a/n Welcome back! It feels like the couple of days I took off from updating this story over the holiday season have been strangely long. I wrote the occasional other oneshot in the mean time, you might want to go read those...

Thank you, fabulous reviewers, for your fabulous reviews. They made my Christmas. Thank you also to Stormkpr for betaing.

Happy reading!

It takes three days for Clarke to realise that Bellamy's return cannot fix everything. It has fixed some things, certainly, and it has empowered her to fix a few more for herself. But there is, it seems, nothing that his miraculous survival can do about a man's guts spilling out all over the operating table.

She is sitting at lunch, sharing a rather civilised meal with Bellamy and Octavia, when she gets the message. A young woman she loosely recognises as being on good terms with Gaia comes sprinting into the mess hall, and sees her, and runs over.

"Clarke. Thank goodness. It's Layla and Ivon. They ran into a Titan, and Jackson and Niylah have got Layla but Ivon needs a doctor too and I can't find your mum -"

"I'm coming." She stands, lunch abandoned, tries to look calm for this worried stranger's sake. Tries not to betray her concern at the idea of working alone to treat what is, presumably, major trauma.

"Thank you."

"Bellamy, get Madi from school this afternoon?"

"Sure." He gives her a quick parting kiss. "You've got this."

"Yeah." She turns, is on the point of running out of there as best as she can, between the pregnancy and the snow which still blankets the village, when she hears Octavia's voice.

"Clarke? Is there anything I can do to help?"

It comes to her, all in a flash. That Octavia made herself useful around their improvised dropship sick bay, centuries ago. That there are worse people to have on hand in a medical emergency than the level-headed and rather pressure-proof daughter of a seamstress.

"Come with me. And keep calm."

She is pleased with that impulse decision, fifteen minutes later, as she finds herself elbows-deep in a near-stranger's blood. It's one of the more complicated cases she's had to deal with, and she misses her mother more than she would have thought possible, but she knows what she's doing, and Octavia is there with calm common sense by the bucket load.

They manage, between them. A blood transfusion is given, and Jacksonia is applied, and a great deal of stitching is done. And somehow, miraculously, this Wonkru warrior with the build of an ox does not die on them.

Abby runs in, minutes or hours or days later, full of apologies, and full of praise for the work they have done.

"I'm so sorry. I must start taking a comms unit with me when I take the day off. This could have ended so badly -"

"It didn't, though, Mum."

"Thanks to you both. Goodness, Octavia, I didn't know we had another doctor in the family."

She looks shy at that praise, Clarke thinks. It has been a while since anyone has suggested that the former tyrant has an aptitude for anything other than causing misery.

"Thanks, Abby, but you know it was all Clarke."

"Not true. You made the poultice, and helped with the stitches." Clarke looks up and meets her mother's eyes. Tries, silently, to communicate that there is something she thinks might usefully be said, but that will sound a lot better to Octavia coming from the Chief of Medical than her brother's lover.

"I know you must be busy, with your teaching. But if ever you wanted to stop by and learn more about what we do here, you'd be very welcome."

Octavia looks outright stunned at that, as a smile breaks out across her face. "Thank you. I might think about that."

They get on with useful things, then. With cleaning the operating room, and with cleaning themselves, and at last they are done for the day and both patients are resting peacefully under Abby's care. The two younger women therefore excuse themselves, and Clarke heads to her desk in the office. She ought to stay and write up her notes about Ivon, she thinks, before she goes home.

On arrival at her desk, she is met by something of a surprise. There are two half-finished bowls of stew there, and a brief, dog-eared note.

I'm so proud of you both. Finish your lunch and I'll see you later.

- Bellamy

…...

It is a great source of joy to Clarke, to spend time as a family of three again, after shutting herself away from Madi and Bellamy so often in recent months. Her daughter seems to have forgiven her rather easily for her various failings, and is eager to get back on with enjoying their time together.

It is unfortunate, then, that they have to cancel their next planned picnic.

Nothing is amiss, as Clarke wishes Bellamy good morning with a lazy kiss, and rolls out of bed, and pulls some clothing on. Nothing is amiss, either, as she ventures into the corridor, and checks their packs for the day ahead, and sets about filling their canteens with water.

But then she hears muffled noises coming from her daughter's bedroom, and realises that something is very much amiss.

"Madi?" She knocks, eases the door open. "What's wrong?"

Her daughter is crying, in the rather loud and messy way that much smaller children than Madi sometimes do, and Clarke cannot fathom it. Her little girl has never been a weeper, not even with the recent sources of anxiety she has had to face, and she certainly cannot see any reason for sobbing in such a frankly juvenile fashion at the prospect of a cheerful day out with her parents.

By way of response, Madi only shakes her head and cries all the harder.

