Rough hands gripped Clarke by the shoulders, they spun her around before she could finish her sentence and then a thick lack hood was forced over her head. Clarke tried to struggle, she tried to fight through the surprise and fear and anger but she couldn't.

Whoever it was that had a hold on her body was too strong, too rough, too violent. She felt her supplies ripped from her shoulders, she felt her backpack pulled off her back and she felt her rifle torn from her tired hands. She tried reaching for it, fumbling for it in the dark but she couldn't see, couldn't feel, couldn't do anything to stop herself from being stripped of the only thing that she could trust.

The shock and wonder at what she had seen was suddenly replaced by fear and uncertainty, a desire to somehow communicate to these people that she was friendly, that she wanted to help. That she needed their help.

Clarke felt herself pushed forward, she couldn't see, couldn't grasp where she was going. She could feel and hear other people around her, she could almost sense the more of whatever village Lexa had taken her to and yet she couldn't see.

And Lexa.

Clarke started worrying about Lexa, started worrying about whatever trouble Lexa was in. Perhaps the man's reaction was explanation as to why Clarke hadn't seen anyone else. Perhaps Lexa had broken some kind of rule in helping her and was now being punished.

Clarke would try if she could to explain that Lexa was just trying to help, that whatever punishment was being dealt should be dealt to her and—

And Clarke fell to the ground with a grunt of pain. She didn't realise it but she had somehow been guided into some kind of building. Floorboards banged against her knees, her hands awkwardly braced herself lest she fall face first and she winced as the motion jarred her body.

The hood was ripped off her head without care for the strands of hair that came with it. She winced and flinched back from whatever she expected to come. Clarke blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. She squinted and she looked around herself.

Whatever room she was in was small. She peered back behind herself just in time to see a man step out of the doorway before the door was slammed shut behind him. Clarke struggled to her feet and she paused, she looked around at the room and she began to make sense of whatever was happening.

A single cot lay in one corner of the room. Atop it was what looked like a weathered fur blanket. In another corner was a small table and a chair and other than two three objects the room lay bare and barren. Clarke looked back at the door to find it heavyset. A single window lay to the right, the shuttered wood blinds slats, weathered, shuttered. Only a few slips of light managed to sneak their way into the room's interior but it was enough to give light.

At least just barely.

Clarke's adrenaline had started to subside just a little. Her beating heart had lessened enough that she could begin to think more clearly. She knew it would be locked but she reached for the door handle and tried opening the door. When that didn't work Clarke tried pulling open the shuttered slats keeping the rest of the outside world hidden from her but they, too, were somehow locked.

Clarke sighed before she turned and faced the bed. Maybe it was the suddenness of her predicament or the fact that it felt like years since she had laid upon anything close to soft but as she stared at the bed she felt her eyes beginning to grow heavy. She tried stifling the yawn only to fail and groan as her jaw clicked.

Perhaps it couldn't hurt to get some rest. She was in no situation to demand anything. She was in no situation to do anything other than accept what was happening. At least for the time being.

But Clarke stood up quickly, she turned for the door and she bit her lip just once as she considered her next move.

Maybe she should at least try something.

And so Clarke took a step back, she judged the distance and then she slammed forward and kicked the door as hard as she could.

Clarke didn't know what she expected to happen but she had hoped it would be more.

Clarke whined as her leg jarred, she felt her knee protest the sudden shock and even her aching feet seemed to scream at her with as much frustration as she was feeling herself. She didn't entirely mean to but Clarke felt a roar rip from her lips as she shoved the door hard.

Perhaps it was a year's worth of built up rage or the anger and fear and all those other emotions suddenly bubbling to the surface. Whatever the reason Clarke screamed.

Her voice was hoarse, broken, she was tired.

Sadness, desperation and so many other emotions almost took hold.

But Clarke somehow fought her emotions back under control and then it was quiet. Calm. As if nothing had ever happened at all.

Clarke felt tears beginning to well in her eyes, she felt pains and angers slowly taking hold of her and they weren't sudden, weren't driven by fear. She didn't really know why she began to cry but she did.

Perhaps she was overwhelmed, perhaps she didn't know what to think or even how to think.

