Oh hey hi hello there! To be honest, I was not expecting my first fan fiction to gain as much success as it has, and I am honoured by every single person who takes the time to read this. Like seriously, thanks. This was originally intended to be a one shot and I'm more nervous about this chapter, but some people asked for a continuation, and I have so much homework to procrastinate, and now here I am with a second chapter. Also, I am very much on board the Clexa ship, and I would hate to see it lost in the sea of Bellarke, because yuck. :) In case the first chapter wasn't clear, this work has no beta, and whilst the mistakes are my own, the characters (unfortunately) are not. Read on my fellow Clexa shippers

"despite everything I'm still human, but I think I'm dying here"

(Human – Daughter)

Chapter Two – The Arrows and the Time Bomb.

After helping Lexa put on her shirt, knowing rest was the only medication available, Clarke helped lower her to the ground and offered her the water canteen from the bag she'd carried into the cave with her. At first Lexa declined, claiming no commander should need to drink from someone else's supply, and that she was perfectly capable of getting her own, thank you very much. Clarke, in turn, pointed out that Lexa could barely sit up by herself; she had slumped onto the wall again, her back aching from the hours she'd spent standing (not to mention the wound that ran deep). When that didn't work, Clarke took Lexa's face into her hands, and stated simply that she wasn't much a fan of the Commander at the moment, and could Lexa please just take the damned water. With a huff the girl complied, and let Clarke guide the canteen to her lips. Apparently, Clarke thought, you can lead a horse to water.

Now they sat in the cave in a silence that was less than comfortable. The conversation, the argument, the apology and the tears sat waiting between them – a time bomb that ticked louder for every second that it was ignored. Clarke for her part, didn't want to think of anything to do with Mount Weather – she had hoped that setting off into the forest would mean that she wouldn't have to breach the subject (or anything related to it for that matter), for a very long time. Yet somehow, she had managed to find the very source of where everything had started going wrong, and she was sitting two feet away from her. Up on the Ark, Clarke had believed that the Earth was so huge it was a wonder any one could find anyone at all. Down on the ground, she realised that was incorrect. It was a big planet undoubtedly, but it was a small world, and Clarke cursed its deceit. Regardless, having ensured Lexa was in the least pain possible – that need for the brunette's well-being still confused her – she put some distance between them and found herself staring pointedly at the cave's floor.

Beside her, Lexa was torn. Thanking Clarke would probably evoke a less than desirable response, and honestly it wasn't Lexa's place to deserve the help she received from the Sky Princess; selfishly, Lexa didn't want to be the one to remind her either. Somewhere inside, Lexa was worried that saying anything would only result in her breaking whatever fragile truce they had just formed. She knew too well that Clarke could have just been following her duty as the sky healer out of an automatic response that had been drilled into her – like making quick decisions in the middle of the battle had been drilled into Lexa. The Commander sighed inwardly – that conversation, when it came, would be unpleasant for the both of them.

"They have gone to get firewood so that we may stay here for the night," said Lexa, answering a question that Clarke hadn't dared to ask. The blonde nodded in response, her lips pressed together in a way that made Lexa's heart hurt. Whatever distrust she held for Lexa, Clarke had still kissed her. She still cared. Lexa looked up again, studying once more the blonde's pale face, noticing her furrowed eyebrows. She followed Clarke's stare to the dark patch in the middle of the cave's floor. It wasn't a shadow, but the blood of her dead warrior.

"What will happen to him?" asked Clarke, curiosity getting the best of her.

"They have placed him in another cave, it's not too far from here. Tomorrow we will take him to the nearest village."

Clarke looked up at Lexa, whose weary eyes remained fixed on the blood, but they were distant. Clarke knew she wasn't seeing the cave's floor at all. "There's a village near here?"

"Yes," came Lexa's reply. She had spoken the word sharply, but when a moment later her eyes turned to Clarke's, Clarke knew her tone hadn't been sharp with anger.

