You are still (the color of my blood)
… I've hidden those words in the lining of my coat. I take them out like a jewel thief when no-one's watching. They haven't faded. Nothing about you has faded.
Jeanette Winterson- Written on the Body.
1.
Among the confusion that dominates her mind only one thing is clear: Lexa is hurt.
The woman who more than anyone else has taught Clarke what it means to truly live, the girl who stood by her side during the war, ready to fight, ready to die with her, is moaning in pain, face ashen and limbs collapsing.
Lexa tells her she's her soulmate,and no matter how absurd the concept sounds to Clarke – who's grown up in a place where feelings, as well as space and resources, had to be carefully managed and regulated - she knows that the invisible yet unbreakable blood-red string that links her to the Commander, that has kept them together through sacrifices and missiles and battles, will not be severed after death.
The girl is loosing consciousness, her body is shutting down trying to overcome the sudden loss of too much blood, oh god so much blood, and her eyes, the same shade as the ground towards which Clarke had been hurled, falling, falling from the sky, are closing in the allurement of sleep.
Clarke knows exactly what's happening; she recalls the notions that were imparted to her during her medical training, back in a time where, despite the charcoal and paper that piled in her room, she couldn't even imagine how it felt to sink her feet and her hands in the richness of the soil, to feel the heat of the sun on her skin, to soak her body in the freezing, clear water of the ocean, to feel alive and free, like the birds she had only ever seen in books and documentaries.
She knows what's happening inside Lexa's body. She knows that the girl must have lost at least a fifth of her blood volume, that she has not enough to oxygenate the entire body, and so her brain is redirecting the flow towards the more vital organs, itself and the heart.
She knows that's the reason why her partner's hand is so cold; that, considering the situation, the temperature of Lexa's hand is the last thing Clarke should be worried about. Still, she can't help regarding the freezing appendix like a bad omen.
She casts the thought aside and spurs the horse to go faster, faster, to take them to the camp as soon as possible.
She knows what will happen if they don't make it in time. Lexa will keep loosing blood. Her extremities will go into gangrene from oxygen deprivation, the tissue dead and blue. Then her organs will start shutting down, first the liver, then the pancreas, then the lungs, then the brain. The heart will be the last. Her pulse will get weaker and weaker, and then it will stop.
And she knows, without doubt, without even thinking about it, that if that should happen hers would stop as well.
She urges the horse again and decides to ignore the animal's suffering pants, how its movements have turned sluggish and uncoordinated, so different from the majestic and elegant creature she had been riding only a few hours ago.
But this is Lexa's horse; and although she doesn't yet understand the connection, the bond that the grounders are able to establish with the animals that serve and protect them, she knows the creature will not abandon its master.
She knows it'll keep running until they reach the imposing wall that surrounds their new village, where grounders and sky people are finally living together as one community.
So she keeps her hand firmly over Lexa's wound, trying to apply as much pressure as she can, to keep as much blood in as she can.
And she talks to her.
She knows Lexa can't hear her. She knows that the stories of people waking up from comas and proclaiming to have heard their loved ones voices through the fog are just that, stories.
Still, she can't stop. (And this, she thinks bitterly, this is the real reason why doctors are not supposed to treat family and friends, because when someone you love is fighting against death you stop believing in science and start believing in something else, anything else that will give you hope, that will keep you blind over the desperation).
So she talks. She talks until her throat is sore and the words that come out of her mouth make no sense. Until the litany of it'll be okay makes her feel almost as warm as Lexa's body does when they are alone and naked under the furs of their bed, until the string of I love you's makes her believe that Lexa's hand is actually moving, holding hers.
The sun is low in the sky and the trees are vibrant with yellows and reds, an explosion of colors, by the time Clarke makes it to the village, its borders surrounded by guards after the few attacks they have suffered from a rival tribe.
The soldiers see them from afar and by the time they reach the wall the gates have already been opened and a small crowd has assembled, curious and inquisitive.
Clarke dismounts the horse, which immediately falls to the ground now that its mission is over, and without her saying anything a man takes Lexa in his arms.
She has only enough energy left to direct him towards the medical area, her voice soft and pleading.
Clarke knows she's about to faint when she feels two strong arms closing around her and keeping her upright.
She thinks they could be Octavia's, or maybe Lincoln's, but when she turns her head her eyes come in contact with Indra, her face stoic and devoid of emotions.
