Title: If-Then-Else
By: garlic
Summary: In every moment there lies the potential for infinite possibilities, threads that diverge and branch out beyond any human comprehension. [3x07 fix-it]
AN: SIGH. I went through a lot of "fix-it" ideas, but couldn't muster the motivation to write any of them. And then I heard POI got it's air date, and it clicked. So I'm shamelessly stealing The Machine, because it's the AI Clexa deserves.
There was no greater pain than seeing the heartbreak in a loved one's eyes. Lexa was already the cause of it once, and had spent every moment since striving to never be that again.
But she failed.
Her coalition strained. Almost at the breaking point.
Her people, justifiably angry. Dying at the hands of an unreasonable man.
Her lover, weeping, forced into another mortal parting.
She thought that maybe her own heart shattering would kill her before the bullet did.
"In peace may you leave the shore
In love may you find the next
Safe passage on your travels
Until our final journey on the ground
May we meet again."
And then, darkness.
.
…
.. …. .. ….. …
Undesired outcome. Simulation terminated.
She becomes aware of her body in stages.
First, the faint tickle of air as it breezed over her skin.
Second, the faint beat of her heart as it thrummed, steady and slow in her chest.
Third, the distant sounds of the tower and the city, muted and hushed.
She consciously breathed in deep, expanding her lungs. The nebulous state that always ensued after a deep meditation sloughed away, shedding like snakeskin from her mind.
Vaguely she is aware of the creak of a door. Instinct tells her to jump up, to defend herself from whatever dares to encroach onto her territory. But her body feels lax and languid, limbs heavy, and she finds herself trapped halfway between fugue and true consciousness.
Hesitant footsteps padded forward, stopping just shy of arm's reach. Somewhere in the back of her mind Lexa knew there were only a few people who were allowed into her room, only a few who even dared enter. But it was the faint floral scent that wafted to her nose that told her who her visitor was.
Clarke.
"Someone tried to kill you today, how are you this calm?"
That raspy voice trickled to her ears, and despite the burst of warmth that invariably blossomed in her gut at the sound Lexa remained caught in her meditative limbo, outwardly silent and unresponsive.
"Lexa?" Worry had threaded its way into Clarke's tone. Lexa wished she could alleviate it. "Hey, are you awake? What's wrong?"
She could sense Clarke shift closer, and then a palm cupped her shoulder, squeezing lightly.
It was like lightning.
Sparks erupted from the contact, blazing across her nerves, jolting her system. Like being doused with ice water, the shock snatching the air from her lungs and galvanizing her body. Her eyes flew open, breath drawing in a ragged gasp, limbs jerking.
"Whoa! Hey, you're okay!"
Clarke's furrowed visage swam into her vision, blurry and indistinct. There was so much light, streaming through the windows and setting everything aglow in a bright flare that burned into her retinas and Lexa groaned, slamming her eyelids shut against the sting. Her whole body ached but it was the acute, stabbing pain just under her sternum that arrested her attention. Her hand flew to it and the moment her fingers pressed to that tender spot her mind exploded in a riot of images and sensations.
They flashed across the back of her eyelids - memories that never happened, conversations that never occurred...a death that hadn't befallen her.
She struggled to regain control of her breathing, mind racing to sort out what it all meant. One warm hand clasped firmly upon her knee, another sliding to cradle her cheek. Clarke was an anchor weight in front of her, solid and real, and Lexa latched onto her presence like a drowning woman, willing her heartbeat to match the cadence of reassuring whispers falling from the other woman's lips.
"Lexa. Lexa. Hey. Look at me. Open your eyes, okay?"
She sucked in one last shuddering gasp and wrenched her eyes open again. Immediately she fell into an sky of blue. "Klark."
Clarke loosed a relieved smile. "Hey," she murmured, thumb stroking lightly along the high curve of her flushed cheekbone. "There you are."
Lexa nuzzled into her palm, feeling the tension leech from her body as the world dimmed to a tolerable level. "Clarke."
Her gaze lifted to stare at the gentle curve of Clarke's mouth. She yearned to lean up further, close the distance. Her lips tingled with unseen pressure. Maybe one day echoed through her mind, and she could see Clarke bend to her, pulling her into a desperate goodbye kiss.
A sharp intake of breath shattered the fantasy, and abruptly Lexa was yanked back to reality. No, that Clarke didn't exist. This Clarke hadn't slipped into her room, farewells on her tongue and regret mixed with longing in her eyes. This Clarke was...well, this Clarke was pulling away, awkwardly dropping her hand (that Lexa had just nestled into and that just set off a fresh wave of mortification) from her cheek and was no doubt upset at her over the kill order, and so was certainly not looking to kiss the woman who issued it.
She gave a hard swallow, reeling in her emotions. Clarke slid back, leaving Lexa feeling empty and bereft and a brief burst of panic had her gripping at Clarke's forearm, stalling her retreat.
Wide eyes met and Lexa released her arm like it burned her, gaze shying away. But before she could completely withdraw fingers caught her palm, enfolding her hand in a gentle hold. Her eyes flicked up and Clarke favored her with an awkward smile, rising and tugging her up after her.
Lexa stumbled shakily to her feet, grateful for Clarke's steadying arm. The world still wobbled at the edges of her vision and she had to bite back the stirrings of nausea climbing up the back of her throat. Clarke was quick to press her to sit at the foot of her bed, a stern "stay here" directed her way even as she turned to the side table, pouring a cup of water.
