Clarke can't stop staring at her.
Two green eyes gaze back at her, slow blinks framed by long, dark eyelashes. A tiny hand curls around her index finger, and an unsettled whimper escapes of a pair of pink, plump lips. She is only hours old, and she is the smallest human Clarke has ever seen in her life.
Clarke holds her as if she might break, arms stiff at the elbows, hand supporting her head the way her mother showed her. It's an awkward angle, and her arm is starting to ache but Clarke pays no mind to it, instead drawing the navy blanket that is slipping slightly closer to the baby's chin.
She dares to move her hand gently along the baby's head, smoothing down the messy tuft of blonde hair that sits atop it. Her fingers trail along a tiny eyebrow, across a round cheek and settle at her jaw as the baby lets out a tiny yawn, eyelids drooping sleepily.
She is tired, and will soon fall asleep in Clarke's arms. But Clarke cannot put her down, she is utterly enraptured, completely captivated. To move would be to stop staring at her. And Clarke can't.
Arkadia is still. The usual whirl of work is silenced by the night, leaving only the steady hum of the generators and the shallow breath of her sleeping wife. The people of Arkadia are long gone in their slumber as the night turns into the early hours of the morning and Clarke has not slept a wink.
She doesn't think she could if she tried, her body is tired and sore but thrums with a rush of energy she finds out of her control. She sits on a chair next to her temporary bed, only inches from where Lexa lies and looks down upon the child in her arms, small, quiet and gorgeous.
Her daughter. Their daughter.
"I love you," Clarke whispers.
The words don't often come easy to Clarke, even now. There are so few she can say them aloud to, and it takes so long for her to muster up the courage to do so. But they come easily now, flow right off her tongue as she repeats them, two, three more times.
"I love you,"
The baby looks up at her, eyes sleepy, and responds with a quiet murmur, tiny hands curling into her. She is too young to know now, but Clarke will make sure she does, everyday of her life.
Clarke can't stop staring at her.
The Commander has never had a child before.
Titus is wary, as he often is, suspicious of Clarke, suspicious of the baby they conceived, and suspicious of the technology they used to do so.
Clarke hears them sometimes, screaming at each other down the corridors. It is unlike Lexa to shout, but there's something about Titus that brings it out in her, maybe the condensation of his tone, or his clear distrust of Clarke and their union. When they married, Titus stormed out of the tower like a child, muttering wildly about traditions and the role of the Commander. Nowadays, he has learned to play his cards closer to his chest, and instead of criticising Clarke in front of Lexa, he reserves his glares for when Lexa is not watching.
And when Lexa announces the convincement of their first child, the glare Clarke receives is scalding.
"Heda," He starts, eyes widening in panic, "It is not the role of the Commander to bring a child into the world—"
"We are at peace, Titus," Lexa commands, lifting her chin elegantly, "We have been for five years. The role of the Commander has changed."
"Heda, opening yourself up to such weakness—"
"I am not asking for your approval," Lexa says curtly, "It is done. You should make peace with it,"
Titus looks back at her, lips tightening, and eyes filled with unearthed rage. For a moment, Clarke thinks he's going to snap, reach out and scream at Lexa, attack her, let out all he has held in for the five years Clarke has been his roadblock. Instead, his expression lessons as he takes hold of himself, swallowing the words Lexa cut off with a bow of his head.
"Sha, Heda," He says without an ounce of sincerity, eyes darkened, bottom lip twitching.
Nine months and a baby girl later, Titus wears the same expression as he lays eyes on her for the first time, nose wrinkled and lips thinned.
"Congratulations, Heda," He says stiffly, smile tight, "She is beautiful,"
His cheeks are slightly reddened from the cold, shoulders still dusted with the snow he rode through to make it here. At his side, stands the Chancellor of Arkadia, Marcus Kane, face adorned with a proud smile.
"She is," Kane remarks conversationally, smile as wide as Clarke's ever seen it, "Isn't she?"