Everything she had ever known was wrong.

People lived on Earth for years, perhaps even generations. It felt like her people had lasted lifetimes thinking they were the only ones left and yet it wasn't the case.

Maybe her father would still be alive, maybe countless people would still be alive if they had only tried harder.

Clarke sank down to her knees in front of the door and she tried to settle her breathing. It took her longer than she'd care to admit before she felt herself righted but perhaps it wasn't so bad.

She took in a slow and stuttered breath before she wiped the tears from her eyes and turned back to face the room that had become her prison and she started to think.

Clarke didn't think she was in danger, or at least not immediate danger. She was sure she'd be dead if that was the case. She didn't think Lexa was in immediate danger either despite the way that man had treated her. There was a brief flash of anger at the memory of Lexa's face pulling in pain before Clarke stamped it out. She started thinking about what Lexa had told her about Mount Weather, too.

She didn't know why it was dangerous. She didn't even know if she had assumed correctly that Lexa meant the tunnels were dangerous. Perhaps any one of the beasts that now existed on Earth would be explanation enough— and yet?

And yet Clarke started thinking about that thing.

It took her a moment to remember what Lexa called it.

Ripa.

Clarke didn't need to be a genius to understand that Lexa and her people must fear it. She didn't need to be a genius to understand that she should fear it too.

But as Clarke continued to think over that memory she realised she didn't quite have as much information as she would like.

Though she had seen only a silhouette, though she had only seen a brief glimpse of it she was sure it had been humanoid, bipedal, something that seemed far too humanlike for her comfort. And that, she realised, she didn't like, didn't care to like and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end.

She didn't have any answers to those unknowns yet and for now Clarke knew she wouldn't get them. Tiredness still pulled at her mind, fatigue still weighed her body down and it couldn't hurt. Clarke looked over at the bed again and it seemed even more enticing than before.

Perhaps getting even a little sleep could help.

Clarke woke with a start. She didn't know why, she didn't how, but something in the back of her mind told her she was being watched. She bolted up, the furs pooled around her waist as she blinked through the sleep in her eyes. The first thing Clarke noticed was that she was still in that same small room. The second thing she noticed was that her supplies were piled in the far corner of the room. Even her rifle was laying there.

The next thing Clarke noticed was that there was something in the air. It took her far too long to realise that what she smelled was food. It was warm, rich, something she couldn't put her finger on. She had never smelled anything like it before and it immediately made her salivate and her stomach grumble.

Clarke's eyes landed on the table to find a plate, steaming. Enticing. She couldn't quite tell what was atop it but she thought it meats, roasted, even vegetables or roots or fruits to one side. There was even a beaker of what she assumed to be a hot drink by its side, the steam wafting up over the lip charming in the—

Clarke's eyes snapped to the figure who sat in a chair.

"Lexa," Clarke started to rise only to wince at the aches in her legs.

Lexa sat in the air, her legs crossed elegantly as she stared at her. She still wore the same clothes she had when last they had seen each other, and as Clarke searched her face she found Lexa void of any visible signs of injury.

Before Clarke could begin to talk again Lexa inclined her head to the food and lifted a finger, the motion subtle as if to direct Clarke's attention.

"For me?" Clarke asked as she gestured to the food before pointing herself awkwardly.

"Sha," Lexa said.

Clarke smiled as she slipped off the bed and ignored whatever aches and pains had begun taking hold of her.

"Mochof," Clarke said as she sat in the chair.

She felt a little awkward with Lexa watching her, she felt a little self conscious at the fact that Lexa had clearly been letting her sleep while in her presence but perhaps that was simply something Lexa did.

Clarke stared at the food, her eyes wide, her stomach screaming for her to consume it all. She didn't know what meat it was, she didn't know if she could name all the vegetables but she didn't care, didn't even want to question what was being offered—

Before Clarke started eaten she paused, she glanced at Lexa.

"Are you hungry?" Clarke asked as she gestured to the plate then to Lexa.

"Nou," Lexa said with a single shake of her head.

Clarke gave her a small smile before she started eating. Tastes hit her in waves. She groaned, she closed her eyes and Clarke tried not to make a scene as she started chewing.