The second in command looks at her and although no words come out of her mouth, Clarke can see the multitude of questions swimming in her eyes, mirrored by the voices of the people around them, asking louder and louder what's happened, why their commander is hurt, if she's dead.
Clarke is not coherent enough to answer any of those questions. She feels drained, her limbs weak and her mind foggy after the long ride.
A sort of understanding passes between her and Indra in that moment and the soldier uses her deep, strong voice, even more imposing in her native tongue, to command silence. Then she shifts, taking the majority of Clarke's weight on herself, and they head off towards the infirmary.
2.
She must have indeed lost consciousness at some point, because the next time she's able to concentrate enough to grasp a sense of her surroundings she finds herself laying on a hospital bed, the walls white and bare around her.
Her back, accustomed by now to the hard surface of her and Lexa's cot, hurts from the too soft mattress and she thinks that's probably why she woke up in the first place.
Certainly not because she's had enough sleep. Her body is still sore and aching, and her mind still suffers from the confusion that she knows comes from a good dose of dehydration coupled with a high level of exhaustion.
The room is still and silent. Peaceful.
Since the end of the war, her mother has told her many times, the never ending stream of patients has dropped so much that the doctor has decided to take up a few other activities around the village, cultivating healing herbs and selecting a few young grounders to which she has decided to teach the wonders of modern medicine.
Her eyes finally adjust to the light and she's able to look around the room, noticing for the first time the figure perched on the chair at the side of her bed.
Raven's hands are linked together in front of her face, reminding Clarke of the pictures she has seen of congregations praying, invoking a god that the people of the Ark had preferred to leave behind, the space inside the stations too tight even for religion.
Her friend is silent, her eyes closed. Clarke tries to speak but her throat is dry and sore and she only manages to utter a few feeble, incomprehensible sounds.
But they're enough for Raven to notice that she's awake and Clarke observes how her friend's eyes focus on her, looking for any sign of distress and then relaxing once they find she's awake and apparently okay.
Clarke closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them she finds a glass of water in front of her. She accepts it gratefully, savoring the fresh liquid in her mouth, moaning in pleasure at the way the muscles of her throat relax at every sip. She signals with her hand when she's had enough and Raven puts the glass back on the small table near the bed.
Finally she asks, her voice tired and flat, "Is she dead?"
Raven is silent for a long moment, her eyes fixed somewhere on the wall behind them. Then she takes a breath and holding it in she answers, "No."
And in that moment Clarke forgets how to breath, closes her eyes as the fog in her mind thickens and a sense of nausea invades her stomach.
Because she knows Raven, knows all her virtues and flaws, knows how she thinks, how she moves. And she knows, undoubtedly, unequivocally, that what her best friend is really saying is "Not yet."
Raven looks at her and Clarke can see all the questions her friend is refraining to ask, can see her confusion in the way she keeps opening and closing her mouth, how she can't keep her hands still. A few minutes pass until Clarke sees her mouth stiffen, her eyes focus and she knows Raven has reached her limit.
So she's not surprised when after a few moments she hears "What happened out there, Clarke?"
She closes her eyes again, takes a deep breath and tries to hold it as long as she can, like she used to do when she was little, her head under the water and her arms around herself, trying to block out the sounds, the confusion that marks the life of many people enclosed in a restricted space.
Silence was rare on the Ark, a luxury that a growing community in a shrinking area could not afford, and those were the only moments in which Clarke could savor it, for even during the night the hum of the ventilation system, the sound of footsteps just outside the door of her suffocatingly small room, were constant and unavoidable.
She tries to prolong the silence, to hide behind it, to clear her mind from all thoughts. But her brain betrays her, and she can see the day playing itself in front of her eyes, like a perfectly cut and edited movie.
She sees herself waking up in their bed, her body warm from her and Lexa's combined heat, their legs intertwined. Her face is buried in her lover's hair and she can smell the soap, prepared with flowers and berries, that her and Lexa had made together a few weeks ago.
They had been laughing and playing over the mixture of blackberries, daisies, and oil and Clarke remembers looking at Lexa, remembers how the other girl was giggling freely, and how in that moment she was so beautiful that Clarke's breath was caught in her chest.
Lexa had looked at her, asking her if there was something wrong, and Clarke had suddenly found herself so full of emotions that she could only shake her head and move in to deliver a quick kiss on her lover's soft, smiling lips.
