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There were moments when Clarke could rest in the beauty of this world. Moments when she opened the hatch of the bunker and the sun was peeking through the forest, lighting up the dew on the grass. Moments when chatting birds were all she could hear. Moments when she could feel the green and blue expanse of this world reaching far beyond the stupid conflicts of this particular place.
Moments when she could forget. Or remember. She wasn’t sure which she wanted more.
She remembered looking down on this planet from the Ark. She couldn’t see the destruction or the blood or the bullets. All she could see was everything at once and wonder how her people destroyed their miracle. She remembered when the drop ship landed, and she was sure she was about to die, but instead the planet was alive and endless.
Which is what she felt this day, her back against a tree as the sun spilled through the thick trees onto her face. She reached down for one of the blackberries in a pile on the ground next to her. She’d found a new cluster of the prickly bushes that morning and risked the pokes and scratches for the explosion of sweet and tart. She’d never tasted anything like them before she came to the ground. The Ark grew fruits and vegetables, yes, but they were stubborn and bland without natural sunlight and the secrets of seasoned soil to nourish them.
The first time she had tasted blackberries was in Ton DC. After Finn. Before…
In her mind, she lived a hundred lifetimes in that one night. A dozen times betrayed. A dozen times when she doesn’t pull the lever. A dozen times when Lexa stands fierce beside her. A dozen times when her life goes dark. A dozen times when the battle has ended, the celebrations have gone quiet, and they are together in the night.
Nothing happened. Everything happened.
Her sleep was haunted by images of children gasping for breath, their parents’ skin bubbling with radiation, an entire mountain dying. Her mind moved their pain and destruction to a city she’d never seen—children burning, men screaming, buildings tumbling, the flames closing in on their Commander whose eyes have finally gone fearful.
It was the least she deserved.
Clarke took a deep, jagged breath and picked up another blackberry. It tasted like a miracle. She was angry. Too angry. Move on. The voice in her head was harsh. She’s not worth it. She never has been. She shook her head. Every time, she waited for the flames to take Lexa, waited for her sash to catch and the shoulder piece to melt into her skin. But every time, she opened her eyes just as the flames licked at the Commander’s feet.
She never let Lexa burn.
“This has gotten out of control, Heda.” Titus paced back and forth across Lexa’s throne. “They’re calling her Wanheda.” He stopped and looked Lexa in the eyes. “She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Yes, she does,” Lexa said evenly. “We ran.” She looked down. “And she destroyed the Mountain.”
“You saved your people, Heda.” Titus squinted at her. “And she saved hers.”
Lexa wondered if he could see the worry in her eyes.
“She’s powerful, Lexa. Her legend grows. I’m told the Ice Queen searches for her as we speak. To take her power.”
Lexa wasn’t expecting how her heart skipped, but her face remained stone.
“Every moment she lives undermines your authority.”
Her head didn’t move, but her eyes darted like a blow in his direction. He wasn’t wrong.
She took in a slow breath, letting a thick silence settle over them. Finally, she let the breath out. “You’re right, teacher.” She saw the corner of his mouth lift just a millimeter. She knew him well enough to know that he thought he’d won. Lexa was careful not to let her face betray her own satisfaction. “We need to capture her, bring her to Polis.” She looked Titus in the eyes. “Quietly. And unharmed. I don’t want her weakened when I deal with her.”
“Yes, Heda.”
She saw the smile in his eyes as he bowed. He doesn’t know how well he trained me, she thought as she watched him stride out. Lexa waited until the sound of his feet disappeared down the hall.
“Give me the room,” she said to the guards. They nodded silently as they swung the doors closed behind them. When she heard them click shut, she let her body slump into the chair, her head resting against one of the branches that made up its back. After a moment, she stood up, pushed in the clasp of her shoulder piece, and let it fall with her sash into a red puddle onto the floor.
She let out a long breath and closed her eyes—which was always a mistake. She saw Clarke’s face whenever she let her eyes close. Torchlight. The edge of a battle. The Mountain. The weight of disappointment in those blue eyes wouldn’t let go of her. More sadness than anger, which made it almost unbearable.
Most nights, Lexa was barely sleeping.
She replayed the scene in her head over and over, cringing whenever she heard herself say, “I made this decision with my head and not my heart.” It was a lie. Worse, it was a lie she had convinced herself was true, at least at the time.
The truth was, Lexa couldn’t forget the moment she had risked everything she had built, everything she had become, in order to be close to Clarke. Her impenetrable strength. Her ruthless decisiveness. She set that all down when she pulled Clarke towards her and kissed her.
And Clarke had pulled away.
It stung. It stayed with her. It was with her at the Mountain. It was with her when she was given a choice. Her people or Clarke’s. She meant for her head to guide her, but when Clarke was nearby, there was no getting her heart out of the way. And her heart had been hurt.
Lexa bit her lip and shook her head hard. That’s not why I did it, she told herself over and over again. But the truth was, she didn’t know. She could never be sure. But the Commander had to be sure.
She rubbed her eyes and picked up her shoulder piece.
The truth was, Clarke made her vulnerable. And the truth was, sometimes Lexa wanted to be vulnerable.
Clarke rubbed her stomach. Too many blackberries. She smiled. It was worth it.
Her head spun as she heard a rustle behind her. She peeked around the tree and saw a squirrel digging in the leaves. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She knew Bellamy and her mother would be looking for her. Niylah had mentioned Azgeda hunting parties creeping across Trikru land. Clarke stood up and rubbed her eyes. She should get back to the bunker. Everyone was searching for her. Except…
Thoughts tumbled through her mind without permission. Was I just a pawn? Did she ever care? She shook her head hard, berating herself. Let her go.
That night instead of fire she dreamed of the door. The armies ready to launch. Warriors straining and the door cracking open. The world halting with one word from the Commander. Emerson’s smirk. Lexa’s eyes in the torchlight.
Forgive me, she pleaded with her. Please.
She woke up in the pitch black of the bunker. She took a few heavy breaths in the dark then turned onto her side. Her pillow was wet where she had been crying. Her jaw clenched hard as she reached up to run her fingers over the wet cloth.
She said we would fight together. She said she trusted me. She said we would get our people back. Clarke’s jaw ached, and she noticed she hadn’t taken a breath. She closed her eyes, though it was all the same in the darkness of the bunker. I only asked for what my people needed. Not anything else. She leaned into me. She kissed me. I didn’t ask for that.
I didn’t ask for you.
More tears spilled down her face, and every tear brought a flash of anger so sharp she could feel it cutting into the lead floor of the bunker and drawing her into the dirt below.
I didn’t ask for you. The thought washed out like waves on a beach and then came back again changed and real and true: Come find me. The rhythm pulsed through her—the heat of anger then the blank emptiness of a longing she couldn’t exile. I didn’t ask for you. Come find me. Out and back again. Over and over.
Her jaw let go as her breath followed the rhythm. Finally, she drifted off into a black sleep.
Clarke woke up twelve hours later thirsty and with a sharp headache. She checked her supplies for the dried ginger turmeric tea that Niylah had given her for pain. One cup left, and enough dried meat for just another day or two.
She would need to visit the trading post again. But first, she needed to hunt.