Clarke didn't realise she was as hungry as she was. She didn't realise she could be as hungry as she was. As she bit into the first piece of meat she realised she had never tasted anything like it before. As she chewed, as she savoured the juices and as she swallowed she felt something primal, something innate, something pathetically desperate almost take hold as she forked a roasted orange root and bit into it.

Clarke knew it was unbecoming of her, she knew it had to be in some way rude to eat the way she did but she didn't care. Clarke had lived off processed nutrients, vegetables grown under UV light that had never been enough.

She knew Lexa must already know whatever foods she had ever had access to were not even a tenth as fulfilling as what she was now eating, their shared food int he bunker had been sign enough. But as Clarke wolfed down something she assumed to be a potato or its closest existing equivalent she paused, she slowed her chewing and she swallowed.

Clarke looked down at her plate. She had eaten half of it without even thinking and it wasn't pretty, wasn't delicate.

Clarke suddenly felt ashamed, suddenly felt embarrassed, so very aware of what she must look like she she felt her cheeks beginning to burn.

Clarke took a steadying breath before she looked over to Lexa to find the other woman content to watch, perhaps to study, to take in whatever scene Clarke had caused.

"Sorry," Clarke whispered. "I—" she glanced back down at the plate of food. "I've never had anything like this before," she felt the shame burning upon her shoulders like a weight. "Up there," she gestured up over them. "Where I call home," she hoped Lexa could understand her words. "We never had anything like this. Ever," she gestured to the food, to the beaker of hot drink she hadn't touched yet.

Lexa let the corner of her lip turn at just enough that it was visible before she inclined her head as if to give Clarke permission to continue and in response Clarke took another steadying breath before sighing and reaching for the beaker. Taking a drink of something hot would do her good. Perhaps it was help ease her into politeness, perhaps it was give her a reason to pause between shovelling food into her mouth without manners.

Clarke took a cautious sip. The drink was heady, strong, she didn't entirely think it was alcohol, but there was something spicy in it that made her eyes water. It almost burned as it went down but Clarke's eyes widened as something between savoury and sweet washed across her tastebuds.

She almost coughed before she took another careful sip, and this one was a little more sure as the taste settled.

"It—" Clarke did cough. "It's nice," she smiled awkwardly. "I just wasn't expecting it."

There was a twinkle of mirth in Lexa's eyes and Clarke found herself enjoying that sight more as she put the beaker down and took another bite of the food.

And so Clarke finished her plate, but this time she ate more slowly, more cautiously. She was cognisant of how it must look and she said something every now and then to Lexa who answered her with a word or two that she didn't recognise. Eventually Clarke finished, she placed the cutlery aside as neatly as she could and she found herself half turned in her chair as she faced Lexa who had hardly moved from the position Clarke had discovered her in.

"Thank you," Clarke said. "Mochof, for the food," Clarke tried to think about what she wanted to say, or how to say what she wanted to say.

Lexa began to move and rise from her chair but Clarke lifted a hand to stop her.

"Lexa," Clarke said quickly.

Lexa paused, settled back into the chair and looked at her intently.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Clarke said again, but this time she tried to stare Lexa directly in the eyes. "Thank you for helping me," she gestured around them. "I—" she trailed off for a moment in thought. "I wouldn't have made it without you. I wouldn't have survived," Clarke suddenly felt a surge of emotion threatening to consume her but she pushed it aside, pushed it down and fought for control and she hoped Lexa understood. "Even if this," she said and gestured to the small room. "If this is just for a day or two, thank you," Clarke saw Lexa's eyes staring, searching, looking at her with such intensity that Clarke almost got lost in them. "I know you weren't supposed to," Clarke continued. "I know you were probably told off," she gestured to her arm to indicate where she had seen the man grab Lexa.

Lexa's lips twitched up at the corners in a small smile and Clarke knew she understood. At least the last part. But it was enough for her to want to continue, to want to try to reach out in some way.

"I just…" Clarke paused again in thought but she realised being simple, being direct. Being open, was all that really mattered. And so, with honesty in her eyes, Clarke said to Lexa, "thank you."

"You are very welcome, Clarke."