Clarke perches on the edge of her bed, pulls the girl into her arms. Starts to make noises that she hopes are soothing, even while her heart is galloping at a mile a minute.

"Madi, honey. Tell me what's wrong and your Dad and I will help you fix it."

"You can't fix this." She wails, utterly inconsolable. "You can't."

"What do you mean, baby? What's wrong?"

"I have a headache." At that, everything makes sense, in the most sickening of ways. "I have the kind of headache I get before I have a dizzy spell. And I can't go out on a hike, because when I faint then you and Dad will get upset and scared and have to carry me home."

"Madi, hush, it's OK." She squeezes her tighter. "We were going to head south, do you think you might be able to manage until we're further away from the anomaly?"

"I don't think so, Mum. I'm really sorry. I'm – I'm a bit worried about getting out of bed, to be honest."

"OK, honey. Don't apologise. We want to spend the day with you, the hike isn't the important part. You stay in bed and rest, and we'll bring the family day to you."

"Really?"

"Really. There are loads of things we can do right here. We can read, or draw, or play chess. Or you can just ask your dad cheeky questions about his youth."

Madi giggles a little at that, and the sound breaks through her tears.

"You see? It'll be fun. And we can go on a hike another day, when you're better."

There is a heartbreaking pause, then Madi voices what is, it seems, her deepest fear. "What if I never get better?"

"I don't think it's a coincidence that you started getting sick when I got pregnant, honey. I'm sure you'll be just fine in five months' time."

"You are?"

"Absolutely positive. And I'm a doctor, so I must be right." She gives her daughter one last squeeze about the shoulders, then pulls away. "Change out of your hiking stuff, baby, and put your favourite pyjamas on. I'll send your dad out to get us some breakfast while I get started on our indoor adventure. What do you want to do first?"

"Can we draw?"

"Of course we can draw. I'll be right back."

Bellamy's first reaction is concern, of course, but because he is her rock he does not allow anxiety to immobilise him for long. He dresses quickly, and takes himself out to the village to grab some food from the mess hall, muttering something about seeing whether he can find anything else to cheer Madi up as he goes. Clarke gathers some drawing supplies, and stares contemplatively at the living room table for a moment.

Yes, she's had worse ideas.

Ten minutes later, the table and two chairs are at the side of Madi's bed. It's a bit of a squeeze in her room, now, but at least it means they can all sit around the table in comfort while they share their breakfast and their drawing and whatever else the day has in store for them. All things considered, Clarke is quite happy with her rearrangement of the furniture.

Bellamy seems less happy, when he returns twenty minutes later, with a pack that appears to contain more than just three portions of breakfast.

"You moved a table and two chairs from the living room to here?" Not just not happy, then. Exasperated, perhaps. Maybe with a hint of something approaching panic. "You're four months pregnant, Clarke. Could it not wait until I was home?"

Home? Home? He doesn't actually live here, last time she checked. Just spends every spare moment here. And sleeps here. And is beginning to keep a small selection of clothes here.

"I'm fine." She attempts to sound conciliatory. "No harm done. And you can move them back, later, if you like."

"You're a bit overprotective, aren't you, Dad?" Madi pipes up, looking genuinely cheerful for the first time all day.

"Maybe a little." He concedes, depositing his pack on the table. "Do you want to see your get well soon presents?"

"You got me something?" Their daughter sounds over the moon at the thought.

"I got you somethings." He clarifies. "More than one. Here's some medicine from grandma Abby, to take the edge off your headache. That's not the most exciting thing, but I thought it might be a good place to start."

Madi takes the pill, swallows it down with a gulp of water. Clarke is relieved to note that it is not the same medication her mother found so addictive.

"I grabbed some more books. Look, this one's about Odysseus, I know you've always liked him best. And I thought today might be a day for having apple bars for breakfast, instead of porridge."

"They're my favourite!" Madi exclaims with some excitement.

Clarke tries very hard not to fall in love with Bellamy on the spot for all this evidence of his thoughtfulness. When she does fall in love with him, she wants it to be a solid and sensible thing. She realises that's not a very romantic way to think, but after all that has happened between them she wants it to be a certain and well-founded kind of love, not just a passing infatuation.

To be fair, she's beginning to suspect that she's past the passing infatuation stage, already.

Meanwhile, Bellamy has saved the best get well soon present for last, as he produces half a dozen sticks of charcoal and offers them to his no-longer-distraught daughter.

"Thanks, Dad. This is going to be the best indoor adventure ever."

"You're welcome, kid. You know we'd do anything for you." He tells Madi, and reaches out to squeeze Clarke's hand under the table.

Yes, that's done it, it seems. That passing infatuation has now, well and truly, passed.

