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The battle is over, the war won and Clarke wipes blood from her cheek with the back of her hand. She expected to feel joy, but when all their guards and the people willing to fight are dead or have given up, all she feels is relief that it's over.
Amidst bodies and blood, Grounders, Sky People and Mountain Men alike, she finds a bruised Monty and a pale Jasper, holding each other up, behind them a group of the 47, and she swallows before she hugs them, firm but brief.
They are alive.
She sends them outside, to her mother and the other healers, promising to follow soon. She walks through the halls, looking for more survivors, looking for her people, looking for grounders and somewhere on her way out, there's Bellamy who hugs her tight and she tries to breathe as Octavia and a woman wearing scraps of cloth watch on.
Bellamy lets her go and Octavia looks at her, jaw clenched but hugging her anyway. “The commander was injured,” Octavia starts, and it's all she needs to hear, her legs carrying her outside. The air that hits her is cold, pressing onto her chest instead of filling it, and she makes her way to her mother and the healers, her eyes flitting over the wounded.
Lexa isn't there.
Without thought, she runs towards the command tent. The guards standing in front of it let her through without question, she doesn't have the time to think about why, because when she pushes past the fabric, she can see Lexa sitting upright on her bed, and finally, she breathes.
She watches Lexa flinch as she tries to clean a wound on her arm, blood on her hands and face. “Why aren't you with a healer?” she asks, stepping closer until she stands in front of Lexa. Up close she discovers more wounds, some scrapes, some gashes.
“Our warriors need them more than I do,” Lexa speaks through gritted teeth. If Lexa wasn't covered in blood and wounded, she might think about their warriors, about the fact that she's never seen Lexa without her coat or that a tattoo curls around her arm. But Lexa is bleeding, Lexa is hurt and Lexa is alive and her thoughts don't reach beyond that.
“Let me help then,” she says, taking the damp cloth from Lexa's hand, carefully cleaning the cut on her arm and wrapping bandages around it, keeping her focus on the steady up and down of Lexa's chest. She can feel Lexa's gaze rest on her and she dips the cloth in the bowl of water next to her, moving to clean another scrape on a bruised shoulder.
When she lets her hand sink, Lexa takes the cloth from her with even breaths and clam eyes. She doesn't dare to look away when Lexa lifts it to her face, wiping away blood that she smeared across her cheek.
She inhales, and her eyes flick to Lexa's mouth briefly, once, but they do and slowly, Lexa's hand moves from her cheek.
She doesn't want this, she doesn't want to wait. The war is over, they are alive and when she pulls Lexa up and close, she can hear her breathing.
Lexa's face is right there, her eyes wide, curious but still calm and she leans in.
She kisses Lexa, soft lips and careful hands. She kisses Lexa, bloody and bruised, lungs burning and heart beating.
She kisses Lexa and feels alive.