( that'll come in time, john says. and clarke internally counters with: yes, and on my timeline.

boil the soup stock down to the bones, there's no real reason for her to fight that hard against their current predicament. all her friends back home are either burnt, buried, and blindly sailing through space on a fools mission. clarke herself had been dying on a cold tile floor, miserably alone. there's no life to go back to, but she'll be digging her heels in to find a link back to her home world regardless. fighting comes second nature now; a change of scenery doesn't immediately shake well learned survival techniques.

so she wants to fight, and he wants to laugh. they're easily at odds with priorities, but that doesn't mean it's not useful to maintain a reasonable acquaintanceship. who knows, maybe they'd each prove useful to the other in time. )

Alright. ( clarke's chewing on her lower lip, the skin already so dry, cracked, tasting of blood, and smarting. ) I hope you're right and this is all something we can laugh about in the future, but. I can't sit still and just accept there's nothing to be done or learned about it.