Lexa sits at Clarke's bedside, baby cradled into her arms expertly. She has been a mother for less than twenty-four hours but somehow she's mastered the role already, and Clarke watches with an envious sort of wonder as she settles the baby with a slow rock and a gentle hum.
"Thank you," Lexa answers as though she doesn't hear the insincerity in Titus' voice. With a slight frown, she looks to Titus inquiringly, curious about the packages held under his arm.
"Gifts from the thirteen clans," Titus answers gruffly before she can ask, "I collected them from Polis,"
He settles thirteen small packages upon the end of Clarke's bed, each wrapped neatly with yellow ribbon, "The Shadow Valley sends a hand-crafted dagger," He begins, pointing to each package as he lists them, "The Desert Clan gives a leather sheath. The Ice Nation sends silk, Trikru gives armour,"
He prattles off the rest of the clans hurriedly, until Clarke's bed is completely full of various assortments of weapons entirely inappropriate for a newborn. He pauses at the last package in his hands, shooting an appraising look towards Kane.
"From Skaikru," He says disapprovingly, "Appears to be some sort of tree animal,"
It's a rabbit, Clarke thinks as Titus drops it to the bed, woven out of what looks like an old potato sack and pieces of scrap material. One arm is shorter than the other, and the two buttons used for the eyes are different sizes. It's bursting at the seams, as if it has been thoroughly overstuffed.
"It's a bunny," Kane interjects, somewhat bashfully, "I stitched it myself,"
Clarke tilts her head, eyes honing in on the messy stitch work. When she looks up Kane is staring back at her, eyes filled with a hopeful sort of pride. In all honesty, Clarke thinks an actual stuffed rabbit might scare a young child less, but Kane has tried, that much is clear, and Clarke is thankful for his effort, thankful for him, and what he means to her mother.
"I love it," She says honestly, and Kane beams.
"It is wonderful," Lexa echoes her sentiment graciously, "Thank you Marcus,"
At this, she turns her attention to a sour-faced Titus, hand placed protectively on the top of the baby's head.
"Give my gratitude to each of the ambassadors," Lexa instructs, "Announce the arrival of a baby girl."
"Sha Heda," He bows, "Her name?"
At this, Lexa pauses, flickering a quick look to Clarke.
"We don't have one yet," Clarke says and Titus curls his lip.
"Very well," Titus says, "Baby girl kom Trikru it is. Would that be all, Heda?"
Lexa nods, interest in Titus already lost in favour of staring down at the baby in her arms. Kane smiles, offers his congratulations one more time before following Titus' march down the corridor, letting the door shut with a gentle clang.
Clarke turns her attention to Lexa, gentle smile tugging at her lips.
Her body aches, but her chest fills with light watching them together, watching Lexa's hand stroke over their child's forehead as if she is the most precious thing in the world.
"Would you like to hold her?" Lexa asks without looking away from their child, as if she might miss something if she does. Clarke knows the feeling, and lets her lips quirk upwards into a small smile.
"No," She says honestly, "I just like watching you with her,"
At this, Lexa looks up at her, meeting Clarke's eyes to match her smile with one of her own. Lexa's hair is not braided today, instead flowing down her shoulder in a single wave, just the way Clarke likes it. There is no gear pressed to her forehead, no weapon strapped to her thigh, no reminder that Lexa does not just belong to her, but to every single member of the thirteen clans. Today, Lexa is just Lexa, the love of Clarke's life, and the mother of her child.
Lexa looks back down at their baby, eyes filled with wonder as she strokes an adoring hand over her cheek. Her guard is down, Clarke notes, her eyes are wide and expressive, lips slightly parted.
"She is perfect," Lexa says abruptly, staring down at her with awe.
"She is," Clarke echoes, and she reaches her hand to meet Lexa's, interlocking their fingers with an affectionate squeeze.
"We should probably give her a name," Lexa says, softer this time, and she looks up to meet Clarke's gaze. There's something behind her eyes, something Clarke can't quite read.