…...

They don't only talk after sex, now. They talk before sex, in the day time, as well as while they lie together and drift into sleep at night. And, to be honest, Bellamy's also a bit prone to talking during sex, in as much as frequent repetition of the single syllable of Clarke can really be classified as talking.

He's groaning her name right now, actually, as he thrusts into her, and she braces herself on all fours on the bed. It's not necessarily doing much for her, this position, not necessarily hitting the spot, but it's something that is still vaguely feasible while she's pregnant and he's evidently enjoying himself, so that's good enough for her. It's good enough for her in quite a substantial way, really, as she finds herself growing more aroused by his lust than by any physical sensation she's actually experiencing. And she's sure he'll finish the job later, when he's done, if need be.

He groans her name again, and this time he adds a whole frantic sentence about how good she feels around his cock.

"I like it when you say my name." She tells him.

Then she realises what she has done.

And then she freaks out a little.

It's just that she's never really tried to express any opinions about their sex life before now, or at least nothing beyond saying she's enjoyed herself after the act. She's certainly never attempted to exert any influence over what they might actually do, never tried to shape his behaviour towards her pleasure. And she can't quite decide whether she's more proud of her bravery or horrified at the thought of how he might react. What if he preferred her easily pleased and compliant? What if he objects to her attempts to influence his behaviour in the bedroom?

What if he's not into the same things she is?

He doesn't say anything in return, just keeps on thrusting and groaning. He might, perhaps, be calling her name a little more often, she supposes, but she tells herself firmly that this is just wishful thinking. By the time he spills inside of her, she has herself almost completely convinced that he didn't hear her, or doesn't care, or is at least not inclined to mention it.

He wastes no time in rolling her onto her back, and taking his mouth down to the crook of her legs, and she is left writhing before him for only a few moments before she feels herself fall over that most pleasant of precipices.

Then he takes her in his arms, and kisses her for a bit, and then he takes her by surprise.

"It's a good thing I like saying your name, then." He whispers. "I was worried that maybe it came across as a bit weird, but after all these years – I like celebrating the fact that you're you."

"I like hearing you enjoy yourself." She admits, finding it surprisingly easy to do so while her head is buried in his chest and she cannot be expected to meet his eyes. "It, you know, it gets me going to hear that you're so into it."

"I'll remember that." He tells her, then continues a little more hesitantly. "I'd like to hear more about what you're into, if ever you feel like you could tell me."

She almost laughs at that. The idea that she, who has had scarcely a handful of sexual partners, is going to be full of bold requests for this man who once screwed his way half way around that dropship camp seems more than a little ridiculous. But it is good, she decides, and rather reassuring, to know that he wants to hear any thoughts she might ever have on the subject.

"I'll let you know if anything comes to mind."

"Please do." He nuzzles into her hair a little, and she thinks she hears a sigh. "I'm so happy we're doing this, Clarke. You know, actually being together, or whatever we're calling it."

"You can call it whatever the hell you want, as long as you're still here in the morning."

He is, of course. Because they're together, now.

…...

Breakfast with Octavia seems to have become a bit of a habit, since that first morning that Bellamy returned. Clarke supposes that this isn't so surprising – she is family, and apparently their morning routines just line up quite well – but all the same it's not what she'd have predicted, a few short months ago, that this formerly-more-than-estranged brother and sister would be relaxing into one another's company far enough to laugh over porridge almost every day.

And laughing over porridge is normally a pretty fair description of how things play out. Madi tends to take centre stage, keeping the conversation lively, and the Blake siblings do their best to respond in kind. And Clarke is there, of course, to help them out if ever they find themselves flagging.

This morning, then, is unusual. Because this morning, it seems to have been decided that they shall actually talk about a topic of some importance.

It all starts with Clarke asking Madi whether she's sure she's feeling OK, after her health scare of yesterday.

"Don't fuss, Mum. I'm fine. I'll tell you if I'm not."

"What's happened?" Octavia looks concerned. "Did you have another dizzy spell?"

"Yes." Madi admits sadly.

"At home, this time." Bellamy shares. "So we were a bit worried, weren't we, kid? We had to have an indoor adventure."

"It was the best indoor adventure."

"I'm glad you're feeling better, anyway." Octavia sounds genuinely concerned.

"Thanks, Auntie O."

Well, now. That's a new development.

"You're welcome, Madi." Clarke is surprised that Octavia can actually speak through the smile splitting her face. It is, she thinks, the happiest she has seen her since before Lincoln's death.

"Do you – do you want to come over tonight, O?" Clarke is too proud of Bellamy for reaching out to his sister to bother being affronted that he has started inviting people to a home that is still, technically, hers. "We were planning a family movie night and you'd be very welcome."

