Chapter 2

Waiting is a very difficult task, as it turns out. Clarke is no warrior, she knows that, she is merely a survivor. She has no training for this, just her gun in her hand, an acceptable aim and a lot of luck to go with it. She has nothing to bring to a real battle. Yet she yearns to join, to join Lexa, to be by her side, to protect her somehow. Her head keeps telling her how ridiculous it would be for her to go in the heat of a fight, but her heart jams so hard in her ribs that it is complicated to focus on logic. Her feet itch to move, and it takes all of her strengh to keep still. Apparently even staying stationary requires energy.

She can hear shouts and swords clashing, far away from their position. Her human shield scans their surrounding, always watching, completely silent, arms at the ready. One of them is as big as he is tall, shirtless, skin painted with dirt and dark symbols, wearing a massive mask and a heavy mass with both hands. It is like he is waving a sign saying 'don't mess with me of i'll smash your skull with my bare hands'. Clarke hopes he is as efficient as he is impressive. The other warrior is slim, her clothes simple and light, her hands occupied each by a dagger and Clarke can see others shorts weapons clipped on her tighs. She muses a moment about that choice of weapon, keeping note of her interest for later on, and shifts her focus on the last appointed protector, a boy who looks like Charlotte's age, with bow and arrow at the ready. Even at such a young age Clarke knows that this boy is probably as good as any guard of the Ark.

She sighs inwardly. Earth is such a paradoxal place, beautiful and deadly that even a child must learns to sway between innocence and awareness, at all times.

The woman warrior snaps her tongue in her mouth, making a curt and small sound, not once decreasing her watch. Immediately responding to the signal, the boy puts his arrow back in his quiver, his bow accross his neck and jumps soundlessly into a tree, ten feet from them. Clarke can only guess he'll be more at ease to aim possible attackers from there.

Once again her fingers tighten on her gun, her muscles so tense, her blood so fast in her temples, Clarke has to clench her jaw to keep still. She focuses on her breathing. Each breath is like a prier, a wish for Lexa to be okay. Please, be okay.

She hears a shout far on her left and then nothing. No sounds, not anything. She doesn't know if it's a good nothing or a bad nothing, she doesn't know if the fight is over when it began only minutes ago. She doesn't know, and it drives her a little more restless. She needs to know.

She's seen enough people have panic attacks to detect her anxiety going to the roof right now, her heart hammering too hard. She is frantic and about to move, no matter her promise, no matter those warriors around her, she'll get past them, she needs to go past them, she needs to go to Lexa. Now. She doesn't finish her thought when she's on the move, but she barely makes it three steps before she comes face to face to the Commander. A very much alive Commander.

Relief explodes inside Clarke and she is left feeling high, nauseous and about to pass out. For four months she avoided all the politics, the drama, the fight, the death. She's lived in a peacefull, beautiful bubble in her oblivious little cave, and she is crashing fast. On the freaking Ground, with the freaking Grounders, all bloody and mud.

She misses her bubble.

Her adrenaline rush leaves her cold and shivering and for a second she sees worry in green eyes staring at her. Lexa is alive.

Lexa is alive. She's okay.

That is all she can think about before her eyes roll and everything goes black.

The first thing she notices is the heaviness of her body. Her mind is fuzzy, her tongue feels too big for her mouth. And she is thirsty. With a grunt she tries to move and it's like she is restrained by rope. This idea finishes to wake her up immediately, eyes open wide. She twists her neck to scan her surroundings, blood pulsing, forcing her body to be ready for anything. Not for the first time the voice in the back of her head growls.

Fucking Ground.

Yet again, she is on surviving mode, fists clench, she pushes on the bed to a sitting position, searching for her gun or any weapon. She doesn't have to search long, the pistol is on the little table near her on the right, she grabs it and swiftly checks the ammo. Gun in hand she observes her body, contracts her muscles. They are sore but working. She stretches quickly and gets up from the bed. She is in a small room, an actual room with walls, brick walls, like on the movies she used to watch back on the Ark. No metallic box, no tent, but a room with a window.

