Chapter Text
Clarke pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Lexa’s head where she lay, completely spent, flopped across Clarke’s torso, arm wrapped lazily around her waist.
“I have to get going.”
Lexa sighed, twisting her head to look up at Clarke through heavily lidded eyes.
“I know,” She whispered, pressing her face tightly against Clarke’s chest. She tried to memorize the feeling, the smell, the warmth of it all, taking in a deep breath and desperately holding onto it.
Clarke returned the gesture by burrowing her nose into Lexa’s wild curls and brushing her hand softly along Lexa’s tattooed arm.
They gave each other a tight squeeze before Lexa relaxed and pulled away slightly, giving Clarke reluctant permission to go, but not ready to break the contact herself.
Clarke pressed one more kiss into Lexa’s forehead before slipping her legs over the edge of the bed and standing to gather her clothes from the floor.
Lexa watched silently as Clarke dressed, taking in each spanse of skin as it was covered up and willing the lines to burn into her brain. She wasn’t sure how long it would be until she saw Clarke again. She had been ready for it before, she knew Clarke had a duty to her people, but things had changed. She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t known Clarke was ready. She knew Clarke had responded with “not yet” the first time they kissed, but Lexa thought after what happened at Mount Weather that not yet had become not ever.
She had been surprised the time she had awoken from a nightmare to find Clarke’s drawing of her sleeping. Clarke made her look so soft and gentle. Drew her in a way that looked so personal and close that Lexa had wondered if maybe it could go back to being “not yet”. She hadn’t really believed it though, brushed it off as being hopeful. Clarke couldn’t feel the same. Not anymore. Not after what Lexa had done.
That wasn’t the first time Lexa had felt hopeful. Clarke had been worried when Nia had challenged her. Worried enough to make brash decisions to try and circumvent Lexa fighting entirely. Worried enough to come to Lexa and ask her not to fight. Worried enough to yell and stomp and beg. She had shown up to watch Lexa fight even. Lexa had felt hope then.
But the hope hadn’t lasted long, because as soon as the fight was over Clarke was gone. Lexa had been whisked away to have her wounds tended. Then there had been meetings and negotiations to settle following the challenge. There had been much to work out and by the time Lexa had finally bathed and gone to see Clarke, the hope was gone again. Clarke had only been worried for her people, not for Lexa. Never for Lexa.
As much as Lexa wanted to believe Clarke could forgive her, and as much as she made sure to accommodate the needs of Clarke and her people -- their people -- she knew what she had done did not deserve forgiveness. She hoped Clarke would understand, but didn’t expect it. Each time it seemed like Clarke might understand, Lexa brushed it off as false hope.
So when Clarke had come into her room unannounced, Lexa had been mildly surprised to see her. She wished Clarke could stay, but she knew they both had a duty. Lexa had been prepared for a handshake, and to give Clarke encouragement that her and Octavia would be able to sort it out. She had not expected such a blatant display of forgiveness and trust. Of love. And now Lexa didn’t feel prepared to let that all go again. Suddenly all of her hope had become reality, and now they both had to walk away from it.
Lexa blinked back a tear, frozen where she lay, her breath catching in her throat as she watched Clarke finally slipping on her boots. Clarke stood, looking to Lexa with shining eyes and pursed lips, offering a curt nod as she turned to leave.
“Wait,” Lexa choked.
Clarke paused, but did not turn back to face Lexa. She couldn’t turn back. If she turned back she knew she would break. She stood in place and waited for Lexa to continue.
Lexa padded wordlessly from the bed to the bathroom, returning quietly a moment later and moving behind Clarke. She gently pressed something into Clarke’s hand, barely managing to whisper a feeble “here”.
Clarke turned at the touch, lifting her hand to take a look at the object. Lexa’s hand followed with hers, fingers barely wrapping around Clarke’s wrist. It was a hair tie, a simple brown leather cord really, darkened from use, smudges of oil and dirt and kohl rubbed deep into the grain.
Clarke lifted her eyes to meet Lexa’s, and both of them glistened with unshed tears. Lexa reached up and pulled her fingers through Clarke’s unkempt hair, working out a few knots until she could free a section from each of her temples. She pulled them back, twisting them before fastening them together at the back of Clarke’s head. Like before. She thought, voicing the words only with her eyes locked onto Clarke’s.
Clarke leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Lexa’s in response, clasping her forearm tightly in a parting gesture.
This time it was Clarke who shed a single tear, and Lexa watched it roll down her cheek as she turned and walked out the door.
Wiping at her eyes Clarke hurried down the hall to her room to grab the last of her belongings. She blinked back tears as she picked up her bags, taking a deep breath to pull herself together enough to face Octavia. She slung them over her shoulder, and brushed her fingers gently across the tie at the back of her head. Dropping her hand back down she set her jaw, pushing thoughts of Lexa out, and headed for the lift that would take her back to the ground. Back to her people. Back to war