Chapter Text
“Lexa, stop it.”
She heard the command in the words, and Lexa’s jaw clenched at being ordered, at being in the state she was in; tense, a predator in a cage. She wanted to bite something. She was patient, it was one of her virtues, but she could not stand to be so immobile for long. Her muscles, aching as they were, prowled, flexed, she couldn’t stand the feeling of nothingness that engulfed her, irrational as it was. So Lexa swallowed the pain and gripped tightly to the table, leaning, her heart beating fast, lungs expanding in her deep breathing. It hurt to be alive.
“Sit back down. Now, Lexa.”
Her eyes drifted, glared, to Clarke, who was staring at her, immovable and firm, and it was a battle of wills between them. They stared at each other, for a moment, which felt an eternity. Lexa refused to relent, and she did not have the patience for those eyes, not today. Still, she could not stare at them for long, despite the infinity of them, the pull to drown and swim in, those eyes blue and deep and a storm. She did not have the patience for them; they haunted her, with words of never being ready but yes Clarke loves Lexa, and Lexa loves Clarke. But Lexa was weak and she still could not be sure it wasn’t all a dream, that it wasn’t real. But there was something different in those eyes from before Clarke left Polis for her people, and now, after. There was less hate. Still, things were tense, and Lexa was tense from her back, her recovery. It ached and crawled and she felt it all.
“I have things to do.”
“You have people to take care of those things. You’re barely even four days healing, and you’re moving?”
“I am Heda, I should have been at the meeting, Clarke. I should be overseeing my people.”
“The meeting was fine. We can go over it later. Just - stop being like this. You can oversee them once you’re stronger.”
“I am not weak,” Lexa almost snarled.
“And your people know that!” Clarke stepped closer, angry, frustrated, “They think you’re – some – some kind of – superhuman. God, Lexa, you could have so easily died. And now you’re tempting death again by aggravating your wounds!”
“I told you, I do not fear death,” Lexa stated, bristled.
“Maybe you don’t. But I do,” Clarke paused, eyes wavering, emotional, and when she spoke next, it was scratchy, raw; truth stuck in her throat. “I do, Lexa. I fear death. I fear yours.”
And the words echoed in Lexa’s mind. Do you love me? Then, Clarke’s voice quiet, honest. Yes.
Lexa wouldn’t believe it.
“Yes, Spirits forbid one of my generals’ takes my place. Correct?”
She bit out the words, an echo of a time where everything was still new, between sky and ground, between her and Clarke, useful for her station alone; and it was an attack, a lashing out of feeling stuck, oppressed and useless. It was words born of self-depreciation, and Clarke saw it, saw it all, the spite and bitterness and pain in Lexa’s eyes, because there are parts of her that do not think herself worthy as a human being, only valued for her title. Clarke wanted to cry and yell and collapse in Lexa’s embrace because how could she possibly think Clarke wanted anyone but her for anything?
“Yes, Spirits forbid! Do I need to spell it out for you? You’re human, Lexa. Despite what your people may think, you aren’t a god. But you,” and here, Clarke took let go of breath, exhaled, calmer, “you can’t die. Everything would fall apart if you did.”
But she was angry too. It’s an easy thing to latch onto, however heavy it is, because it burns hot and strong, it can be easily fuelled once started, and it had been a familiar weight for a long while, for Clarke. Anger, grief and pain – they became familiars, and she felt them all again, then, along with fear. This fear was new, this fear of death. Something could happen to Lexa at any moment, and what then? What of her people, the sky people, and the Coalition? What of Clarke? She didn’t know and that scared her, had her heart trembling, a little.
“Everything, Lexa. You can’t. I… I need you to be okay, okay? Not just – not just as Heda. Not just for your people, for peace. Please, Lexa. Just, take it easy? Please. For me.”