Her mind is invaded by the sound of Lexa's voice, her face soft and open as she explains to Clarke that she wants to spend the day looking for new fields in which to plant crops, since their community is larger now and they'll need more food to survive the winter.
"It will be an adventure" she says. Her eyes are bright. Then "You'll come with me, right?"
"Are you sure you're not tired of me yet?" Clarke can hear herself asking.
At the predictable "Not yet" that follows she turns around, setting her legs on each side of Lexa's hips and feigning offence.
Her lover's eyes shine with laughter and Clark covers Lexa's mouth with hers, trying to capture the sound, to plant it inside her, and imagines soft and pliant roots spreading over her lungs, covering her heart like a protective shell.
She can feel the soft leather of Lexa's jacket under her fingers, as they ride through the forest. She feels restless, charged with the excitement that comes from the prospect of an entire day alone with her girl, and she can't keep her hands still. She caresses Lexa's hips and buries her head in her neck, feeling the soft, warm skin on her cheek.
Lexa moves, baring her neck to Clarke's soft touches and kisses, and they bask in the sunlight that filters through the leafy branches above them.
The silence is interrupted by a soft, feeble howling and Clarke turns her head to find a puppy not twenty feet from them, alone and apparently hurt.
They stop and get off the horse to observe the pitiful, clearly malnourished creature. It is not unusual, during the cold, harsh winter months, to find half dead creatures wandering the forest, ribs visible under their mangy fur, fighting to survive just another day.
But today the sun is warm, the forest is bursting with life, and there is no reason why this – dog? - shouldn't be with its pack.
Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Lexa's voice, whispering "Be careful, Clarke. We don't know if the mother is around."
But everything is silent except for the hummingbirds calling each other, invisible among the foliage that surrounds them.
Lexa starts towards the puppy and Clarke is fascinated by the soft, caring expression on her face.
She recalls the stories she has read about the bond between humans and animals, how a long time ago people used to keep dogs, cats and even snakes and lizards inside their houses, just to keep them company.
She doesn't know if there had ever been any animals on the Ark, but she figures that even if that was the case, they had probably been floated out a long time ago, when things like oxygen and water had started to run low.
She doesn't immediately realize the change in the air. She's still lost in her thoughts, and by the time she hears the crunch of crushed leaves and the howling that turns the forest silent in fear, Lexa is already running towards her, screaming at her to run, to hide and then -
Clarke opens her eyes to find that Raven is looking at her, cheeks wet and hands trembling.
"We've been attacked by a pack of wolves" she says, not trusting herself with more words.
The shocked expression that appears just for a moment on Raven's face, before the girl scolds her features into a more reassuring look, is enough to make Clarke wish she could just close her eyes and never have to open them again.
She gives herself twenty seconds and then she sits up, ignoring the clouds that darken the periphery of her vision.
She's aware that Raven wants to tell her to lay down, she can see it clearly on her face, in the way her mouth turns into a thin line and her eyes darken, but they both know it would be only a waste of time and completely pointless.
So, with a huff, her best friend stands up from her chair and helps her on her feet.
"I don't even know why I bother with you" she tells Clarke.
But her mouth is stretched into a soft smile and Clarke understands loud and clear all the things that Raven is too stubborn, too tried by life, to say: You scared me, I'm glad you're okay, I love you.
Lexa's room, Raven tells her, is only a couple of doors over.
They stop by the threshold and Clarke looks around anxiously, trying to locate Lexa's bed, but every cot is surrounded by a thick curtain and she can't see anything.
She is about to step further into the room when she hears Raven's voice calling her back. Clarke turns around and finds herself surprised by the level of concern she can detect in her friend's voice "She hasn't waken up" Raven says. And then, after a moment, "We're not sure she will."
Clarke looks at her and smiles softly. "She will" she replies.
Then she turns around and enters the room, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
3.
Lexa has been put in the bed closest to the window, and with the moonlight shining on her she looks so young that Clarke cannot for the life of her imagine the girl leading hundreds of people, of grown men and women, into battle.
But then she remembers the black of her war paint, and the look in her eyes when she stood in front of her army, roaring that they were finally going to avenge their people, and the way her voice had sounded, when she had told her, unapologetic "That's how we survive, Clarke."