"Will the village not have been ruined by that beast?" Clarke asked as she looked away from Lexa, suddenly aware of the girl's intense stare.

"I hope not, it was the beast who ran from us. I doubt it survived long - it took the brunt of three warrior's poisoned swords."

At Lexa's words, Clarke felt her pulse rate quicken. She knew how well the poison on a small dagger would hurt a human, had seen with her own eyes how close it had brought Finn to death.

Though, of course, Finn had not died of the poison.

He had died by Clarke's own hands.

And the beast was not Finn.

Clarke swallowed harshly – when Lexa saw the ravaged village, had she thought of Finn's victims? They too, were undoubtedly innocent. Even the beast in some small way had only done what it knew to do.

Finn had no excuse.

Maybe he was the real beast.

Clarke shuddered, shaking the thought from her head. She was still tired, and the growing shadows in the cave were only helping her brain pull from the darker sides of her memory. Together the girls sat, Lexa with her own quiet thoughts, both leaders looking out to the cave before them – two blood-soaked arrows aiming for the same faded target.

"What about his family?" asked Clarke, nodding absently to the empty space where the warrior had died.

"His family?" Lexa replied.

"His family. Will they not want to say goodbye? You know… with his body?"

There was a pause. Hesitation. "He came from a village that was burned down by the rockets you sent into the sky," said Lexa, wincing. She turned her heard to avoid looking at the girl; that fragile truce was getting more fragile by the minute.

Clarke laughed, causing Lexa to turn in confusion, something she immediately regretted. The blonde was shaking her head, her eyes cold and piercing. "I did what you would have done" she said bitterly. Clarke watched Lexa's jaw clench, revelling momentarily in the guilt that wrecked the brunette's features. The air between them grew heavy again, fuelled with the suspense of the not yet spoken. The time bomb ticked louder still.

"Heda?" came the voice which had first greeted Clarke some hours ago, followed quickly by the Grounder himself as he walked into the cave. In his arms, the remnants of what must have been a small tree, so high was the pile of firewood that his face was partially hidden beneath it. His entrance defused the tension that had been whipping like electricity between the two girls. Clarke suddenly felt foolish for using Lexa's words against her, it was childish. Worse, it had showed how deeply Lexa's betrayal had hurt. Lexa felt cold. Forget unpleasant – the waiting conversation would be torturous.

The Grounder put the wood on the cave floor, looking up briefly for his Commander's approval before beginning to arrange the wood into a formation that would burn better. Behind him came the other Grounder, the one who had carried the body out of the cave; now he carried what appeared to be a large but very dead bird. He had cleaned his face, Lexa noticed, it no longer bore the blood of the fallen. Lexa appreciated that.

In the distraction that the Grounder's return caused, Clarke stood up and exited the cave. The air outside was cold, and stung the exposed skin of her face almost as much as her breath stung her lungs and the tears stung her eyes. They fell freely, uncontrollably, and Clarke did not move to wipe them; Lexa would not, could not follow her. The girl's desperate grip on her arm as she helped lower her to the floor told her that much. Now, Clarke looked up at the evening sky. It was dark, heavy clouds were hiding the sea of stars that Clarke had once called home. Home¸ she scoffed, a cell within a cage could hardly be called a home. She was glad she couldn't see the stars, they would only remind her of how far from having a home she actually was.

Briefly, Clarke considered running. Between the darkness and the cover of the forest trees, if – and that was a big if - Lexa ordered her warriors to track her, they wouldn't have any success until the sun rose the following morning. By then, Clarke would be far gone, lost further into the confusion of the forest. Perhaps the beast would find her – that would be a fitting ending.

Somewhat horrified by the morbid path her thoughts had taken, Clarke forced herself to leave the shadows and move back into the cave again. Now, the paintings in the passage were illuminated by the fire's warm glow, and Clarke could see they weren't symbols at all. They were words, faded and abandoned with time. She stood for a moment, reading them, and thinking of the writer who would have stood in the very same place all those years ago. Certainly Grounders could not have written them, there was an age and a wisdom to them that Clarke knew dated back to the times before the war which had supposedly ended the world. She traced the letters like she had traced the bruises on Lexa's back and drew in a shaky breath.

