clarke looks up sharply at the sound of a knock on her door. most of the people in this town don't bother with knocking. she's become a fixture here, and she's glad of it -- her medical experience excusing any suspicion that came with her sudden appearance four years ago.
she walks to the door and opens it herself. "i thought you'd be gone longer," she says. despite the bluntness of her tone, she's happy to see him, and it likely shows in her face. he's one of her only sources of news from outside the settlement.
bellamy isn't from around here -- isn't from anywhere, far as she can tell --, but clarke considers him in her roster of regular patients anyway. he'd first shown up half a year ago, a bloody mess of a would-be raider on her doorstep, and promised to pay her back in a few weeks' time for fixing him up. to her surprise, he'd returned to make good on his word: bringing her not only caps but some supplies she'd badly needed. and since then, they've struck up a kind of -- friendship? maybe. maybe friendship is too strong a word for it. something symbiotic. he visits her when he's not roaming the wastelands, or when anyone in his crew needs doctoring. or when he has something for her, usually news or medical supplies.
"come in," she moves to close the door again behind him, already scanning his posture, his stance, anything for an injury he thinks himself too stoic to complain about. she doesn't say how are you or where have you been, because that feels a little too close to something clarke isn't ready to admit. instead she says, "do you need your stitches changed again?"
plotted w. @sordidery
