She let her eyes lazily wander around the room from the doorway, taking in the bizarre architecture of the Sky People. Everything was pale, cold and sterile. There was a pervasive chill in the air, despite the closed walls. Lexa tightened and released the muscles in her arms in a subtle attempt to remove the goose bumps that had arisen. The Ark, like it did with most of her people, made her feel uncomfortable. There was vulnerability in new territory and hard walls, minimalist dressings.
Her brow furrowed as she followed the hard, geometric corners of the room down to the small bed in the corner, where a thin blanket lay over a thin mattress. It seemed unusual that Clarke would be allowed a room to herself in such a small enclosure, but Lexa knew all too well the advantages of leadership, as well as the disadvantages. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword and she took another silent step inside.
"I am not used to being summoned," she said flatly.
Clarke turned from her desk, eyes wide until they landed on Lexa. Her cheeks reddened, all too visible in the artificial light. It hurt Lexa's eyes, and the commander pretended to look around the room for the first time. She must look a sight in all of this metal sterility, with her blackened armor and dirty boots, the blood red cloak that dangled from her shoulder. A strange foreign blob in a place she didn't belong. She wondered if the sight of her hurt Clarke's eyes as much as it hurt hers to think about it.
Clarke gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, yeah I guess you aren't. Sorry."
Lexa's eyes found hers and she regarded Clarke with a lifted chin. The blonde was on edge about something. She could hear it in her laugh, in the strange, mechanical way that Clarke tucked her hair behind her ear, then flipped it back out. In the way that she was wringing her blackened hands.
"Your fingers," Lexa said slowly, deciding to start on a safer topic than whatever Clarke had in mind.
Clarke looked down, lifting her hands and rubbing her dark fingers together. It reminded Lexa of the war paint that usually donned her own eyes. Was Clarke considering a makeover? The thought made the corner of Lexa's mouth twitch in amusement, but nothing more. Clarke smiled softly at her hands before giving Lexa a shrug.
"Charcoal. I was just…trying to distract myself."
Lexa tilted her head to the side, eyes lowering to the desk where she could see the project that Clarke had been working on. She knew that Clarke had soft hands, as her people liked to call it, like Lincoln. She had drawn a map of the inside of Mount Weather from memory, and it had been pivotal in their victory against the mountain men. But she didn't know that, like Lincoln, Clarke enjoyed the hobby. Most of Lexa's scouts had soft hands. They had to be able recollect enemy movements or identify structures, and drawing it was the most beneficial way to achieve their goals.
Her boots echoed off the wall as she moved, watching Clarke's eyes with every step as she neared the desk. Clarke's cheeks reddened again, just slightly, and Lexa wondered if she often blushed. Perhaps the natural light was just better at concealing it. The commander stopped when she reached the edge of the desk, and lowered her eyes to the paper. It was a rough sketch of the Ark as it was now, buried and broken in the ground. Trees surrounded it, cradling it almost in the tender sweeps of their branches. The moon hung overhead, partially shaded and Lexa could tell that the intent would be to make it shining bright. Lexa touched the side of the paper, careful to avoid the image, and gently dragged her finger down to the strange symbol in the corner. Initials, maybe, or some other hidden meaning. It felt strange to ask.
"You have soft hands, Clarke," she said finally, lifting her eyes. "It's good," she clarified upon seeing the slight crease in Clarke's brow.
Clarke gave her a weak smile, nodding down at the sketch. "It'll look better once it's done. But thanks."
"Drawing relaxes you." Lexa rarely voiced her questions as such. Often they came out as demands or truths, but Clarke always seemed to catch the difference.
"Most of the time. What relaxes you?"
Lexa's brows raised slightly at the question, and she tightened the grip on her hilt. It had been so long since she'd truly been relaxed. She could trick herself, of course, into a calm. Shut off her emotions and keep them at bay until the job was done. But that wasn't what Clarke was asking. Clarke was watching her patiently, eyes moving back and forth slightly as she looked into both of Lexa's eyes. Lexa tightened her jaw, grinding slightly, before her hand fell from the hilt of her sword.
"Peace," she said finally. "Peace relaxes me."
The corner of Clarke's mouth turned up into a kind smile. "It's kind of hard to grasp, isn't it? No fighting."
"It's all I've known."
