serving with him for a number of years, that she enjoys it, despite not being able to see her parents often, who live in a village further south, but who are both thankfully still living.

"This whole Azgeda-bandit thing, It's more serious, isn't it?" you speak out, while cleaning a gash that is - funnily enough - across a mans backside, and you can't help but chuckle despite the situation, ignoring the man's futile grumbles.

"Yeah, it's bad," Dala sighs, shaking her head, "the villages further north are already full of wounded, most only lightly like we saw here today, and can return to battle soon, but the bandits attack in smaller numbers and so they can keep striking swiftly, even if we outnumber them greatly. And Heda can not go into Azgeda lands to deal with the problem at the source," you don't miss the emphasis she puts on that, "without any proof that it is Azgeda, and not just lowly bandits,"

"What about the other clans?" you ask then, "won't they be willing to help?"

"Yes," your patient says in reply, wincing slightly as you tug one end of his wound closed, "Yujleda and Trishana are already bringing their own warriors up to help contain, they would launch a suicide attack on Azgeda merely on Heda's orders,"

Well, that's certainly strong ties you think.

"Sha, and Trikru would too, but that is not how the Coalition works," Yasmin pipes up, eager to join in on the conversation,

"Yeah, and the other clans won't tolerate an attack of any kind, not without evidence or unless attacked first," Dala finishes with a sigh.

"So, I guess we're screwed then?" You don't see what else could be done, not without hard evidence of Azgeda involvement.

Plus, you don't even know why they'd be willing to antagonise the Coalition.

You hear Yasmin grumble then, and even your patient makes a noise of disgust, before he adds "Azgeda attack with no honour, I would kill them all. Cowards, every single one of them,"

Dala laughs at that though, before saying, "Is that why you are lying face down, with your ass in the air waiting for the mighty Wanheda to heal you?"

And you let out a bark of laughter, immensely thankful you'd just finished suturing his wound or you probably would have stuck the needle somewhere else entirely as you laugh, head thrown back, wiping away the tears of laughter with the back of your hand.

You're glad, that despite everything that is happening, you can still find levity in the situation.

And in situations like this? You think that life really is about more than just surviving.

You sit in your hut now, the fire casting a warming glow, your arms sore, shoulders and back aching from having spent the majority of the day hunched over patients, but it's a discomfort you welcome, knowing that you've helped people, no matter how trivial it may seem.

Yasmin sits in front of you, a flask of warm drink in her hand and a slice of bread in the other, topped with a range of cheeses and slices of meat. You bring a brush through her hair every so often, trying to tame the wild strands into a presentable braid - every other brush stroke a little harder as you try and remove the knots you find.

"Clarke," it's soft, softer than you're used to and your hand stills as you hum your response to Yasmin, she waits a moment as her thoughts catch up with her before she makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat then scoots around to face you, careful as not to spill her drink or drop the food in her hands and you look at her, eyebrows raised in question.

"Today…" she starts, her brows furrows and nose crinkled in thought, "…no one died," and you nod, thinking you know where this might be going, "But…" you can tell she's struggling for the right words to say, of how to voice what's on her mind, but you let her think for a moment longer, you even think back to when you had had the same conversation with your Mother after a particularly long day in the Ark infirmary, "What do you do?" Yasmin asks quietly, "when you can't save someone? Even if you want to, but they are too hurt?"

You think about what to say, sure that it will stay with Yasmin for the rest of her life, you owe it to her to give her the truth, even if it's brutal and unkind.

"There are things healers must accept" you start, gaze soft and tender, taking in Yasmin's own, eyes bright and large in the fire lit glow. "Things everyone must accept," here you pause and take a calming breath, and think for just a moment, "a baker must accept that sometimes he will burn a loaf of bread," it's a crude analogy, but you think Yasmin understands where you're going, "and warriors," you pause, thinking of Yasmin's father, and you see her lips tremble just slightly, "they must accept that there is danger, and that their fight may end one day," you reach out now and cradle Yasmin's face in your hand, thumb brushing away a lone tear as it falls down her cheek and she leans in to the touch, just a bit, but just enough, "and healers," you smile softly, warmly at her, "we must accept, even if we try very, very hard, that sometimes we can't save everyone," you feel wetness pooling in the corner of your own eyes as you think of your own father, of Wells and of Finn, of everything else that had happened since you landed on the ground and how you had to accept them in order to move on, in order to live. And you think you understand now, so when you blink and you feel the tears fall you don't hide them. And when Yasmin reaches out and brushes away your own tears you lean into her touch, holding her small hand in yours, "We can not save everyone, Yasmin, and it might make us feel sadness, or even anger" you add softly, and she looks at you with all the childish innocence that she possess, "but we have to accept that things happen, that are out of our control. Do you understand?" and she nods softly, "and when things hurt, so very, very much," you continue,

"It means we care."