"We probably should," Clarke affirms, watching her wife curiously.
Lexa is quiet for a long moment, gaze flickering from their sleeping baby to her and Clarke entwined fingers. Clarke knows this expression, she has all of Lexa memorised; Lexa is contemplating something, something she isn't sure if she should share. Clarke squeezes her fingers tenderly, giving her the gentlest of assurances. Lexa turns to look at her, lips pressed together tentatively.
"Perhaps there is a name we could consider," She says hesitantly, caution in her eyes, "My mother— I always thought her name was beautiful,"
Lexa's eyes drop down the child in her arms before Clarke can meet her eyes, shifting nervously.
Clarke inhales sharply. Lexa doesn't speak of her mother, her father, her life before Polis ever, really. Clarke knows only two things; the first, is a forest fire burned her village to the ground when she was four years old, and the second is it took both of her parents with it.
Clarke remembers the name Lexa uttered to her in the safety of her embrace, softly, like it was only for Clarke to hear.
"Luca," She recalls, stroking a finger over the back of Lexa's hand.
"If you don't like it— we can pick something else," Lexa says quickly but Clarke is already halfway sitting up to meet her lips, pressing warm and firm against them.
Clarke smiles.
"It's perfect,"
In the five years they'd been at peace, Clarke doesn't think she's ever gone so much time without working.
Her mother orders her to rest, and Lexa is there to enforce it, coaxing her back into bed with warm kisses and the promise to keep watch on their baby. Her friends drop by in shifts; Raven is the first to visit, Bellamy and their infant son Arlo in tow. Raven makes her laugh, despite the ache in her ribs, and Bellamy's smile is warm. When they leave, Monty and Jasper replace them, and then Miller and Bryan, until Lexa is shooing half of Arkadia out the door so Clarke can get some rest. For a moment, it feels halfway normal. But then the doors swing open, and Lexa's full guard comes into sight, a constant reminder of Lexa's never-ending duty.
"Conquering clans is much easier than governing them," Lexa once told her heatedly, face blotched an angry red from a day of negotiating. And for the most part – it was true. Lexa's days are often consumed by the coalition, by the consistent maintenance it required to stay in tact. One day it was land disputes, the next it was trade routes, or inter-clan leadership changes.
Clarke's workload is no less; her position as ambassador of Arkadia is juggled with her involvement of the small clinic she and Lexa formed at the center of the Polis markets, where she and two other healers dispersed medical treatment when needed.
They've only been gone four days, but Clarke dreads the amount of work waiting for them.
"When do we have to be back?" Clarke asks, pressing her cheek into the pillow and tilting her head slightly to meet Lexa's gaze.
"When you're ready," Lexa says firmly, eyes soft, "There's no hurry,"
Clarke snorts at this, "I think Titus might have something to say about that,"
Lexa presses her lips together, resisting the urge to match Clarke's smile.
"Titus will manage,"
Lexa's fingers touch her cheek and Clarke leans into them, not taking her eyes off of her. Lexa's hair is tangled and curly, her face free of makeup, her clothes loose and casual. She looks tired, almost as tired as Clarke feels, and Clarke is hit with the sudden urge to pull her up into bed and melt into her.
A tiny gurgle from the crib next to her bed reminds her why she can't.
Lexa must notice the drooping of her eyes because she presses the smallest of kisses to the inside of Clarke's wrist and strokes a hand through her hair, "You should rest, Clarke," She says, though Clarke takes no notice of her words, content with watching the soft flicker of her eyes.
"Sometimes I wish this was it," Clarke says suddenly, a familiar melancholy weight pressing down upon her, "Just you, me and her. Is that selfish?"
Lexa looks at her for a long moment, quietly watching, mapping out every feature of Clarke's face as it changes. Her hand squeezes Clarke's hip, smile wistful.
"No," She answers softly, "Sometimes I wish that too,"
Lexa is better at this than her, but Clarke always knew she would be.