The Grounders approached her then, nodding to her as they passed through. They wore heavy furs now, probably rescued from the horses. The furs would keep them warm during the night. Clarke watched them leave, then turned to walk into the cave herself.

The fire burned with a welcome heat, the smoke leaving the cave through the opening in the roof. Flames, like trees, still captivated Clarke. Where trees released oxygen, fire stole it, and on the Ark where oxygen was not a thing to be wasted, fire was feared. On Earth, however, Clarke could allow herself the simple pleasure of watching the flames twist and dance, casting shadows which moved against the walls of the cave to the same luxurious rhythm. She knew the risks of fire; it was one of the first things you learnt on the Ark, and Clarke had seen the devastating destruction it could cause with her own eyes. Indeed she was still fearful of fire, but it was a measured fear that allowed her to see the destruction for what it truly was – a twisted beauty. Fire reminded Clarke of Lexa in the same twisted way. It was breath-taking from afar, but the closer you got the more you got burnt. She thought back to Mount Weather. Yes, she had definitely got burnt.

Lexa, as Clarke had expected, hadn't moved. Clarke found herself surprised at the concern that brought. Clearly Lexa, who Clarke had never known to stay still for long, was not doing too well. Confusion washed over Clarke again, and if she was being honest it hadn't truly left, but it did push her further into the space of the cave.

"Hey," Clarke said softly, and Lexa looked up. In the light of the fire her tanned skin looked even more tanned, and Clarke could see that Lexa had removed the dirt from her face. Dark circles shadowed the girl's eyes.

Lexa watched the blonde walk, watched as she sat next to her, and watched as she picked at the laces of her boots. "Hi," she replied. Her voice was rough and quiet. She watched Clarke breathe. "I didn't send them out," Lexa continued, referring to the Grounders who stood outside in the night. "They just didn't want to stay in here." The 'here' referred to the place where the warrior had died, and at her words Lexa saw the tension leave Clarke's rounded shoulders. The Grounders' departure had clearly left her concerned.

Their truce was still tender, still fragile, but fatigue was winning and whatever fight had nearly begun earlier seemed to have melted in the heat of the flames. Clarke rested her elbows on her knees, turned to face Lexa, and then placed her chin upon her hands.

"Lexa, may I ask you something?" Lexa, Clarke knew, was in no position to refuse. Even before helping her with her wounds, there was that whole thing with Mount Weather, which was too big a topic for so late an hour and they both knew it. Anyway, Clarke had always been able to see the sides of Lexa that the Commander usually kept guarded. Perhaps the same would apply here.

Clarke waited for Lexa's response. It came in form of narrowed eyes and a nod of her head. Dark hair fell across her shoulders, completely free now from the braids. It was beautiful.

"When you guard was speaking, what was he saying?" Clarke continued. She had recognised some of it, notably the Trigedasleng for 'your fight is over'- the Grounders' words for dying warriors, she had said it enough times herself. Most of it though had gone over her head, and left her with an uneasy feeling that she had been intruding.

"In times of war too many people die for us to give the full blessing," Lexa began mechanically. "If we spoke it every time someone gave their life then we would never stop speaking." Lexa looked now into the fire in front of them. "Not everyone uses the blessing anymore. Some villages swear by it," Lexa trailed off slowly as the shadows danced across her face. Then she pushed herself upwards, reaching out for something near to the fire.

Clarke, whose eyes had been trained on the girl's face, itched to help her – Lexa's slow movements revealed the pain the girl had tried to conceal. Instead she just watched, restrained by the invisible, undetermined boundaries of the time bomb. Still, Lexa gestured, now smiling gently in a way that warmed Clarke's bones, to the thing in her hand. It was a skewer loaded with the meat of the bird that the Grounder had carried in.

"But Clarke, that's not important. You should eat."