She knew the answers. The right amount of pressure to put on a wound, the right dosage of morphine for a woman that weighed a hundred and twenty pounds, the number of minutes it took to get from atmosphere to earth, the right way to string a worm on a fishing line for maximum efficiency. But what she did not know was how to put any of those things into words. The words she thought were correct no longer were. There was a disconnect most of the time, where all she could see were eyes and shadows and ghosts and the physical manifestation of hate for her. John Murphy surprised her with a kindness she'd have never thought he was capable. She knew this and he would never let her be close to him. Not in any way that would take care of him the way he took care of her. The only communication that worked sometimes was to say how something was like something else.

John got it. The others and their flimsy apologies they had no right to give, they're shady eyes at Murphy, they're attempts to take her away from him, like she was too dim to know what they were trying to do… they didn't get it.

Trapped inside skin, her skin, and no way out. Her own mind a labyrinth she couldn't leave. Another corner another trap. Trapped like little birdies in the snare out back, poor birdies, Clarke had to eat them if she wanted to survive. Sorry birdies. Sorry allies. Sorry children. Sorry infants. Sorry was never good enough. The chatter heads never shut their traps long enough for her to digest the words. There was a process for words, one that made them make sense to her, but they weren't letting her have that. They kept talking and talking and there was no quiet, not that there ever would be quiet again. All the screaming as the skin burned and peeled, always in her ears. Never a moment of peace, piece of cake would me nice. The only cake she ever had was in prison, and prisons ply with cake and sweet savory treats. Gotta leave them, she saw through it all and turned into the monster she never wanted to be.

Couldn't focus on anything. There was the little red light that blinked in front of her face sometimes, but following it would mean a trip to hell. Did she believe in hell before? She did now.

"STOP!" Clarke's sobs were met with hushed tones. A hand reached for her and she stepped back wishing to scare them off. Those big cat things were scary, so she hissed hoping to make the hand go away. It wasn't the right hand.

When she tripped, someone caught her, but it was the one that should suffer with her, just as much as her, but there he was all tufts of hair and freckles all in their right places. He'd missed the golden ticket. That molten gold filled her belly and only hers, how could he not feel it? Throwing herself away from the missing molten, she searched frantically for John. John who wasn't there. John who took the fewest lives for all the wrong reasons and could look on her and smile. No smiles anywhere else. Murphy's smile was like a salve. Where was he?

"Clarke! I got you." John was holding her face and meeting her eyes with a worry that only he was allowed.

"John," his name a sigh of relief from every crevice and crease in her body. "Don't leave."

"I had to go to the bathroom. You didn't touch your food. Clarke you know that an empty stomach will just make things worse." He wrapped her up in his arms and showed her the food again. "Grade A powdered eggs."

She smiled at the smile in his voice. "Thank you." And he knew to keep touching her, tethering her to a sense of calm she wouldn't otherwise have. Part of her hoped the others would learn, but seeing the disappointment and fear in their eyes told her the truth, that they would never be satisfied with her, especially not like this.

"Did none of you listen when I told you to shut the hell up? I told you that too much stimulation upsets her. And stop talking to her like she's two. If one more person baby talks at her I swear to God I will end them. She's not an idiot. Just pay attention." Murphy kept one hand on Clarke's back while she ate her freezing cold breakfast, staring the rest of the group down.

Monty stepped forward. "Can I try talking to her?"

Murphy looked at her plate and saw she'd inhaled the food and then nodded at Monty. "Don't go too fast or too slow. Keep an even pace, she'll follow you."

"Clarke?" Monty said when he took the stool next to her.

She looked at him. "On the matter of Jaha, opinion?"

"I think Jaha's as redeemable as any of us, but the world is more important." Monty licked his lips. "Clarke, I was wondering if you wanted to take a walk with me. Just the two of us, away from all this chaos?"

"Can John come?"

"Sure. I don't have a problem with that." Monty looked at Murphy and nodded.

Murphy nodded back. "I'll get our winter gear."

The three delinquents, all guilty of something walked across the snow covered beach. Monty said nothing until they were no longer in sight of the lighthouse. "I get why you left, Clarke. I wanted to come with you, but you said no. Is the answer still no?"

Clarke searched Monty's face then hugged him. "No, the answer is not still no."

Murphy sighed. One of the guests was permanent that was just great. Fantastic.

"Murphy? Is this all right with you too?" Monty asked as Clarke let go.

John saw the sincerity in the question. And extended his arm and the two men shook hands. "It's fine by me. We'll have to figure out sleeping arrangements though."

"The bed's giant." Clarke smiled. Monty didn't seem to mind the suggestion.

"Fine but he better not steal the covers."