Clarke is tired and more than a little fed up by the time she hobbles into her quarters. The brace that Raven made her does its job, but it rubs and pinches and, by the end of the day, her back is sore from lugging it around. All she wants is a hot bath and a good, solid ten hours of sleep. She knows neither are likely to be had.

The committee meeting with her mother went surprisingly well. Blueprints for a community layout and Raven's demonstration of the new electrical setup had kept Kane's mouth shut. Abby listened quietly, the blank expression on her face only readable to those close to her. She was impressed and more than a little proud. Clarke could see it in her mother's eyes, the barely noticeable twitches at the corners of her mouth. A little tremble of unadulterated love, something Clarke hadn't felt in so long, shivered through her limbs and made her throat tight as she waited expectantly for Abby's response. She will never admit it out loud, but making her mother proud is something she still strives for.

As she passes through the last archway leading to Bellamy's quarters, there's a moment of unease. She's fallen into a routine with Bellamy, taking turns getting up when Attie cries out in the night, doing household chores in concert most evenings. They're playing house. Clarke shies away from the thought and the discomfort it brings.

Not that playing house is even something to aspire to anymore. She can only recall such pictures of domesticity coming from the thumb-worn novels that somehow ended up on the Ark. There were no houses to live in, no kitchens to clean, no linens to wash. She can't imagine her mother and father ever having stood shoulder to shoulder in front of a steaming vat of dirty laundry, laughing as they dragged the sopping mess against the bumpy washboard. Everyone on the Ark had their duties: cooks in the kitchen, launderers in Bay Two, scientists in Engineering, caretakers in the nursery, doctors in Sickbay. It was a very fine way of communal living, but now she wonders if something was lost doing things that way… something intimate.

She feels a bond of shared life with Bellamy, but it scares her a little that he's the first thing she looks for when she walks through the doorway into their compartment. Every day they spend together strengthens this attachment she has and it terrifies her She doesn't like the sinking feeling of disappointment in the pit of her stomach when he's away. She's not prepared to admit that she misses him when he's gone, and so she tells herself she doesn't, and works to push away the need she feels.

When she walks through the door there is no Bellamy tonight, no Attie, and she can't help but be a little bit relieved, even as her eyes scan for remnants of their presence. There's a only a little flutter of an ache in her chest, and she quickly tamps it down.

His bed is made neatly, the threadbare throw folded and sitting on top of the single, flattened pillow. The faded blue sling he wears over his shoulder to haul the little girl around is gone. She resists the urge to cross over to his side, to run her fingers along the soft seams of the lumpy mattress. It's not hard to turn back to her own space, at least not very; she's exhausted after all. The muscles in her lower back scream in protest as she plops down onto the cot he procured for her. It's soft with padding - something she interrogated Bellamy about to no end. He merely shrugged, denying any possibility that he'd spent precious time scavenging for something soft to lay her battered body on, that maybe he'd ventured up into the mountain one last time.

They hadn't announced they were living together. Abby had merely raised an eyebrow in surprise when Clarke let it slip. Any other funny looks or comments were swiftly squelched by an angry glare from either her or Bellamy. For the most part, people haven't wished to deal with an angry Bellamy, even less an angry Clarke.

There's a loud clatter as the brace falls to the floor, buckles releasing for the first time in many hours. Clarke bends her knee as far as it will go, trying out the motions her mother suggested for physical therapy. She gasps at the twinge of pain, and eases up. It's slow-going and more than a little uncomfortable, but she's determined to be rid of the metal contraption as soon as possible.

When she closes her eyes, she expects to fall asleep quickly. Rain pattering on the Ark makes a dull roar that should rock her to sleep, the sound pulling at her limbs like gravity as she falls. Sometimes she misses the hum of life when they were still floating above the Earth. The ventilation system's huge fans constantly turning, the creaking was like a lullaby to her, a constant reminder that people were working to keep each other alive. She's so often surrounded by disquieting silence that she begins to wonder if she's even alive. The rain helps, but so often all she has is the deep, even breathing of Bellamy as he lies across from her; or sometimes, the softly fluttering warmth of Attie against her chest as the little girl dreams. Clarke can't imagine what babies dream about, her own nocturnal visions full of twisted features and ear-piercing screams.

It's warm under her knit blanket. The compartment is dark but not too dark, the greenish glow of the lights running along the hallway peeking into the room. The longer she lays there, the more apparent it becomes that her ears are pricked for familiar sounds: the soft clank of leather boots against the metal grating in the hall, the gentle cooing of a small child as a deep voice whispers her quiet. She's waiting up for him, and it annoys her beyond belief.

She flips over onto her good side, tucking a makeshift pillow between her legs to support her bad knee, more determined than ever to fall asleep before Bellamy gets back. Her mother used to tell her to count sheep, as strange as that sounds. The only sheep she'd ever seen back then were in the science classes she took as a child, stupid looking creatures staring blankly from the monitor. She remembers trying valiantly to recreate the softness of their fluffy fleece with her small piece of graphite, frowning at the results.

