above any other
"Commander, wait." Lexa freezes, obeying that voice instantly, above any other. Continuation of 3x04, post-bedroom scene.
...
"Commander, wait."
Lexa freezes, obeying that voice instantly, above any other.
"We have unfinished business." Clarke's brusque tone is unsettling after their exchange just moments ago, and Lexa feels her guard go up.
Lexa squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, slipping easily and automatically into her role as Commander, as if maybe the softer side she bared to Clarke earlier was a foreign self, a second skin.
Clarke latches the door behind them after Lexa enters and moves to the window. Lexa folds her hands together in front of her and watches in silence.
After a moment, Lexa joins Clarke. Her body is tensed, her face all hard lines and clenched jaw, and Lexa's chest tightens. She scans Clarke's profile, reading anger and something else, but Clarke is always so difficult for her.
"Clarke…," Lexa says softly, breaking the silence and their physical separation as she ghosts her fingers gently against Clarke's arm. "What is troubling y—"
"Damn it, Lexa, you almost died today," Clarke interrupts, turning to face her. Lexa freezes, taken aback by the intensity of the emotion written across Clarke's face. She opens her mouth to respond, and suddenly Clarke moves so she is right in her space, forcing Lexa to take a step back. Lexa's bare back hits the stone wall behind her, and she shivers, from the coolness of the stone and from having Clarke so close.
"You could die tomorrow, or the next, and you—you aren't even concerned, you talk as though it doesn't even matter…" She trails off, swallowing hard, and searches Lexa's eyes, for what Lexa wishes she knew. Clarke raises her eyebrows expectantly, but Lexa—wisely—stays silent. Clarke bangs her fist in frustration against the wall next to Lexa's head and steps away, turning her back on Lexa.
After a moment, Lexa takes a small step forward. "You are angry, at me, for the fight–," she tries, but Clarke cuts her off.
"I'm not angry, Lexa, I'm scared!" Clarke whirls to face Lexa again, her eyes flashing. Lexa's brow furrows in confusion.
"Do not be afraid. You are safe here, Clarke," she tries, soothes.
Clarke looks at her for a long moment and sighs, with the release of breath coming the release of anger, and Clarke seems to become smaller right before Lexa's eyes.
"But you're not safe here."
Lexa's breath catches in her throat, the weight of this concession not lost on her. Clarke's carefully-constructed facade of anger and indifference, honed to near-intractability for three months, has begun to splinter, and Clarke is fighting it desperately. Of course she is. Lexa, of anyone, understands this.
Lexa catches Clarke's arm, steadying her, and slowly moves her hand down until their hands meet. Clarke follows the movement with her eyes, her bottom lip trembling as their hands connect. Clarke instantly intertwines their fingers, as if it's second nature, as if they're inevitable. For a brief instance, Lexa lets herself think that maybe they are.
Clarke gazes at their tangled hands, at the way Lexa's thumb traces circles against her skin, at the fragility and tenderness of this moment. Giving a gentle squeeze, Clarke meets Lexa's gaze again.
"We have so little time," Clarke whispers, pulling Lexa close. "And I need you."
...
Disclaimer: The show and its characters are not mine (unfortunately, I would treat them so much better).