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The furs, usually a soft embrace cushioning her throughout the night, made her skin itch. She turned, on the second set of preferred sleeping positions by now, and sighed loudly into the darkness. She resented her inability to sleep alone; that, if anything, spoke clearly of how she had (willingly, achingly) given in to weakness all those months ago. Lexa was too far away, their bed was too cold, and Clarke hugged a pillow closer to her chest as if the caged feathers could shield her from the restlessness in her body.
Alone. She tasted the word, spoke it aloud, tried to render it meaningless and devoid of power. But it grew inside her mouth, clouded her eyes and sent the cool air of the tent breezing over her skin. Clarke closed her eyes and imagined Lexa's face as it looked in sleep; the shadow of her eyelashes like a ghost on her cheek, the mess of hair, half-released from its braids, and the unguarded, relaxed expression, somehow just as serene as her Commander's mask, but softer, younger, warmer. It was a face Clarke rarely saw, usually not the first to wake up, and so whenever she was privy to it, it felt like discovering treasure. She imagined Lexa's hand, entwined with her own, sometimes the only place their bodies touched in sleep – an anchor, a reassurance. Safety. She imagined their embrace – close, urgent, relieved at seeing each other at the end of the day. Lexa usually took a step back to look at Clarke afterwards, to make sure she was as real and in one piece as she had been in the morning. An inventory of cheekbones, piercing eyes and small smiles. Clarke loved to watch Lexa watch her. It made her feel alive, frozen in a moment of loving scrutiny.
Clarke's skin crawled with the need to move even as her mind was greedy for sleep. She finally gave in and untangled herself from the furs, shivering as her naked body was exposed to the chill of the room, and quickly dressed in a robe. A few minutes later she was sitting close to an assortment of lit candles, sipping a hot tea and losing herself in the tranquil flames. Fire. Fire had been there between her and Lexa, literally and metaphorically, since the day they met. Their bond had been forged in fire, from the flames of the funeral pyre that slowly consumed Finn's body to the inevitable fires of Tondc as it was destroyed and the warm candlelight that surrounded them on the first night. Fire was their element; all-consuming, flickering alive from one second to the next. Their bodies knew fire and their minds craved it, aching for it even as the danger of who they were in this world threatened to consume them entirely. Lexa's eyes held fire, and Clarke could not look away.
An hour passed as Clarke stayed deep in thought inside the flames. Then, as if hearing some silent signal, she rose and stretched, blew out the candles and returned to the bed. Lying down on Lexa's side, she tried her favourite sleeping position again. In the shelter of darkness and because the walls of her mind was merely a shadow at night, she allowed herself to breathe in the scent of the covers. They smelled like the forest in early morning, like Lexa's body against hers, and like fire. Clarke's body warmed at the memory of the night before the Commander left, how their bodies had given and taken in a rhythm long since learned and frequently practiced. How impossibly ready she had been for Lexa's hands, mouth, and tongue. How eagerly she had pressed her body against hers and wished they had more time, always more time. But Lexa had to leave to discuss treaties and alliances to keep the fragile peace that had been a long time coming. Clarke sometimes joined her on her travels, but this time she was needed at home to help settle a dispute in their own camp. Lexa had been more than happy to leave the petty conflict behind, which Clarke understood with a passion. If only she could have done the same.
The next time she turned, sighing once more, her hand brushed by something soft under the pillow. Pulling it out, she realised it was one of Lexa's thin undershirts. Trying hard to ignore how needy it made her feel, Clarke tucked it into a ball and laid it next to her pillow, burying her fingers in the soft fabric. She remembered hurriedly removing this particular shirt those days before and the feeling of Lexa's skin then; the taut muscle of her lower back and arms and the contrasting softness of her breasts. She remembered how heavy her body had felt afterwards, how seductive sleep had seemed even though she knew it would make morning arrive faster.
As the first grey of dawn slowly chased away the black of night and the earliest birds started chirping tentatively, Clarke's breathing slowly leveled out, and finally, she slept.