( more baffling than murphy pitching in was emori and echo, likely for the sake of survival too. it had been a team effort and call it instinct or whatever, but so many things could have gone wrong beyond timing and clarke getting the satellite aligned that for awhile there, raven couldn’t believe it had actually worked. clarke got the lights on and the door open, raven got the ship docked, monty gave the instructions, bellamy was the hands, and harper, murphy, emori, and echo kept everyone else alive while their oxygen dwindled away. )

Don’t give him all the credit. It took every single one of us to get on board and get the oxygen going. ( and maybe some night soon ( when they’re not in broad daylight in public ), raven can sit on the floor in clarke’s room and lean up against her bed and hash out the details from start to finish, leaving nothing to the imagination. she intentionally doesn’t label him as a cockroach in the moment, though she does take notice of the inflection in clarke’s voice and how she states her deduction. she’s right but she also doesn’t know that murphy is the one that tried to keep her from losing her mind down in becca’s lab and that he’d been the last one to leave her behind.

she turns her face to study clarke; she can’t help it. that and to look at their hands. raven doesn’t resist her. she’s not one to recoil from the touchy-feely unless she’s trying to work or it’s someone that has no right to put hands on her. neither of those things are applicable here. it’s. what is it? raven bites the inside of her lip, not worrying it totally, but like she’s stretching her arm to grab something that teeters just out of reach. clarke’s fondness is met with raven’s — she may not always be on board but she respects her, stands beside her, and believes in clarke unfailingly.

raven feels concern and relief, parsing through those easily. she’s perceptive enough on her own merits without a handy empathy link to confirm her suspicions. on her side, from the second clarke takes her hand, there’s a plain curiosity that she tries to suppress. a warm rush of pride at being acknowledged, intertwined with survivor’s guilt, and then a brief sadness. don’t worry, she squashes it with a tiny spike of mild irritation at the end. she nods once, hearing it ( hoping it doesn't go in one ear and out the other ) while she attempts to absorb it. coming from clarke, the gratitude packs a heavy punch. she hasn't heard a ton of thank yous in her life, despite all the seemingly impossible tasks she's accomplished in record time.

it isn't being underappreciated so much as it's the fact that there is always something more pressing going on. her mom chose alcohol, finn chose clarke, clarke left all of them ( and has been trying to atone ever since ), and sinclair's just gone — so yeah, raven feels vulnerable. )

You don't have to thank me. ( but thanks for saying it anyway. ) They're my friends, too. I wasn't about to let them die if I could do something to stop it.

I pushed them. ( made them all strap-in, except for bellamy, until the last possible second. ) Bellamy. He wanted to wait. ( and no, that's not right. it's true, just not the whole truth. softer, not because it's a secret, ) I wanted to.

( she squeezes clarke's hand to emphasize; it should be weird but it's a contact they both need. )

I would have if I thought you wouldn't kick our asses on the other side. ( she laughs, a sudden and ruptured sound because if she doesn't, she might start crying. )