"Drink." The cup pressed insistently into her hands, Clarke watching hawk-eyed beside her until she obediently took a sip. "What was that?"
Lexa took another deep draught. The water was cool and refreshing, sweeping away the ghost sensation of thick, liquid iron. Blood. Her blood.
"No, I am not letting you die."
Teary and frantic, Clarke hovered over her.
"I don't want the next commander. I want you."
"Lexa!"
Lexa jolted, eyes snapping back to Clarke. Concern furrowed her brow, but the Clarke in front of her was calmer, not grief stricken.
Not a dream. Not a warning. "A premonition."
"What?"
"A vision of what could happen."
"You mean like before? When...the commanders spoke to you?"
Lexa shook her head. "No, not like that. It was too...too real." Unbidden her hand rose to the nape of her neck, fingers lining against the scar that lay under the symbol of her station. She heard awe shade her voice. "It was like nothing I've ever experienced."
Clarke cocked her head, the slightest of nods prompting her to elaborate.
She struggled to find the right words. "With dreams there is a certain...awareness. When the former commanders reach out to me, there is a distinction between me and them. This...this was different." Lexa squared her back, frown tugging down the corners of her lips as the action pulsed a dull throb in her chest. Where she had been shot. "It was as I was living it myself. I was in control of my actions. All my senses were intact. I could smell the wax of the candles, feel-"
Lexa abruptly cut herself off, swallowing against the rise of heat in her cheeks. No. It wouldn't do to think about just how much she could feel.
Thankfully Clarke seemed more absorbed in the enigma of her vision to notice her embarrassment. She hummed in thought, and Lexa clenched when she felt the echo of the gesture vibrate against her skin.
Soft lips pressed against her shoulder, dragging down the line of her clavicle. A hot tongue dipped in briefly where her collarbones met and Lexa couldn't help the startled gasp that slipped out. Clarke chuckled lightly, the motion sending shivers across her body leaving goosebumps in their wake. Another playful nip and then she was moving again, kissing down-
Lexa shook herself back to her senses this time. She was not some immature gona, salivating over fantasies and unable to concentrate at the matters at hand.
Her vision. No, the Spirit's vision. It meant something. And one detail stood out. Titus, the Skaikru boy, and the commander's crest. Her nape tingled, and Lexa wondered at this new active urgency the Commander's Spirit seemed to be taking. It was alarming and yet somehow comforting, and Lexa swiftly decided to trust it. This thread - she would follow it through, and see where it led.
"Clarke. Before this, before the mountain, you mentioned your former chancellor had deserted, seeking a distant land."
Clarke frowned, head tilting, vaguely recalling the conversation. It had taken place shortly after the entire Pauna incident, barely a fleeting mention before moving on to the more important issues at hand. "Yeah. Jaha. Mom said he and a handful of others just took off. Something about some 'promised land.'"
Lexa nodded. "And amongst them, a boy called Murphy."
Blue eyes narrowed at her. "...Yeah."
"Think carefully, Clarke. Have you heard anything from him of late? Do you know what became of him?"
Clarke frowned at the pointed line of questioning. "No. I don't understand. Why are you asking about Murphy? What does he have to do with…" She gestured vaguely to Lexa. "...This?"
"The Commander's Spirit, I think it knows something. Something important. And it is trying to tell me."
"Tell you what?"
Lexa met her gaze, worried and somber. "There is a danger brewing. Something larger than maintaining the Kongeda. Something that ties our people together even beyond peace. And the path we are on...may lead to our end." My end, at the very least.
Clarke tipped her head back, eyes shuttering in exasperation and clearly holding back a groan. "I don't suppose you're just being dramatic."
A little surge of affection bloomed in Lexa's chest, and she wrestled away a smile. "I am not prone to dramatics, Clarke."
Blue eyes rolled. "Sure, whatever you say, Heda Leksa kom Trikru, Commander of the Blood, Architect of the Coalition."
Lexa turned her head, pressing her lips together when her smile broke free. "That is all Titus. He can be quite insistent on observing proper titles."
Clarke's throaty chuckle drew her eyes back like a moth to flame.
"Yeah, I got that. He's all about tradition."
The hard edge in her voice drew her attention. "...What has he said to you?" The question was more a formality than curiosity. Lexa knew what he said. Anger began to coalesce hot in her gut.
Clarke shook her head, sardonic smile creasing her face, and Lexa's heart stuttered.
She asked her to stay. To choose to stay. It was a desperate last attempt, but the tiny flame of hope that had reignited in her chest urged her to at least try - try to keep Clarke by her side. Keep them together. And every time Clarke hesitated or lingered she fed that hungry flame a little more. Just as she did now, with darkened eyes tracing over her face.
The low agitated voice of the Fleimkepa interrupted from beyond her bedroom doors and Clarke actually rolled her eyes before meeting hers again, shining with amusement, lips smirking.
"I know someone who might."
The distinct rasp of Clarke's voice overlapped the one in her head and Lexa bit down hard, jaw clenching. She was going to have to find a way to stop from falling back into those strange not-memories.
"He's just not a fan of the whole 'mercy' concept."
Lexa scowled. She had let Titus air his reservations. But this interference...it bordered on insolence. And if her vision held any truth...
The back of her neck pulsed, sharp and hot. "I think it is time I had a talk with Titus."
AN: It's been tumultuous, but I'm proud of what the fandom has and will achieve. LGBT+ deserves better. If you're able, please donate: fundraise?fcid=625415