Lexa can soothe Luca's whimpers with a touch, stop her cries with a kiss. Lexa is the one to teach Clarke how to burp her, change her, settle her.
As she grows, tiny tufts of blonde hair grow longer, her cheeks grow plumper, her eyes wider. She learns to smile, to giggle, to laugh.
In the spring, she learns the value of her own hands, and spends hours staring at them, flexing her fingers wondrously. In the summer, she learns to crawl, and weaves in and out under the feet of guardsman until her hands are worn red and her knees covered in the dirt of the floor.
She learns Lexa laughs when she laughs, she learns Clarke will kiss her if she snuggles in close enough.
And she learns when she cries, Lexa cannot say no to her.
"Leave her,"
The lights are dimmed, the sky dark. Clarke lies in bed, absent-mindedly flicking through a novel gifted to her from Raven. To her left, Lexa sits bolt upright, gaze fixed closely on Clarke's profile. Instead of the usual gentle hum of the city below, they listen to the cries of their screaming child, nestled in her crib only a few feet away.
"Clarke," Lexa says diplomatically, the way she might speak to negotiate a trade deal, "I'm not sure I agree with this method of yours—"
"Lexa, she needs to learn to settle herself," Clarke repeats the phrase patiently for what seems to be the tenth time this evening, "She's almost six months old,"
Her eyes stay focused on the page beneath her, but she can see Lexa in her peripheral, eyes on her like a hawk, like she's trying to figure out the best way to change Clarke's mind without undermining her. Clarke turns the page, and pretends as if she doesn't see Lexa grind her jaw unhappily.
"So we let her scream herself to sleep?" Lexa asks, the diplomacy in her voice starting to wane and Clarke sighs, putting her book down in favour of pulling Lexa's hands into her lap.
"Mom says we let her cry it out in twenty minute increments," Clarke says, entwining their fingers, "After twenty minutes you can check on her,"
"How many minutes has it been so far?" Lexa asks sharply and Clarke looks at her pointedly.
"Three,"
Lexa huffs, slamming back into the pillows. The sudden movement only makes Luca cry louder.
Clarke rolls her eyes, "You can't coddle her forever,"
"I do not coddle her," Lexa says as if Clarke has greatly offended her.
"Good," Clarke says, patting her thigh, "Then you won't mind letting her cry for a while,"
The tension makes it hard to read, but Clarke tries her best anyway; the look Lexa gives her is withering, and with each passing minute, Luca's wails seem to amplify. It is only when Luca wavers, and her sobs turn to screams that Lexa tugs at her arm, face filled with distress.
"Clarke—" Lexa says, agonised, and Clarke shuts her book, defeated.
"Fine," She groans, swinging her legs over the bed to press against the floor, "I'll check on her,"
"Clarke- if I could just-"
"I've got it," Clarke assures, "Don't worry,"
Lexa looks disgruntled, but softens when Clarke presses the gentlest kiss to her lips. Clarke's ears ring slightly as she gets closer to Luca's crib, and she leans over, stopping the force of Luca's cries with a touch of her hand.
Immediately her incessant screaming dissolves into tiny, breathy whimpers, and she sniffles as Clarke picks her up and cradles her to her shoulder.
"It's okay," She whispers, "Mommy's here,"
Luca's face is splotched red, her cheeks wet and her lip quivering as she falls into Clarke's embrace, pressing herself into the heat of Clarke's neck. Clarke runs a hand through Luca's mop of soft, blonde curls, aware of Lexa's eyes burning through her, and shoots her a conciliatory look.
"See?" She asks, "She's fine,"
The way Lexa's lips purse tells Clarke she's unimpressed, and Clarke holds her gaze, rocking the baby in her arms defiantly.
Lexa thinks she's mean, she knows, but at least one of them has to be able to resist her, and based on the look in Lexa's eye as she watches them, it will have to be Clarke.
Clarke kisses the top of Luca's head, brushing her nose through the silk of Luca's hair. The weight of Luca in her arms, the way she clings to her is almost irresistible, but Clarke is stubborn in her purpose, and presses a final kiss to her head before leaning down, and gently lowering Luca back into her crib.