Now that her basic need for protection has been satisfied, she can analyse her situation. She hears life outside the wall and she risks a look out the window on her left. There are people wondering around, children running and laughing. She can see buildings, tents and huts, and color, so much colors ! These people seem harmless, carefree and peacefull, but Clarke knows better than to trust a pretty picture. Mount Wather tought her that.

Still, her instinct tells her that she's safe.

She mulls over that feeling while she reaches her boots on the floor at the end of the bed and puts them on, never leaving her gun. The room is bare, except for the bed against a wall, the table and a chair, no clue to provide information. She eyes the window a moment, thinking to exit this way, but she'd be too exposed, seing how the room leads directly to a main place occupied by busy Grounders. The door ?

She is thinking about her chances when a knock jerks her out of her thoughts. The door. Someone is knocking at the door. Why would anyone knock on a prisoner's door ? What is the trick this time ?

'Klark'

She is so relieved to hear that voice she almost drops her gun right there. Releasing the breath she didn't know she was holding probably since awakening, Clarke falls onto the bed, closes her eyes briefly and holds her suddenly heavy head in her hands, elbows on her knees, her gun still in her fingers, sliding into her hair.

'Lexa'

She doesn't have to say more than that. Clarke watches the door open slowly, still warry of any change, calculating. Maybe everything is fine, birds chirping and all that, or anything else could be happening in an instant. Better be safe than sorry.

Her eyes lock with Lexa's, and in the silent exchange she sees all the reassurance she needs to finaly let go of her gun. Swallowing the lump in her still dry throat, Clarke puts the weapon on the sheet next to her.

'You are awake'

She lifts an eyebrow at that. It's not in the Commander's habit to make small talk, to state the obvious. Lexa hasn't move from the doorframe, which makes Clarke's other eyebrow twich. Clarke leans behind her on her hands, leaving her front more open, a silent invitation. She is learning to communicate without a sound. Even if her mind sometimes doesn't want to shut up. Most of the time. She's learning.

Lexa moves into the room then and leaves the door open, her hand casualy set on the hilt of her sheathed dagger. She doesn't ware her long coat, just black boots, black pants and sleeveless black shirt. It is a strange vision to witness the Commander bare from war paint, armor, red sash and long sword. What strikes Clarke the most is her hair, free of braids. Long dark locks framing the soft face of a young woman. Of Lexa.

This woman is a mystery Clarke itches to explore.

Soft, beautiful, Lexa stands in the room in confortable silence, and Clarke doesn't want anything to shattered this peacefull moment. She smiles and lifts herself up from the bed, the distance between them suddenly too much. Lexa watches her, a small smile stretching on her full lips, and whispers.

'You waited for me'

Clarke's eyes flash at the memory, the forest, the rush, the fear. The incertainty. Her blood jumps but she forces herself to breath and stay focus on those green soft eyes.

'Sha'

She sees the spark her using of Trigedasleng ignits in Lexa. Clarke loweres her head and murmures 'It wasn't easy though, i hated not being with you'. She doesn't notice the tear falling from her own eye, then she senses calous fingers gently strocking her cheek, catching it, sliding to her chin and slowly lifting her head. Lexa's eyes are so full of life, so full of everything she tries to keep inside behind her strong exterior, that Clarke aches to set it free. All of it. All the longing, all the regret, all the pain and all the loneliness, but above all, all the love she can see radiating, reaching.

She doesn't notice when she leans toward those eyes she has drawn so many times in the last months, alone in her cave, struggling between despaire and hope. She doesn't notice moving forward. She justs needs to be closer, always closer, to feel her, all of her. It is such a strong pull, she doesn't want to resist it. She wants to drown in those perfect green eyes and never let go.

Her right hand finds Lexa's hip and hocks, fingers gripping, drawing closer. She licks her lips in anticipation and she knows, she knows it isn't that easy, they should talk, she should stop, clear her head and think – but she doesn't want to, she wants to live in the moment, and fuck everything else. Nothing matters right now than them. Together.

Lexa doesn't move, her eyes never falter, but Clarke can see the yearning staring back at her. Lexa feels it too, this connexion, this need to be closer, so much closer.