Yasmin turned around sometime later that night, you still have her cradled in between your legs, arms wrapped in a protective embrace and her back resting against your chest, faint mumbles falling from her lips as she dreams quietly. You couldn't bear to move her, to disturb her and get her into bed, not after such a hard day. So you're happy just to sit, the fire enough to warm you both for the time being.

Her hair tickles your chin slightly, and you can't help but feel a little pride in the fact that you were able to at least get most of it going in the one direction. You chuckle quietly as you realise your efforts will have to be repeated in the morning. But you don't mind, you even look forward to it. You hear Yasmin mumble a bit louder in her sleep, and you kiss the top of her head and tighten your embrace just a bit, and lull her back, further into her peaceful sleep. You aren't willing to give this up, not yet. So you sit. And think, and your thoughts drift to Camp Jaha once again, of your mother, of Bellamy, Octavia and Lincoln, Raven and Monty and Jasper. But this time you find it comforting and you smile.

You think that maybe it's time. You think you're ready to go back.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a quiet knock on your door though, and you look up from the fire and call out quiet come in. The door opens unsure and tentative, Cleo silhouetted by the faint moonlight, her usually braided her loose and flowing freely past her shoulders, the glow of the fire luminous and glowing, painting her in swathes of reds and oranges that play and dance beautifully with the shade of her hair. She's wearing a dress too, you notice, hanging loosely from her shoulders and ending just above her knees where it flutters gently with the breeze, you see her tattoo now, in greater detail than you've ever seen before, you see the intricate twisting and turning and weaving of the vine as it makes its way up the inside of her forearm, swirling loops around her bicep and tucking behind her back. It's beautiful you think, and for the first time in a very, very long while you think that maybe you'd like to pick up a paintbrush and put it to a canvas.

"Can I sit?" she asks, uncertain and a little shy, "I don't want to disturb," She looks to Yasmin now, still nestled against you.

"It's fine, she's a heavy sleeper," you smile, as you motion to the space next to you. Cleo takes a few tentative steps forwards into your hut closing the door behind her, before more confidently sitting herself down besides you.

A comfortable silence hangs between you, and you wait for her to say what's on her mind - you think you already know - and you glance to her, every now and then out the corner of your eye and you see the way her skin glitters just slightly, and how the glow of the fire casts dark shadows across her face, and how the flame dances and flickers in her eyes.

You think then, that in another life, maybe things could have been different between the both of you. The thought doesn't sadden you though, and you're a bit surprised at the revelation.

Acceptance is a funny thing, you think.

"I always assumed that you and Lexa were friends," She says eventually, voice soft, gaze still focused on the fire, "close friends, but friends nonetheless," she turns to you briefly and you hold her gaze for a moment and she smiles ever so slightly, her lips quirking up at the corners, and she looks so much like her that it almost hurts, but it doesn't. Not anymore, "until you kissed me."

You bite your lip at that, a blush spreading slowly and quietly across your cheeks, "sorry," you whisper, eyes never wavering from hers.

"I am sorry, too, Clarke," she replies, turning more fully to face you, "for a lot of things," and you understand.

You really do.

You reach out then, tentative but sure and you clasp her hand in yours and it's warm, rough from years of handling a weapon but you can't help but feel comforted. It's steady, and grounding.

Like home.

So you sit, hand clasped in Cleo's, bodies close, shoulders brushing ever so gently, Yasmin cradled against you.

"Friends?" you whisper, and you see Cleo smile then, it's bittersweet and wistful. But it's a smile all the same.

"Friends."

You wake the following day, and you find it warmer than it has been in many mornings. Yasmin unsurprisingly still fast asleep, furs draped over her body leaving feet dangling over the edge of the bed, and you can't help think that she looks just a bit lankier today. Its just your imagination you tell yourself.

Cleo left late last night with a soft caress of your shoulder a whispered goodnight on her lips before she walked away but you don't think things will change between you, not much at least.

And so you pull yourself out of bed, running a finger over the sole Yasmin's expose foot, earning you surprised yelp as it shoots back under the covers and you ready yourself for the day ahead of you a smile on your face.

