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Clarke had learned by now to anticipate the reactions Lexa would draw from her.
She’d been through endless council meetings, several summits, even a few wars with Lexa. She’d seen every side of her wife over the last ten years; from the attentive, gentle lover, to the caring, stern mother, to the ruthless, commanding leader. She loved every part of her wife; from her stubbornness to her pride, to her beauty and her rough edges, from her heart to her mind. Even when she was angry, even when Lexa crumbled under the stress of the world in the privacy of their bedroom--Clarke only loved her more.
Clarke generally knew what to expect with Lexa. In council meetings, she could expect to see a very composed and proper Commander on the surface, but Clarke knew her wife well enough to distinguish Lexa's sincere looks of attentiveness from the annoyed, subtle glares she’d send to incompetent ambassadors. With summits, Clarke knew to expect Lexa in regal wear, on her best behavior, chin up and eyes forward. During everyday meetings with her advisers and servants, Clarke knew to expect Lexa in a much looser fashion, relaxed on her throne and speaking freely with the other leaders in Polis, maintaining professionalism while simultaneously allowing herself to relax around those she trusted most. When times of war came, Clarke knew to expect her wife in her army regalia at all times, warpaint on and sword ready at her side. She knew to expect a fearsome Lexa, one who took no prisoners, and spared no guilty lives. She knew to expect a wife who came home covered in blood, the weight of the lives she’d taken resting heavily on her soul. She knew to expect a very affectionate Lexa in the nights, holding Clarke close and refusing to cry. With their children, Clarke knew to expect a caring mother, a soft voice, but still stern, a helping hand and a guide. She knew to expect a smiling, happy Lexa, bouncing their baby on her hip while holding the hand of their older child, toddling through the marketplace of Polis.
Yes, Clarke knew her wife well. In the decade they had spent together, Clarke was sure that nobody knew Lexa better than herself, and that nobody knew her better than Lexa. There were no surprises between the two. From their good days to their bad, their anger to their love, their duties to their people and to each other, nothing surprised Clarke.
Which is exactly why Clarke always looks forward to Lexa's training sessions.
Watching Lexa train was always a guilty pleasure of Clarke’s. She claimed to come to observe for the sole purpose of making sure that Lexa (or the other warriors, she claimed) did not get hurt, but everyone there knew better. Lexa’s warriors dared not speak about Clarke’s observations of their training sessions one way or another, but they always walked off the training grounds with a knowing smirk on their faces, and some even had the audacity to cheer their Heda on as they left. Lexa would call back at her warriors, a grin betraying her harsh tone, telling the men and women to mind their business and to let her deal with her wife as she pleases.
Clarke can’t help it; she’s in love with her wife, and she’ll appreciate her wife’s good body and observe her strong muscles in action if she wants to, for god’s sake.
She discovered the joys of this hobby many years ago, right at the beginning of her relationship with Lexa. Then, she truly did observe Lexa’s training to make sure she was not injured.
After all, recovering from a bullet wound to the stomach was not an easy healing process, and Clarke needed to make sure that Lexa did not strain herself too much or push herself too far. Clarke had no qualms about yelling at the soldiers who went too hard on Lexa in the beginning, much to Lexa’s chagrin. Clarke had sent more than a few grown men running off the training grounds with a promise of bodily harm or death if they reopened Lexa’s stitches or irritated her stomach. As Lexa healed, Clarke still insisted on coming to observe her training to ensure the warriors eased Lexa back into battle mode.
“If war brews, the enemy will not wait for me to heal, Clarke,” Lexa had said, irritated once Clarke had sent the third warrior of the week away.
“I don’t care,” Clarke had fired back, crossing her arms. “Right now, there is no war. You are taking it easy, going back into Commander-mode, and I’m your doctor. We’re doing this my way, unless you’d rather me sick Abby on you and have you do it her way. And you know she dislikes you, so her way will involve a lot of needlessly painful physical therapy.”
As Lexa healed and returned back to normal, Clarke knew there was no reason for her to stay and observe anymore, but the worry didn’t leave her. She had been so close to losing Lexa before they could start their life together, and Lexa was understanding about why Clarke was so unnerved. So, Lexa invited Clarke to come to training practices, giving the excuse to the warriors that it was a good idea to have a doctor on call and readily available if any of them got hurt. In the beginning, the warriors bought this as a valid excuse; it was only after so many times of catching Lexa and Clarke in a heated embrace after training that they started to realize what was going on.
It was about three months after Lexa’s nearly fatal injury that it happened for the first time.
Clarke was half-observing, busying herself with her newfound hobby of making clothes while she watched a training session with the Nightbloods. These training sessions could go on for hours, and were usually much less brutal than the training with Lexa and the grown soldiers. With her newfound comfort in Lexa’s ability to fight without straining herself, Clarke decided it would be a good idea to do something productive. She’d noticed Lexa had very few ordinary clothes, what with usually wearing official Commander clothes, or her war regalia, after all, and had learned how to make clothing from one of the handmaidens. She figured Lexa would be less inclined to fight back about wearing casual, comfortable clothes in peacetime if Clarke had made them, herself.
As she was working on a sweater for Lexa--not the most appealing looking article of clothing, she imagined--she glanced up to check in. Things looked relatively normal; Sheshka, a girl of fourteen, was being corrected on her stance by another student. Aden smiled as he saw Clarke look up, sending a wave her way before going back to fighting with Tahno, a boy close to his age. Lexa was encouraging the youngest of the group as he sparred with his opponent. Clarke smiled as she watched; Lexa was good with these children, and every time she watched Lexa interact with the Nightbloods, it made Clarke curious as to whether Lexa would ever want any children, herself.