Clarke was in front of her now, hands on her arms, holding, reassuring, as blue eyes implored. There was tenderness, and Lexa could not look away, she wanted to drown. She wanted to kiss. Lexa's eyes flicked down and Clarke seemed to then remember herself, because her touch flinched away, not shockingly, but quickly, an inch, enough. Lexa saw it, and it was suddenly a different pain that took hold of her being, of loneliness and rejection, and it was not real, it was a dream and Lexa relented for the day. She nodded, minutely, and that earned her a smile, small at it was, a ghost of one, from Clarke. Lexa thought she knew sadness in loving someone and them being gone. But she didn’t know it as well she thought. It was loving someone right in front of you, and them not touching you. It was loving someone and it being fruitless. She felt such sadness then.
“It’ll get easier,” Clarke said, hovering for a moments help, as Lexa made her way back to the bed.
“My back will heal.”
My heart will not.
*
It was quiet. The kind that was peaceful, that allowed for the mind to stop its pacing, yet, should it not, also allowed for thoughts of contemplation and reflection. Lexa liked the quiet. It was warm, as well. Flames flickered from candles and torches and it was a heat to laze and slumber to. Clarke was quiet as she looked at the healing scars and her hands were warm as she checked the stitching and re-wrapped bandages, clean. It was a few days short of three weeks, of moodiness, of simmering rebellion and resting, of Lexa being weak and Clarke helping with clothing, with sitting and moving and drinking and eating, of pain and frustration. The back, it holds so much. Lexa was ready to be done with it all. And then there was Clarke there, throughout it all, by her side. Lexa questioned it, was thankful for it, but it was torture of a different kind.
“Why did you not leave with your people?”
Those hands, warm and gentle, stopped, for a moment.
“I wanted to stay, and you need a reasonable doctor.”
“My wounds are healing well.”
“The minute I’d leave you’d be out and no one would stop you. You shouldn’t pressure your body.”
“I am fine, Clarke.”
“Don’t lie to me, please.”
“I have never.”
And that was true. Lexa did not lie, not to Clarke. She was fine, but fine was the crux of so many things, it was a surface, a skin, quick to shed and quick to grow, easily meaning one thing in simplicity but more in complexity. Fine was your presence is both a blessing and a curse, it was I love you but, and was you do not care for me, and yet, and more it was I don’t understand why you’re here, unless. Most basically, fundamentally, fine was I am healing and I am alive, was I am surviving, and that is fine.
Lexa was fine the same as anyone was, and Clarke knew that, knew all what fine was, and while she could not see, Clarke was contemplating. She had a furrow in her brow and her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, and her hands rested on the bandages. Clarke could feel the wounds, her tender skin, could feel the cracks of a leader’s soul visible in physical form, touchable.
“I have dreams, some nights. That you… that you broke, on the poll, or, when stitching you up you just… that you lost too much blood, and… I saw it,” Clarke swallowed, croaked, the images swirling, forming, the feelings evoked from them surfacing. “I saw you die after suffering and I felt alone.”
A beat, maybe one, or two, and then an exhaled admission, “I was ready to die. I could have let myself.”
Clarke could not imagine the pain, so long and prolonged; she could not imagine it, but understood it was there, was enough to want and be ready for such things. The moment was tentative, then, and Clarke moved around to stand in front of Lexa, finishing wrapping from the front, mindful of Lexa’s breasts. Some days she would blush, lightly, others she was too focused, too tense. She did not blush then, but she was not tense, and when Clarke finished, she did not move away.
“You were ready to die, in that cage, too. You were ready to get ripped to pieces,” Clarke spoke, as she gazed at Lexa, non-repulsed, non-angered.
It was the quietness, the peace. Nothing felt heavy then, and Lexa’s eyes darted away, unsure of what this moment was. “You were not ready.”
“And the poll?”