Still in this moment, with Lexa clad in one of the shirts they keep around the medical area for emergencies, her face clean and her hair down, free even from the braids that usually adorn them, Clarke can imagine a different life, one where they had met up there, among the stars, without hunger, without war.
She wonders what her lover would have been like, what would have been left of all the things that make Lexa who she is, and she's not sure she would like to know.
Because as much as she regrets the circumstances that Lexa had to endure, the trials that life has put her through, she knows that those situations, and the terrible, impossible choices that she had to make in order to survive them, have made Lexa who she is.
And, she thinks with a smile, that's not something she's willing to negotiate.
She sits on the uncomfortable metallic chair that is beside the bed and brushes a hand over Lexa's hair, gently, lovingly.
"I know you can't hear me" she says, moving down towards Lexa's cheek and her high, serious looking jaw, "but I don't think I can stay here and not talk to you, so you'll have to bear with me."
She smiles and she pushes back the tears that have gathered in her eyes. She won't cry. She won't cry until it's over, and it is not over because Lexa is not dead, so she has no reason to cry.
She gets lost in her head for a minute, then she takes a deep breath.
The words start tumbling out the second she opens her mouth, and she's absolutely unable to stop them.
Her mind brings her back to a few hours earlier and suddenly she can hear the soft sounds of the forest around her, she can smell the pungent scent of Lexa's blood, mixed with that of the wolves.
She can see Lexa's eyes, open wide in surprise and fear, when she realizes the extent of her injury. She knows the girl is not yet able to feel pain, the thrill of the battle still too vivid in her mind. Clarke closes the space between them and the second Lexa is enveloped in her arms she can feel the girl's legs giving out and a surprised gasp leaving her lips.
Her hands move over the gash on her lover's chest, trying to apply pressure.
She can feel the panic setting in, invading her mind like a poisonous fog, and she takes a deep breath, knowing that she needs to stay calm and focused in order to get Lexa out of this alive.
Clarke manages to rip some fabric from her shirt and is about to put it over the wound when she feels Lexa's hand closing around her wrist, stopping her. She lifts her gaze to the Commander's and proudly considers that the murderous look in her eyes must have been sufficient to quieten any argument, because Lexa's hold softens immediately and she's able to resume her work. She's mentally preparing herself for the long, exhausting walk back to the village when she hears the rustle of leaves coming from her right and she realizes that despite the chaos, despite the danger and the confusion, the horse is still there.
She lifts her head and she finds the other girl looking at her carefully. Lexa's mouth is stretched into a soft, proud smile, but her voice is weak.
"It's a loyal creature" she tells Clarke.
Clarke smiles back, standing up and putting her arms back around Lexa's waist, holding the other girl firmly against her.
They manage to get on the horse, a deep frown marring Lexa's face, the girl's only concession to the unquestionably agonizing pain she's feeling.
As Clarke spurs the horse into running, Lexa's back heavy against her chest, their hands laced together over her wound, the Commander turns her head and hides her face in her lover's neck.
Clarke can feel Lexa's lips moving, breathing words into her skin, and she turns to drops a kiss onto the pale surface of her forehead.
Only after a few moments she's able to hear what Lexa is saying. "Don't worry, Clarke. My spirit will come back to you."
She presses her hand harder against Lexa's wound and replies, breathless and scared "I already told you once, I need your spirit to stay exactly where it is."
Lexa is laughing now, the sound soft and sweet. "I never thought" she says between deep, painful breaths, "I could feel the way I feel when I am with you." Then again "My spirit will not remember the sacrifices I've made for my people. It won't remember the blood and the fight. But it will remember the sound of your laugh, Clarke. It will always choose you. I will always choose you."
Clarke is about to tell her to stop with this nonsense, that her spirit won't need to remember anything because it's not going anywhere, she's not going anywhere, when she realizes that Lexa is unconscious. So she kisses her forehead again, tightens her hold on the horse's reins and once again urges the animal to go faster.
As her gaze wanders over Lexa's body, cataloguing every scratch, every small cut, Clarke can feel the tendrils of sleep luring her in, her limbs heavy and tired.
She takes the Commander's hand in hers, and nestles her head into the other girl's lap.
She takes a deep breath, her eyes about to close, and while she exhales she whispers into her lover's skin: "I will always choose you too."
She's already dreaming, the glow of the moon lulling her into sleep, when Lexa's hand moves, lacing their fingers together, holding onto her tight.