Clarke wasn't hiding. She was being efficient. If she felt no hunger, then there was no sense in sitting around the campfire while everyone else ate their dinner. She had slipped away, out of sight and out of earshot, to forage ingredients for the next meal. It was forward thinking. They all had experience with food shortages, so she was sure no one could argue with her logic. But as she saw a shadow loom over her from her crouched position, she realised that she had forgotten to account for Echo.

It was an easy thing to do. It wasn't because of Echo's frequent silence or her quiet footsteps. It was just that Clarke had spent a long time imagining conversations with her former friends, and Echo had always been in the background, not the foreground. Sure, Clarke had wondered absently about how she was getting along, but it had only been mild curiosity. It was easy to dismiss Echo in her head. It was a hard habit to break, even when she could see her in the flesh. Clarke only had so much space in her head, and it was full these days, full of uncomfortable and angsty feelings. But it was also, she knew, a self-defence mechanism. There were things she didn't want to see. Echo had taken a place on the ship that had been reserved for Clarke, and it was obvious, even in short glimpses, that she had made it her own. Thrived in it. It was important for Clarke's fragile sanity that she not dwell too much on that.

Because Echo was a blind spot in Clarke's world, Clarke had never considered that she would have any objection to her disappearing act. Yet here she was, leaning against a tree, watching her with mild disapproval. "We should alternate foraging duties, so we can spread the knowledge, as a failsafe. If you give me a quick rundown, I'll take over tonight. You should enjoy the warmth of the fire before it dies out."

"Good idea," Clarke murmured. "I'm almost done here, but Madi can show you tomorrow. The two of us usually alternate chores, but I suppose now we could use a bigger chore schedule."

Echo lingered, watching her. After a few minutes, she spoke up again. There was no awkward throat clearing or gestures for attention. "They don't need you anymore."

Clarke made an effort to keep her voice even. "I can see that."

She was proud of her old friends. It had been one of her biggest fears. That they would need her when they couldn't reach her, when they didn't even know she was alive. The chasm between them might be small now, but her fear hadn't shrunk at all. It had only shifted, shifted in a selfish way that she was ashamed of. Before, she had feared for them. Now that she knew they were safe, she feared for herself.

"They still want you. I was needed by the Azgeda for my whole life. Being wanted is better. Why would you throw that away?"

"Because the want will turn to need. It always does."

Echo shrugged. "So?"

"Love comes easily. But the aftermath is hard. You can never drop your shield or sword, not even an inch. It's been years, but my arms are still tired. I don't think I have the strength to pick them up again."

Echo crouched down in front of her, directly in her field of vision. It was a challenge. Now Clarke either had to meet her eyes or actively look away. She couldn't look away.

Echo's expression was fierce. "You have to be strong enough. You have no choice. You aren't going to walk away from Madi."

"I'm not," Clarke agreed. That was non-negotiable. "But there's a difference between taking responsibility for one girl and all of humanity."

"They're your friends, not representatives of a species."

But Echo didn't sound offended. She sounded understanding. Echo had seemed like a lone wolf when they had met, but she probably hadn't been born that way.

"It's been a long time," Clarke said. "I'm not sure what they are now."

"After a few years in space, the boredom and the claustrophobia wore me down. I couldn't stay caged up in my room any longer. It was hard to make the first move. But I knew that I had to. You know that you have to."

"But what would happen if I just… didn't? People drift apart. It's a natural part of life, when you aren't locked away together in a bunker or a spaceship. With time…"

"Monty likes to play psychologist sometimes. He told me once that I wasn't blocking my feelings. I was just blocking the expression of them. That my walls were just a waste of energy that I could be putting to better use. I thought it was foolish sentimental drivel. But now, looking at you, I know he was right."

"He often is," Clarke couldn't resist a smile. "But I'm not ready."

"Then get ready. Before it's too late."

Clarke stood up. "Why are you here? Why do you care?"

Echo remained on her knees long enough to scoop up the assorted mushrooms and leaves Clarke had left behind, putting them carefully away in Clarke's satchel, as though Clarke wasn't on the verge of a tantrum. When she was done, she stood up herself. "This isn't caring. I'm not being nice Clarke. If I was being nice, I would have just nudged Bellamy and told him to go give you a hug and a few kind words. Then everyone would be playing happy families again. But I'm not going to give you the easy way out. You have to fight for it. You have to earn it."

Clarke didn't have a response.

Echo nodded, as though she had expected that. "I don't care if you make yourself miserable. But if you hurt my friends in the process, we'll have a problem."

With that, Echo walked away.