Chapter 3
When Costia offered to follow Indra and the men who would protect Skaikru, as a healer and a fighter, Lexa did not stop her.
“Take care of her while I'm away,” she asked Clarke only half jokingly, relishing Lexa's grumblings behind her. “Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid.” On an impulse, she kissed her at the corner of her mouth before she disappeared into the rooms she shared with Lexa, leaving a flustered Clarke behind.
Of course there was only so much protecting Clarke could do when everyone was seemingly intent on getting rid of her, and the girl herself accepted duels with murderous ice princes, refusing to hear Clarke's pleas. Even when she brought up Costia, which somehow struck the wrong chord with Lexa.
“She would know why I'm doing this. I have no choice. No more than I had on Mount Weather. We do what we have to do to survive.”
At least the boy Lexa introduced as her heir certainly did not seem ready to get rid of her, and that was as much heartwarming as it was terrifying. He must have been barely older than Charlotte was when she died, and he would become their leader? It seemed on Earth everyone had to grow up too soon.
But she refused to think like that. There was no way she would let Lexa die.
Of the few ways she could think to protect Lexa, forging an alliance with the Ice Queen to better betray her was not one, but she approved it all the same. She had disregarded her loyalties before, at a dire cost; but no choice was ever easier than this one.
She had imagined the many ways it could end (and losing her life was a price she was willing to pay for Lexa, she realised to her own surprise) but never had she thought it would be with her face covered in a blood that was not hers, a blood darker than night.
As much as she refused to stand around and watch Lexa die, maybe she should stand there to show her she believed she would live. That was not much, but that was all she could do.
Worry gnawed at her stomach when she saw Lexa lying there, Roan looming over her. But maybe she should have had more faith after all, since she avoided the blow at the last second, and got back to her feet in no time, effectively taking over the fight. Still, Clarke couldn't help but hold her breath every time Roan made a move, every time Lexa barely avoided his spear. She felt so helpless, and she could not stand there without doing anything. And yet she had to, and hope that she would not have to watch her die.
A surge of relief coursed through Clarke when Lexa drove her spear into the queen's heart, effectively exerting the revenge she'd promised Clarke. And if she were honest with herself, it was not so much because the queen was dead, but because Lexa was alive. As much as she tried to tell herself it was with the knowledge that it also saved her people, she could not justify entirely the urge, barely contained, to rush to Lexa and hold her close for the fears she'd given her. She could not, of course, not in public like that.
And hours later, when Lexa knocked at her door, wearing in a night gown she should not have been allowed to wear for the sake of Clarke's beating heart, she had to remind herself that she was supposed to be angry at her, not throw herself in her arms out of relief.
When she asked “Is this I told you so?” and Lexa thanked her instead, she had to fight the urge even more.
It's without thinking that she took her wounded hand in hers, instincts grown out of caring for her friends – her people – for months taking over before she could realise what she was doing, and she simply offered to change the bandage. Surprisingly, Lexa did not protest. Coming to sit next to her, she noticed how sheepish Lexa looked, but she was sure that even so, even in the privacy of Clarke's apartment, even if she was wearing the least Heda-like clothes she had ever seen her in – not that she did not look regal, with her hair loose and those cheekbones of hers and this damn dress that revealed way too much skin for Clarke to effectively focus on anything else – Clarke doubted she would concede to talk about her own feelings. So Clarke chose instead to ask the questions she had wondered about since Lexa had won, trying to distract herself and Lexa from what she was doing; trying to work as gingerly and efficiently as she could.
She had to repress a smile when it took less than a minute for the talk to focus on the probability of Lexa's death. She knew Lexa was still at a strong risk, and political pressures could not be ignored, but she felt giddy after Lexa's victory, and she would ignore that now, focusing on the present quiet, and the fact that, although injured, Lexa could be here beside her, and they could talk so easily – so far from the tension of the previous weeks. Even when the discussion took a more political turn, she did not tense, and she knew she could not hold the past against Lexa anymore. She had done as Clarke would have. And if she were frank with herself, she would say she felt betrayed as much for herself as for her people. She took it personally not just because Lexa signed her friends' deaths when she abandoned her on the mountain, but because she had trusted her wholeheartedly, she had subconsciously put hope into them, into Costia's small smile and a kiss in a dark tent. But Lexa was a leader before anything, and no matter how much it hurt, she could not put her personal feelings in front of the safety of her people. But she knew that now, and with that in mind...
Her thoughts were interrupted by the distinctive noise of a talkie walkie turning on.
“Clarke?” her mother's voice echoed in the room, making Lexa jump up and look around.
Clarke smiled as the sight, but she'd noticed her mother's worried voice and rushed to take the talkie Abby had given her before she left the city. She quickly sat back next to Lexa.
“Mom? Something wrong?” she asked, pressing the button. “I'm with Lexa,” she thought to add, in case her mother wanted to discuss something sensitive.
“Good. We have a problem. Pike was just elected chancellor. Markus is instating him as we speak. He wants to kill the warriors that are here to protect us, Clarke. And he's elected, my hands are tied.”
But Clarke had stopped listening, her eyes meeting Lexa's, who had gone pale and was holding onto Clarke's hand so hard she would have winced had she not been otherwise preoccupied.
“Costia,” they both said at once.