Clarke nodded, her shoulders falling. "Sometimes I don't really believe it. Sometimes I think that I'm going to wake up and still be on the Ark, fighting for air. Or that I'm going to wake up and still be at war with the mountain men, or even you."
Lexa felt the tip of Clarke's finger graze over hers, where it still rested on the paper. It was slow, deliberate, and tickled slightly as it made its way over her first, second, then third knuckle, resting on her nail for a moment before disappearing. Lexa lifted her hand slowly, running her thumb over her index finger to remove the tingling that lingered on her skin.
"I was born in war," she whispered, acutely aware of how close Clarke had come, but unsure of when she got there.
Clarke's pursed lips told her to continue. Her eyes were soft and focused, sympathetic. A look that Lexa didn't take kindly to unless it was coming from Clarke.
"Our village was attacked while my mother was giving birth. She hid, down in the tunnels of the dining hall with the other non-warriors, and gave birth silently so as not to give their position away. We've been at war before and since."
"Forged in war," Clarke said with a soft smile. "No wonder you're so indomitable."
Lexa raised an eyebrow, allowing Clarke both the softest and the broadest of her smiles. "Is that what you think of me, Clarke kom skaikru?"
Lexa almost missed the flutter of Clarke's eyelids at her words. She was getting better at understanding their language now, and with understanding dissolves fear. Now it seemed that whenever Lexa spoke in trigadeslang, it generated another kind of response from the blonde, a much more favorable response. She forced her expression to remain impassive.
"Don't you want to know why I summoned you?" Clarke murmured, leaning on the hand on her desk, bringing her that much closer.
Lexa swallowed, allowing her eyes to glance down at Clarke's lips before giving a single nod. Clarke smiled softly, her free hand reaching up to trace the braid woven above Lexa's left ear. Lexa barely felt her touch as she followed the smooth weave of her braid, and down her ear before her palm rested on the back of her neck. Clarke's fingers moved back and forth, tickling again, and Lexa exhaled slowly, feeling her shoulders fall, suddenly burdened her cloak and shoulder guard.
"I'm ready, Lexa," Clarke whispered, meeting the commander's eyes.
Lexa could feel Clarke's breath against her lips, and she straightened her posture, putting the slightest bit of distance between them. Clarke frowned for a moment, and Lexa spared her any suspense by raising her hand and cupping Clarke's cheek gently. She searched the blonde's eyes intently for any sign of uncertainty, and sighed when she found none. Her thumb moved slightly against Clarke's cheekbone, feeling the smooth skin beneath her own calloused pad. Clarke's skin was heated against her hand, and seemed to warm the frigid air around her.
"You are certain?" Lexa asked quietly. It needn't be said aloud that, for Clarke, she would wait forever.
Clarke smiled then. The first smile, Lexa noticed, that didn't come with a caveat. In this moment, there were no other battles to fight, no more people to save. In this moment, maybe, they were truly at peace. This moment was no longer a moment. It was something bigger, something longer. Something neither of them had ever experienced.
It was Clarke's turn to make the first move, and Lexa couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as she felt those lips accept her entirely. They kissed slowly, like the first time, because for the first time in either of their lives, there was no sense of urgency or survival. There was only each other, and the faint smell of Clarke's charcoal and Lexa's leather. The hand on Lexa's neck pulled her closer. Lexa snaked her hand slowly around Clarke's waist, and felt the momentary smile against her lips as she held her tightly, felt the muscles beneath Clarke's shirt and fervent heartbeat that reminded her that this was real.
When Clarke pulled away for the second time, she pressed her forehead against Lexa's, keeping her hand on her neck to keep her close. It was unnecessary, Lexa thought, for a thousand armies could not pull her away from this moment, and her hand gripped Clarke's back to make certain that point.
"Hmm," Lexa hummed after a few minutes, daring forward to place one more chaste kiss, smiling when it was received. "This…is also relaxing."
Clarke released an easy breath of laughter, moving back just enough to meet Lexa's eyes. "That reminds me, I probably got charcoal all over your neck."
Lexa smiled, and judging by the way Clarke's eyes lit up, it must have been a grand one. "I'm sure I will return the favor…in time."
"Time," Clarke breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Whatever will we do with it?"
Lexa chose to kiss her again, an answer and a non-answer all in one.