On the ground she's seen small groups of less nomadic grounders tending to the animals as she crosses the woods into giant clearings. The shepherds down here take their flocks to the sweeping expanses of waving grass in the little valleys between ridges. They stand stock-still watching their livestock graze leisurely. Bellamy thinks that Camp Jaha should barter for a few of the animals and start a flock of their own. It seems like a good idea, but the shepherds merely stare at them in stony silence when any of the citizens of the Ark approach them. The unsteady truce is holding, but none of the grounders seem overjoyed with their presence.

And that is the biggest problem for Clarke's plan to stay out in the open. She needs to form bonds with the neighboring villages, partnerships that are mutually beneficial, but they won't talk to her, or any of her people. Abby's intent is self-preservation, but Clarke worries that moving into the mountain will create an insurmountable divide between the two peoples. There has to be a way to bridge the gulf.

Counting sheep does seem to work, in a roundabout way. Clarke's mind fills with a dozen or so distractions as she drifts into slumber, a blessed fogginess enveloping her.


A shooting pain rips through the muscle along Clarke's thigh, sharp and unrelenting as it flickers up the valley of her spine. The spasm rockets her out of her blessedly dreamless sleep, a sheen of sweat collecting along her brow as she pants. The room is still dark, the soft swishing of rain still echoing on the metal.

She doesn't have time to collect herself before she hears it, the sound she'd been silently wishing for as she fell asleep. There's the familiar clank of Bellamy's boots against the grating, but he's not murmuring to Attie, and the child's not cooing at him. Instead, he's chuckling softly, and each time he pauses, a bright giggle echoes in the hall. Attie's like a mockingbird, repeating the happy sounds she hears, and Bellamy no doubt is amused by this. It turns into this joyful cycle of tinkling laughter, and the tension flows out of Clarke as she listens.

Then the sound of his progress stops, and she can hear him take a deep breath, stilling the infectious laughter in his chest. He replaces the sound with a melodic shushing. Clarke can see in her mind's eye the way he's patting the little girl on the back, rocking on his heels as he tries to lull her into tranquility. It's a sight she's been graced with many times in the past couple weeks. He's so natural with the child. It takes Clarke by surprise sometimes, a fuzzy warmth softening the sharp looks she likes to give him.

There's this deep ache when she looks at him in those moments. It's a thousand little things all swirling together at once to create this wave of helpless longing that crashes over her. He's happy, genuinely happy, and for a moment, no matter how brief, he's carefree. It's a side to him she hadn't known existed before the child came into their lives.

She closes her eyes, unprepared to see him with this tightness settling in her chest. She intends to feign sleep until he beds down, but the pain in her leg and back is unrelenting, and a grunt of pain escapes her in spite of everything. She hopes her discomfort goes unnoticed, and keeps her breathing shallow to aid in this endeavor. Bellamy goes about his nightly rituals with Attie as usual, humming softly as he feeds her the nightly bottle of milk.

Clarke's breathing becomes labored as she struggles to remain still, hopeful that he won't notice the tic of her jaw as she clenches her teeth together. The pain is getting worse, and she doesn't know if she can ride out the wave of spasms on her own. It's all for naught though, Bellamy softly stepping over to her as soon as Attie is sleeping peacefully.

Dropping down on bent knee, he whispers, "Where does it hurt?"

Clarke exhales the breath caught in her chest, and slowly opens her eyes. "I'm fine."

Then he does something she doesn't expect, his warm palm lighting softly on her hip. "Here?"

She shakes her head, sighing. "My hamstring… and my back. It's just.. strained."

He slides his hand down the back of her thigh, squeezing gently as he goes along. He gets all the way to the bend of her knee before journey back up to her hip. "Yeah, the muscle's all knotted up. Turn over."

She shifts on the cot, obeying his command before she can think better of it. Lying on her stomach, she hides her face in the crook of her arm. This time he's using both hands, and she bites her tongue when her traitor brain suggests that this would be more effective without trousers on.

He's firm yet gentle, working his way from her upper calf up to the small of her back, going over the trouble spot repeatedly until he starts to feel it loosen up. Clarke hears the little moan of relief before she realizes it's coming out of her own mouth.

Bellamy's hands still, and Clarke can feel the blood rushing to her face in embarrassment. He clears his throat, asking unsteadily. "Do you, uh, want me to stop?"

She shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak. Thankfully, Bellamy takes it as an invitation to continue, slipping his hands up past the waist of her trousers under her loose shirt, pressing his thumbs gently into the muscles along her spine. There are little calluses on his fingertips and along his palm, and it tickles her sensitive skin, the pressure eliciting grateful sighs.

"You need to take it easy."

He withdraws, brushing her hair away from her face as he waits for a response, but she's sound asleep.