"Clarke—" Lexa protests anxiously as Luca's eyes fill with tears and her bottom lip begins to quiver, tiny hands reaching for Clarke as she begins to whimper.
"Twenty minutes," Clarke says stubbornly, pressing back the urge to give in to the baby, wrenching her eyes away from her.
Lexa is frowning now, spine stiff and eyebrows creased as Clarke makes her way back to the bed. Luca's cries are softer now, like she's tiring herself out and Clarke climbs into the spot next to Lexa, smile triumphant.
"See," She murmurs gently, "She's settling herself,"
Lexa looks hesitant, but doesn't protest and Clarke curls an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Luca's cries simmer slightly, and she sounds like she's exhausting herself as they dissolve into breathy whimpers.
"I told you I was right," Clarke can't help but whisper and she's rewarded with Lexa's elbow nudging into her ribs.
"Shop of," Lexa says, though she looks relieved, and Clarke presses a heavy kiss to her cheek, tightening her hold.
She falls asleep to the sound of Luca's hallowed breathing and Lexa's body curled into her own.
When Clarke wakes, it is to an empty bed, furs ruffled and Lexa missing. It is still dark outside, she notes with a yawn, and the candles littering the room haven't quite flickered out yet. She has been asleep for less than a couple of hours. She rubs her eyes and sits up blearily, blinking at the empty crease in her bed for her missing wife before the realisation hits her. With an aggravated huff, Clarke looks over the other side of the room, where Lexa stares back at her, baby in her arms.
She has the decency at least, to look slightly guilty.
"Lexa," Clarke groans, voice thick with sleep.
"Clarke, your method was not working," Lexa says astutely, before she can say anything more, "She was crying long after you fell asleep with no signs of stopping,"
Clarke's method would have worked, she thinks briefly, if her wife were not such a sap.
Still, she can't bring herself to be mad. Not when Lexa has their daughter cradled into her chest so protectively, fingers tangled through long, loose, blonde curls.
Clarke sighs, "Fine," She concedes with a grumble, "I should have known you wouldn't be able to resist her,"
Lexa's smile is knowing, and Clarke presses her face back into the pillows to hide her own.
Clarke's life is good.
Lexa is safe and warm and present. Lexa murmurs love against her lips every morning, nudges closely against her every night. Her clinic grows with every passing week; what was once a small stall with a single healer has now expanded to four of them, five when Clarke finishes training their newest recruit. Her mother has taken to visiting Polis with Kane every couple of weeks, and if she's lucky, Raven or Monty, or Jasper will join them. And if they don't, Clarke only has to wander down a couple of floors to be in friendly company, where Octavia and Lincoln and their young son, Dash live.
And Luca, Luca looks at her as if she's the sun, eyes wide and sparkling emerald when Clarke is with her, tiny pink mouth often curved into the happiest of smiles.
Clarke's life is good, but it doesn't stop the nightmares.
They come in flashes, scrambled pieces of past and present that form a warped estimation of her future. Sometimes, it's entire cities that burn, sometimes it's an army, or an assassin, or a friend.
'Wanheda' They always cry, or scream, or hiss, 'Where you are, death will always follow'
Their deaths are always the same; painful, long, unnecessary. They die by her hand, or for her mistakes. They die screaming, they die in fear. They die because of her, always.
When Clarke wakes, jolting upright and drenched in sweat, Lexa's hand on her back drawing her closer is the only reminder.
Her life is good.
The first day of her first summer, Luca speaks her first word.
Granted, it's through a mouth full of potato, and neither Lexa nor Clarke quite understand what she's trying to say until she reaches out her hands, bouncing gently in her seat.
"Mama!"
Lexa looks over to her, fork clattering to her plate, and her lips split into a wide, excited smile. Clarke blinks, heart speeding in her chest as Luca repeats it, mouth opening in disbelief.