"Thank you." She seems at least a little moved. "I'd really like that, but I have plans with Niylah. Maybe another time?"

"Yeah, sure. Whenever." Bellamy faffs self-consciously with his empty porridge bowl.

"You're always welcome." Clarke chimes in, and tries to be subtle about squeezing Bellamy's thigh reassuringly under the table.

"That's kind of you." Octavia says it as if she is not used to being on the receiving end of kindness, not even from her own family.

Silence falls, as the four of them stare down at their finished breakfasts and wonder what to do next. Clarke thinks that this is probably her cue, that she is perhaps supposed to say something cheery and play the mediator. But then Octavia is standing up, and preparing to leave, and and apparently their family counselling session is done for the day.

No, not done. Not quite done. Octavia has, it seems, a few parting words to say yet.

"Thanks, big brother. For that note the other day." She pauses, bites her lip for a moment. "It meant a lot to me, to know that you're proud of me."

Before Bellamy has had chance to do more than gasp in shock, Octavia is gone.

…...

The fog of sadness and confusion clears from Clarke's mind a little further in the days that follow, and she cannot help but feel that this might have something to do with her newfound habit of sharing her thoughts, and of practising honesty. And yes, by and large, this has meant sharing her thoughts with Bellamy, but she has a hunch that being honest with the rest of her friends might be a thing worth practising, too.

Of course, being honest with Raven has ever been challenging. Between Clarke's tendency towards bearing things herself and Raven's tendency towards pretending to be unbearable, they have never been the most open of friends. Even when they were close, back on the ground so many years ago, Clarke cannot remember ever saying anything more transparently affectionate to her than I'd pick you first.

Well, then. Perhaps today is a day for putting that right.

It is with some trepidation that she knocks at the door of the workshop. If anyone asks her what she is doing here, the only honest answer will be trying to make friends. And as she's practising honesty these days, it seems likely that she's at risk of making herself a little pathetic, here. But it will be worth it, she tells herself firmly, if she can consolidate her friendship with this woman who was so determined to help keep her sane, while things were so rough with Bellamy.

"Come in?" Sure enough, it is Raven who greets her.

"Hello." She peeks around the door. "Are you busy?"

"Of course I'm busy." Raven responds, but cheerfully so. "I'm always busy."

"Yes. Of course. What are you up to?"

"Waterproofing the remaining comms units with a bit of sealant. We thought that might be a good idea, just in case Miller strikes again. I think I might tie string round them, too. These guards are all idiots."

"I resent that." She says lightly, finding it easier to relax into their usual patter than she has of late. "Bellamy isn't an idiot."

"I don't know. I think he's been pretty idiotic recently. I think he was probably doing something wrong if he didn't actually manage to start a steady relationship with a woman he's loved for literally centuries until she thought he'd died." He's loved? As in, he has loved? As in, Raven thinks he still does?

No, that's not why she came here.

"That wasn't his fault." She defends him with spirit. "I wasn't exactly communicating with him very well. I wasn't communicating with anyone very well, and I'm sorry."

Raven waves a careless hand. "I'm over it. You've got a lot on your plate. You've both got a lot on your plates, I guess. And – you know – I'm here if you need someone, and all that."

"Thank you. I know that, I was just struggling to see it a bit while I was upset. Thanks for dragging me out to the bar that time."

"Really? You had a miserable time."

"Well, yeah. But it was good to know that you wanted to have me there."

Raven frowns a little, focuses very carefully on fiddling with the comms unit in front of her. "I spent six years thinking you were dead, Clarke. Of course I want you around, now."

Clarke swallows the tears that are threatening to clog her throat, curses once more these unsolicited emotions.

"Thanks, Raven. I'm pleased you're around, you know? Bellamy wasn't the only person I missed, all those years."

"You missed him more, though." Her friend reminds her with a grin.

"Yeah. Don't take that personally, but – yeah."

Raven grins at that. "I should hope so."

Clarke gathers her wits a moment, summons the courage to have a go at reciprocating a bit in this friendship. "How's the leg, these days?"

At that, Raven's usually impassive expression gives way to a mixture of surprise and warmth. "Not bad at all, thanks. I got a lot stronger in space, training with Echo and all."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

They stand there for a moment, a careful pace between them, and Clarke pretends a sudden intense fascination with the comms unit on the workbench. She has absolutely no idea what she's looking at, to be clear, but she's still remembering how to converse and – well – the whole leg thing is all she knows about Raven's struggles, this side of Praimfaiya. And yes, she's very much aware that this makes her a terrible friend, and yes, she does intend to do better at -

"Clarke?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for asking."

"Any time." She tries to keep her sigh of relief as subtle as possible. "That's what friends are for."

a/n Thanks for reading!