Hey, so I know I haven't posted anything in a loooooong time, but I was watching episode 4 tonight and inspiration struck, what were they actually thinking during that absolutely adorable Clexa moment?
Clarke stood at the window of her room in Polis, blinking occasionally as she stared off into the night. The tattered, off-white fabric of the curtains fluttered gently in the constant breeze, ruffling her blond hair lit with faded pink streaks, roughly braided in some parts with metal accessories, as per Grounder custom. The soft light of dozens of flickering candles illuminated her pale face and made her eyes shine blue, while the moonlight from above cast dark shadows of her eyelashes across her cheeks and highlighted bruise-color bags under her eyes. The fight from earlier that day was stuck on repeat in her mind, playing over and over on a loop.
She pushed through the crowd of cheering Grounders, ears filled with the noise of drumbeats and yells, arriving at the front in time to watch Lexa pull off her shoulder guard and hand it to a waiting attendant. Lexa glanced up in time to see her shoulder her way past several other onlookers and pull back the grey hood of her cloak. Lexa was stunning in her full black, dripping warpaint, black armor, and deadly demeanor. She lowered her head a fraction as she spoke, her voice quiet but firm in that special way of her's, conveying gratitude and sadness, revealing relief and a hint of former desperation in a single sentence. "I'm glad you came." Clarke's eyebrows drew towards each other before she answered, two words that started strong but ended broken. "Me too." Their gazes lingered on each other for a moment, silent messages passing between them. Don't die, Clarke begged. Be careful. Lexa blinked her understanding and turned away, grasping the hilt of her sword and ripping it from it's sheath, to the obvious delight of the majority of the Grounders. Lexa returned her eyes to Clarke, meeting her gaze until Clarke's expression changed from serious to worried and slightly terrified, someone shouted 'Heda!', and Lexa turned in time to block Roan's swing and deliver a slice to his back. Lexa's face twisted into a furious grimace as she threw herself at him in a whirlwind of steel and deadly intent. Their blades met with a clang that rang with terrible finality, and Roan used his strength to force her downwards.
"You're done," he half-growled, and she bared her teeth, reaching up to grab the sharp of his blade and knock him back, slicing open her palm in the process. It sprayed the black blood of the Nightbloods, dripping from Roan's sword onto the ground.
A knock sounded at her door, three sharp raps that drew Clarke out of her memory. She turned, walking in bare feet to the partially cracked white glass door, blue dress swishing around her legs. The door creaked and squealed as it opened, revealing Lexa, bare of makeup and with brown hair tumbling freely down her back, wearing only a black dress with metal straps that revealed her neck and collarbones. Despite her lack of intimidating apparel, Clarke still found the Commander to be quite herself. Lexa nodded to Clarke as the blonde gave her a once-over.
"Is this 'I told you so'?" Clarke asked, raising her eyebrows slightly, voice coming out low, with a hint of sarcasm.
"No. This is thank you." Lexa's voice was soft, gentle, the voice she used only when she was alone with Clarke. Clarke tilted her head upwards and blinked rapidly, as if trying to force back down a certain burn at the back of her eyes at Lexa's thoughtfulness. She lifted an arm, motioned for Lexa to step inside opened the door wider to invite her.
"Come in." Lexa padded silently into the room, shifting legs revealing that the dress was split up to her hip on one side. As she walked past, Clarke caught her bandaged hand, examining it. She glanced towards the patched couch in the corner of her room. "Sit down, let me change that for you." It wasn't necessary, and they both new it, but neither one was willing to mention it. Clarke gently closed the door and plunked down on the chair beside Lexa. Yellow candlelight glanced warmly off Lexa's smooth skin, revealing intricate tattoos on her back and arm. Picking up Lexa's hand, Clarke began gently unwinding the bandage, feeling the callouses on Lexa's fingers and wondering what they would feel like when they were running all over her body. "That girl that was with Nia, Ontari? What will happen to her?" Clarke finished unwrapping the old bandage, revealing the thin slice across Lexa's palm. Both sets of eyes were focused on Clarke's precise movements.
"She won't be back until the Conclave after my death." They looked up, meeting each other's eyes.
"Do you ever talk about anything other than your death?" It started out serious, but ended with sarcasm, a note of playfulness, and a soft smile that Lexa returned readily. Clarke ripped a strip from the piece of cream-colored fabric that she had on hand and began winding it around Lexa's wound. The sound of ripping cloth signaled a change in the conversation, from light banter to more serious gratitude.
"Thank you for backing me." Thank you for believing in me.
"I was just doing what was right for my people." I knew you could do it. A moment of silence passed, both processing words unsaid as Clarke finished winding the cloth around Lexa's hand and released her. "Your ambassadors betrayed you." I didn't. I would never betray you. "How do you move forward?"
"They were doing what they believed was right for their people too." Clarke glanced down, then stood up.
"Rushop, Heda." Please stay. Lexa rose as well, facing Clarke with a genuine, soft smile that she couldn't help return.
"Good night, Ambassador." Please tell me to stay. Lexa walked past her to the door and Clarke followed her with her eyes, turning so that she never lost sight of her. Their eyes met once more as Lexa opened the door to let herself out. I need you, Clarke. The door closed gently, and Clarke was left standing alone in her room, suddenly bereft of any emotion but sadness. I love you, Lexa.