Outside Clarke was calm, probing, searching, but her heart was thundering and beating because she found herself wanting suddenly. It was those dreams. They had her waking and longing to hold Lexa, safe, warm, and assure she was alive, they had her loving more. But whenever she woke she could not reach out and touch Lexa to reassure herself, because they did not rest together. But Clarke wanted to, just for the reassurance, the peace. She was tired of just dreams and charged waking moments. She was tired of the fear, of the loneliness. She held her hands on the sternum of Lexa’s chest, and she did not move, and Lexa caught Clarke’s stare then and did not look away.
“My people. Our people. I thought of… I thought of you, Clarke.”
Lexa’s eyes were so big, so close, wide, vulnerable and honest. Clarke’s own darted between the two earths, her heart stuck in her throat, in her chest and her forehead leaned forwards to Lexa’s. She took a moment to breathe, consciously, a heavy yet light thing, the inhaling and exhaling of air. Their eyes had both closed at the contact, because the atmosphere was no longer tense, but tender, and it was delicate.
“Clarke.”
And there was hesitancy, there, a lace of it, unsure.
“This isn’t a dream.”
Lexa’s breathing hitched, “You hate me.”
“You know that’s not true,” Clarke shook her head, not much, but enough, and Lexa’s forehead followed the small action as noses nudged.
Lexa no longer felt like a prowling animal, but she felt scared, uncertain, because this was certainly not a dream. She spoke and her words were soft to the ears.
“You do not…you do not care for me.”
“Lexa,” Clarke tried.
“Clarke.”
Just her name, sometimes, from Lexa’s mouth, her tongue. It can undo her.
“I’ve cared for you all this time.”
A moment, then:
“Why are you crying, Clarke?”
“Oh.”
She hadn’t realised she was, they were a few silent tears. Lexa’s eyes were open now and they were so much closer. Clarke looked into them and then away and down, bowed her head a little, sniffed.
“I…because… you were so close to – and your – your back, Lexa… I have nightmares that you – and,” Clarke shifted her head back, up to the ceiling with a sniffle, wiping the tears with one hand, the other touching Lexa. “And I dream of you and us, of what of you said, and you think it was just a dream but –”
“It wasn’t.”
“Huh?”
“It wasn’t a dream,” Lexa cupped Clarke’s cheek, wiped a tear from her eye, and Clarke leaned into the touch, eye’s watching, adored. “I love you.”
Clarke’s eyes shone blue daylight, wet, and her lips quirked a brief smile, genuine.
“I’m not ready,” the blonde swallowed, “I don’t think I’ll ever be, Lexa. I’m broken.”
“We both are, Clarke.”
“Okay. Then slow, Lexa, because I’m still feeling a lot. I need… I need us, everything to be slow. But… we’re steady now. So long as you take care of yourself, okay?”
“Clarke…”
“I know, but we have peace now. You shouldn’t – there’s no need for you to hurt yourself.”
“You would take care of me.”
“You’re a horrible patient.”
“This is real.”
“It is.”
“Ai hod yu in.”
“Slow and steady,” Clarke breathed, nodded, as if she declared something resolute, factual and unchangeable.
“Is that a Sky People’s saying? Slow and steady?”
Clarke laughed, a short, melodious sound, and it felt and tasted like freedom, of life. It was light, to carry. She wanted more of that.
“I guess.”
Lexa hummed, content, to be so close to Clarke without the fear. Their foreheads rested and their eyes had closed a while before, then Lexa felt lips on hers, and she surrendered easily. Her lips moved slowly, gently – so similar to their kiss so long ago – and it was light and tender, brush strokes, and Lexa did not push. Because Clarke needed to breathe Lexa’s air to know she was alive, needed to kiss her because Clarke dreamt of never kissing those lips again, dreamt of them so bloody and cold and unmoving, and then she dreamt of them alive and on her skin and Clarke ached. She finished it more passionately then when it began, though tender still, the urgency and need having spurred her tongue. There would be more, of kissing, and further, in time. Her lips parted from Lexa’s gently and she did not move away.
“You’re still mine?”
“Always.”
“I’m yours too.”
Lexa kissed Clarke's cheek, the corner of her mouth, and held the blonde close, “I feel whole with you.”