Your morning was spent much the same as yesterday's. You had worked the morning in the large healers tent in the war camp, more injured having arrived over night, and you're thankful that none seem to be considerably hurt. Yasmin was there, as always, working diligently next to you, often performing sutures or checking for concussions while you performed some more complex removals of arrows.

By late afternoon you leave Yasmin under the Watchful eye of Dala, with stern instructions on what she can and can not say, and so you find yourself at the training grounds in the village, blade held comfortably in your hand and a towering Tobias before you, battle axe held firmly in his hands and a twinkle in his eye.

"Remember that you are small, not as strong as me, but potentially faster" He says, slowly swinging the axe in front of him now, "so you must remember to use that to your advantage," and he waits for just a moment, eyeing you carefully before he's lunging at you, axe swinging in a smooth, downwards arc.

You saw it coming though and you timed it perfectly, a blade held firmly in your left hand and a second still in its sheath at your back, sidestepping moments before the axe could touch you, you slip under the swing shifting the first blade slightly, to protect your side as you move closer into him and you draw your second, aiming to slice the inside of his arm in one smooth motion, but he shifts his stance, dropping his centre of gravity just in time, pinning the blade between his arm and his body before you can complete the motion, and he twists sharply, blade flying out of your hand.

You grimace from the loss of it, and duck away kicking dirt up with your heel, moving into a low crouch shifting your first blade into a reverse grip in your right hand, an attempt to throw him off with a change of fighting style.

Your eyes dart left and right, searching for where you dropped the first weapon only to see that Tobias has placed himself between you and it, a victorious smirk on his face.

"What can you do now? Think of the advantages that I have and the ones you have," he instructs, axe poised out in front of him, ready and waiting. And you know that his axe is heavy, but deadly, even a blow from the handle could cause considerable damage, but it's slow to bring to bear in close quarters so you start moving around him quickly, fainting left and right, probing for weakness, and trying to trip up his footwork, to get through his guard as he shifts one foot back, to the sides, and shuffles back and forth, all to keep you further away than your blade can reach.

You think you can exploit an opening when you line yourself up with Tobias directly between you and your second blade again, so you rush him, faint left, right, roll under the swing of his axe but his knee is there, it strikes you in the gut lifting your feet off the ground but you move with it, letting your body rise, and, pushing up using the momentum of his knee and you thrust your blade into the slit cut into the axe head that reduces weight and you give a hard twist, axe loosening just enough in the death grip Tobias holds that his arms fall to the side, just barely, but enough and now you're straddling his torso, knees on his chest, your momentum carrying him back and you with him until he lands hard on his back,

But you're already moving, already rolling from the fall and your scoop up your weapon, swivel around on your knees, using the spin to throw dirt up into the air, anything to distract him, and you lunge low, blade aimed at his chest, he brings the handle of his axe in a sweep across his chest, catching the blade but you spin with it, and as you spin, you reach out, grasping the second blade still nestled in the axe head with your free hand your fingers just barely closing around it as you spin away from his blow and then your blade is at his throat, Tobias having exposed himself to the second blade in his motion of blocking your first lunge. And you smile, your own victorious smirk mirrored on your face.

His face lights up in surprise just briefly, before he laughs and claps you solidly on the back, sending you tripping forward under the force, words of encouragement and congratulations ringing in your ears as you pick yourself off, Tobias already moving back to the centre of the training ground, preparing for another attack.

With aching muscles, thanks to Tobias throwing you to the ground one too many times, you find yourself back in the war camp, medical supplies tucked under your arm, as you search for Yasmin, sure she can't have gone too far. You're about to start yelling for her when you feel the back of your neck prickle, an all too familiar feeling of being watched washing over you.

So you turn, searching for the gaze that set your senses tingling. You scan the crowded warriors around you, most are focused on their own tasks, some catch you eye and give a warm nod in recognition. You almost give up but then your eye catches a tent that stands out from the rest.

And you recognise it. You could never forget it. And your eyes land on the lone figure standing before it, and you see her.

You see the pauldron resting atop her shoulder, the red of her sash flowing down her body

You see her and she's staring at you from across the war camp. You expect for her to avert her eyes, to turn her head, to pretend that you didn't just catch her staring at you.

But she doesn't.

She holds your gaze and you hold hers. Moments tick by, each a drop in the river of your shared history. You think you see something barely there flash across her face,

Longing? Loss? Lo-

"Clarke!" You turn to see Yasmin and Dala, helping a wounded warrior to the medical tent and you follow, briefly glancing over your shoulder, only to find that she's gone.