"What did you say?" She asks, grasping one of Luca's hands within her own, "Did you say Mama?"
"Mama!" Luca repeats, and Lexa pulls her from her highchair with a laugh, spinning her around in her arms.
"She said Mama," Lexa tells her excitedly, and Clarke can't stop the smile that plasters her face at the sight of them.
Before Clarke can say anything, before she can even think to savour the moment, the doors to the dining room swing open and Titus strides forward, shoulders squared tightly, as if something of great importance has to be told.
Luca reaches her hands out over Lexa's shoulder, looking directly at Titus, "Mama!"
Clarke snorts into her plate at Lexa's frown and watches Titus stiffen with indignity.
"The King of the Shadow Valley has arrived in Polis and is requesting your presence," Titus announces, only sounding slightly miffed, "He says it is a matter of great importance,"
Lexa frowns, shoulders tensing. Clarke looks between the two of them, confused. The King of the Shadow Valley was an elderly man named Nalen, sickly from disease and nearing senility. Certainly, he would not be able to make the seven hour journey on horseback.
"King Nalen is here in person?"
"No," Titus says, "King Nalen died this morning. His son, Gage takes his place at the new King,"
Lexa's movement is sudden, and her face shifts from confusion to anger instantaneously.
"Why wasn't I informed of this immediately?" Lexa asks, voice sharp.
"We only just found out," Titus tells her, "The new King rode straight from the Shadow Valley as soon as it happened,"
"You should go," Clarke says, standing and reaching forward to take the baby from her arms, "Find out what he wants,"
Lexa dips her head, and Clarke is left to scoop mashed potato off their daughter's forehead all alone.
What King Gage wants, is for the Commander of the thirteen clans to be present at his coronation.
At least, that's what Lexa tells her.
Lexa perfected the stoicism of her mask long before Clarke knew her, but Clarke reads her so easily, maps out every twitch of her jaw, quiver of her lip, flash of emotion in her eyes.
Lexa tells her from the balcony of their bedroom, hands gripped to the railing so tightly her knuckles turn white. It's only a week, she tries to reason, just long enough for King Gage to establish his claim to the throne.
"It's not for long," Clarke assures her, sweeping her hand down the rigid path of Lexa's back, "We'll be fine,"
"Of course you will," Lexa says, though her voice wavers.
Before Luca's birth, Lexa and Clarke travelled together throughout the thirteen clans, a duty Lexa very often had to see to. But all plans for travel had ceased the moment Luca arrived in Polis, and Lexa had not left since. It was only a matter of time, Clarke has always known, but it seems Lexa had forgotten. She falls quiet, and stares out into the sky, lips pressed together contemplatively.
"I was never supposed to live this long," Lexa says abruptly, voice quiet, "The way our system is designed— I was never supposed to live,"
The comment comes from almost nowhere and Clarke frowns, her hand on Lexa's waist tightens protectively.
"But you did," She says, "You're here. You changed the system. You ensured peace,"
Lexa's smile is rigid, forced. She doesn't look at Clarke, but out to the steaming streets of Polis, alive with the buzz of the morning markets.
"To be Commander is to be entirely devoted," She says, "To be Commander is to put my people first, no matter what,"
Clarke watches her carefully, watches as her jaw flexes as it tightens, as the tips of her fingers become white with the pressure she puts upon them. Her hand rests on Lexa's back reassuringly, a reminder of her presence.
"And you do," She assures.
"I am afraid," Lexa whispers, "I am afraid that if I had to choose, really choose, I could not put them first the way the Commander must,"
Clarke bites her lip, and strokes up Lexa's back reassuringly. It is times like these she wishes so desperately she could share the weight Lexa is destined to bear. Instead, she must settle for entwining their fingers, grounding Lexa with her touch.
"You will never have to choose," Clarke promises, "I would never make you"
Lexa's hand squeezes hers gently.
"It's only a week," Clarke says softly, "And then you'll be home,"
To Clarke, home is not Polis. Home is not Arkadia. Home was never the Ark, home was never the tent courted in the drop ship, nor the metal walls of her prison cell.