Her nose brushes past Lexa's and she relishes in the warmth she senses off the Commander's gorgeous mouth she's about to taste again, after such a long time.

It is slow, almost reverent, the way their lips meet, the way Clarke breathes Lexa as if coming up for air. It feels like returning home when you didn't know you were missing it, when you didn't know you had a home to miss. But she has, she feels it like a piece of puzzle finally coming into place, making her whole. The feeling is so strong it makes her moan.

She doesn't hold back, not anymore, she can't, because life on the Ground is so temporary she doesn't want to miss anymore of the only thing printed at the back of her mind, at the front of her heart.

'Lexa' she breathes like a prier on those delicious lips, capturing her mouth again. Her hand tighten her grasp at the waist while her other hand cups the strong neck, scratching dark hair at the base of the head, drawning closer, always closer.

She can feel how Lexa wants it, and how she tries to restrained herself, to hold back. Why, out of respect ? Out of fear ? Clarke doesn't know and she doesn't care. She doesn't want any of that, she doesn't want restrain. She wants closer. She pushes her body flush into the Commander's.

'Lexa'

Her tone is demanding, and immediately she reattaches their mouths, carressing plump lip with her tongue, asking for entrance. She growls deep when her access is denied, and it is all it takes to send the Heda to the edge.

They launch into each other then. It becomes a battle of tongues, mouths crashing, hands gropping, bodies pressing. More, always closer. Lexa's hands are everywhere, sending hot waves of energy in Clarke's belly. They are feeding on each other's desire, releasing the longing they bottled up during all those months, setting it free in an explosion of touch. The room is filled with the song of their touch, clothes tearing, breath itching, voices groaning, blood pulsing. It is an addictive symphony.

After long minutes of intense kisses, Lexa half sitting on the table, Clarke standing in front of her, pushing in front of her, the rythm of their dance shifts to languorous caresses of flesh. The frantic movement of hands becomes tender stroke, as their kisses slow. Bodies still enterwined, their mouths withdraw with a reverent pace, until Clarke steals a last soft bite of Lexa's bottom lip, sucking before releasing. She wants it to be a promise of more to come, she hopes, because she really needs more of this kiss, more of Lexa. She feels like they have finally arrived to a crossroad where they can at last be.

And she desperately wants to be with Lexa.

Lips swollen, short breath, hair tangled, face relaxed, Lexa is perfect like this.

Clarke's brain doesn't work and she doesn't want it to, she wants to be in the moment for as long as they can, holding on to it like a life-line.

'Breath Klark' Lexa softly murmures, her forehead gently pressing onto hers.

'I...' Her voice is hoarse, her mind fuzzy, and she doesn't have words to express what she feels right now. She senses Lexa nodding against her.

'I know Klark'

She knows.

The thought of it is like pressing a button inside her chest, all the tension leaves her in a deep sign. Clarke's shoulders sag a little and she lets herself go. Sliding her hands behind the strong back of Heda, she brushes her nose against Lexa's in a tender gesture before burying her face into her neck and breathing in. The smell of Lexa is so overwhelming, she might want to nest there forever.

She can tell the Commander is surprised by the intimate move, and she wonders how long it was since Lexa received the embrace of carring arms. Her eyes close shut when she thinks that maybe is was in the arms of Costia. Clarke realises then that she doesn't know much about Lexa. Does she have parents, siblings ? Someone to take care of her while she is taking care of everyone ? Somehow she guesses that no, Lexa doesn't let anyone close enough to care for her. Suddenly a fierce determination stirs in Clarke, and she vows to cherish the woman as best as she can despite their fucking complicated circonstances on the freaking Ground. She vows to kiss and hold this woman again. And again.

Her arms squeeze harder as she nuzzles deeper in the dark locks. At that moment Lexa's arms find her shoulders, her chin pressing on her blond hair. And here they stay, away from the Ground, away from everything, just for a moment. Just for now.

In this dreamy moment Clarke thinks that maybe, maybe, they can create their own bubble were they can be. Together.

TBC