[ every day he feels that his moral compass is askew, wanting to cling to the person he used to be. the world has never been black and white but constantly treading into that grey area still makes him nervous and uncertain about which direction he should take. he would have once rejected the notion that he would one day have to keep his weapons close and often visible, that he would have to learn different ways of fighting.

there are different ways of survival and coping, of reacting to fresh wounds in the process of healing. the memories from mount weather still stay with them, from the horror of watching them drill into raven to that uncertain feeling after their struggles came to an end. he often sees those blistered bodies scattered all over the bunker when he closes his eyes. no one's hands were clean after that day.

for a long while, he remains quiet, simply keeping his eyes fixed on clarke's face as she speaks to him. he unclenches his jaw. ] You didn't have to go at this alone. You have me, and you have everyone else. [ as steady as he would like to be, there is a very small tremor in his voice near the end of his sentence and he suddenly looks away from her, clenching his fists.

a deep breath. ] I'm just glad to see you in one piece, Clarke.

[ it isn't difficult to smile when he says that and he takes the smallest step forward as an attempt to close the distance between them. he does nothing further. ]