“Hod op !” Lexa called out after finishing with the boy, giving him an encouraging pat on the head. “Natblida, you did well today. I have one last thing I wish to do before sending you on your way to dinner.”
Clarke set her sweater aside on the bench, curious as to what Lexa was up to.
“As you know, a few months ago, I almost lost my life. I’m very proud of the work you are all putting in, and I know that when my time does come, one of you will make my spirit very proud as you become the next commander. I have decided that starting today, you will all be individually sparring with me more often, rather than with each other. We have done basic moves together before, but as the oldest among you is now reaching his sixteenth year, I wish to make sure that you are all adequately prepared in the case that you may have to take over.”
Clarke had rolled her eyes at Lexa’s speech, trying to ignore the pang in her chest. She hated how all Lexa seemingly talked about was her death--and if Clarke had anything to say about it, she’d make sure Lexa was around for a long time.
“Lexa,” Clarke called out from the outskirts of the training grounds. “Don’t scare them,” she said, looking pointedly at Lexa’s stomach before glancing back up to meet her eyes.
Lexa gave Clarke an encouraging smile. “It’s alright, Clarke. They know what happened, I’ve been very honest with them. They also know the responsibility that will befall one of them when my time does come.”
“Which won’t be for a very long time,” Clarke had said stubbornly, crossing her arms.
“Heda, it’s best not to start a fight with your girlfriend. Nomon says when Nomonoda starts a fight with her, Nomon makes her sleep on the couch,” a young boy of about twelve said. His older brother smacked him upside the head.
“Alan, you can’t say things like that to Heda! ”
As much as Lexa had wanted to reprimand the boy for speaking so freely about her personal life, she couldn’t help but laugh a little. The Nightbloods were her weakness, and she couldn’t resist being softer around them. “Alan speaks out of turn, but so does the Skayon ,” Lexa smirked. “Perhaps she would like to be the first to spar with me?”
The young kids ‘ooh’ed as Lexa approached her girlfriend, offering her a hand.
“You know I’m not nearly as good a fighter as you,” Clarke rolled her eyes as Lexa brought her onto the dirt of the training ground.
“Which is why I’m going to make you start training with the children,” Lexa said. “You need to learn how to defend yourself, Clarke.”
“I can’t train with Indra, or Octavia?” Clarke asked, feeling her cheeks redden.
“You don’t want to train with Indra,” Aden interrupted, before looking at Lexa apologetically. Lexa smiled at the boy, patting his shoulder firmly.
“Aden is right. Indra is more ruthless than I am when it comes to training new warriors. She prefers a more...direct into action approach. Less about learning the basics, more about learning through trial. The basics come later, with her. She’s a phenomenal teacher,” Lexa said, eyeing Clarke, “but she would destroy you in a minute.”
“I’m a little offended,” Clarke said, and the children around her laughed.
Lexa motioned for Clarke to step closer. “Are you ready?”
“I’m not going to fight you, Lexa,” Clarke shook her head. “I was in the middle of making a sweater--”
“Clarke, you are not a handmaiden. You are a leader and my partner, and I expect you to train. If you wish to be an ambassador, you must be able to fight.” Lexa scolded her gently, resting a hand on her lower back. “I know you and Anya must have fought viciously. She was not an easy opponent, and the fact that you survived an assault from her proves you are capable of becoming a great opponent,” Lexa smirked.
“Anya was the worst,” one of the older kids groaned. “She was merciless!”
“And she made me into the strong warrior I am today,” Lexa said, smiling at the young girl. “And Anya would want each of you to be merciless as well.” She looked back towards Clarke. “And I want you to be merciless, Clarke. Being with me will mean attacks on your life, like the one Titus attempted. It’s time you learn to defend yourself, in the event that a warrior cannot be there to help you.”
“Alright,” Clarke relented, but stepped back. “Can I watch for a bit at least, before throwing me in the ring?”
Lexa had smiled at that, dismissing her back to the bench. “Aden, you’re up first,” she called out, tossing a bo staff his way. “Are you ready?”
She and Aden went at it for what must’ve been the better part of a half an hour, before Lexa finally relented, congratulating him for keeping up. She dismissed the Nightbloods for dinner, tearing her long sleeve shirt overhead and dabbing at the pools of sweat on her forehead.
As she was left alone with a sweaty Lexa in the training grounds, Clarke had a feeling that she’d found a new favorite hobby of hers.
“Come on, Clarke,” she said, handing Clarke a bo staff. “We’ll start with the basics today--stances.”
Clarke was a lost cause as Lexa’s hands trailed all over her body, positioning her into the right stances, sliding up and down her arms and legs, settling on her hips.
Oh yes, training with Lexa was definitely her new favorite hobby.
Now, ten years later, not much had changed.
Lexa still turned her on deliriously when Clarke watched her train. Clarke still got her ass handed to her by Lexa--though she was much better than before. She was still distracted by Lexa’s abs and her biceps and the way her tattoos would flex whenever they trained. Clarke still used the excuse of being the on-call medic to sit in and observe training sessions, and the warriors and Nightbloods all still pretended to believe that lie.
And every night after training, Lexa would still show Clarke just how dexterous she was, on and off the battlefield.
It wasn’t a bad gig to be the Commander’s doctor, she supposed.