Clarke's home is Lexa. And when she's gone, Clarke has no home at all.
In the winter, Luca turns one.
She takes her first shaky steps down the red carpet of Lexa's throne room, beaming a one-toothed smile.
At first, she stumbles around like a tiny drunk, falling more than she walks, and clinging to every available surface in order to prop herself up. Clarke thinks she would stay up for longer if she weren't in such a hurry, but Luca has no time for walking, and instead races around the room in five step bursts, only to topple to the floor in a giggling heap.
If there were ever any child that quite literally tried to run before she could walk, Clarke thinks it only fitting it be hers.
When Luca finally masters control of her own legs, she is never still for too long; she zooms around the hallways, dipping in and out of the tower's crevices, exploring the depths of the guard quarters or climbing atop Lexa's throne when Titus isn't around to scold her.
She runs circles around Lexa's guards, has Clarke chasing her up and down the hallways like it's a game.
In fact, the only person who can get some sort of tranquillity out of her is Lexa.
Clarke stands with her shoulder pressed to the frame of the door, small smile tugging at her lips. Lexa has Luca in her lap, and they both stare down at the book in Lexa's hands wearing matching inquiring expressions as Lexa points out the pictures.
Luca's hair is damp from her bath, slicked back into short blonde waves out of her face. Her eyes glow emerald in the candlelight, the same as her mother's, and they are wide with concentration, following every picture Lexa's points out to her.
"How do you do that?" Clarke asks abruptly, and Lexa looks up at her, fingers tangled at the base of Luca's curls.
"Do what?" She asks absentmindedly as she helps Luca turn the page.
"Get her to sit still for that long?"
Lexa's lips twitch into a small smirk, and she holds Clarke's gaze, eyes twinkling.
"I've had some practice," She says pointedly, eyes flickering to Clarke's fingers drumming sporadically against the doorframe. Clarke stills them, and flicks Lexa a coy smile.
Luca whines impatiently at the sudden lack of attention, and she wriggles in Lexa's arms, scooting forward to wrap her arms around Lexa's neck. Lexa's hand presses to the back of her head, fingers tangling unconsciously in the tufts of her hair.
"It's almost long enough to braid," Clarke comments and Lexa looks down at her thoughtfully, running her fingers through Luca's hair.
"I suppose it is,"
Clarke shifts her weight from one foot to another, letting the conversation hang in the air. The nights before Lexa leaves are always the worst, strained and full of melancholy.
One week had turned to two, and then three, until Lexa was gone almost weekly, fulfilling her duty as Commander in all thirteen parts of the coalition. This time, it's a four day tour of the Delphi Clan, only days after Lexa's trip to the Ice Nation.
It should be easier by now but it isn't. The tower is cold without Lexa, their bed too big. It's harder to sleep without the weight of Lexa against her, it's harder to dream anything but nightmares.
Luca doesn't understand, she wanders the room searching for Lexa, wide green eyes filling with tears when she can't find her. Clarke hates it, she hates when Lexa leaves and she hates that she can't ask Lexa to stay. To ask her to stay would be to ask her to neglect her duty, and Clarke won't do that.
Luca giggles as Lexa murmurs something to her, pointing out something on the page and Clarke takes the moment to collect herself, stilling the burn behind her eyes with a deep breath.
She will deal with Lexa's absence tomorrow, when Lexa is not around to see the tears fall. But right now, Clarke wants to freeze this moment, memorise every aspect of it. Maybe she'll sketch when she gets the time, the elegant curve of Lexa's jaw slanted over Luca's blonde head, the way their eyes both follow the pictures on the page in perfect synchronisation.
"I love you," Clarke says, unable to hold it in and she means it for both of them. Lexa meets her gaze, slightly surprised at the abruptness, but smiles all the same.
"Love you too,"
If Lexa catches the quiver of Clarke's lip, she doesn't mention it.