Chapter 11/12

"Good morning."

The words came quietly, they came not so sure, not so certain. And Lexa was sure she frowned. She was sure she felt her eyebrows quirk, twitch, move. But perhaps they didn't. And perhaps they didn't because she felt cold, she felt a little less warm, a little less comfortable than she would like.

"Anya says hi."

The voice echoed out again. And this time it seemed to be just a little louder, just a little more firm to her. Or perhaps she had merely adjusted to its quietness, adjusted to its whisper. But perhaps Lexa wasn't so sure.

"Raven, too."

And again she heard the voice. But perhaps this time Lexa tried to think of who this Raven was. Perhaps this time she tried to recall who Anya was. For she was sure the names must have been known to her. She was sure they would have been.

If only because whoever it was that lingered close by, that spoke out to the quiet that surrounded her, must have felt pain. And Lexa was sure pain was felt from the way the voice seemed to tremble with each breath.

"Raven apologises for not coming sooner."

And Lexa was sure she recognised a wetness to the voice now. And perhaps she tried to remember what that would mean, what it would mean to hear a wet to the voice.

"Work was busy, But I said you wouldn't mind."

Who wouldn't mind? And perhaps this time Lexa tried to tell the voice that its worry came wasted. If only because Lexa felt herself not so sure who wouldn't mind Raven not coming sooner.

"Bruce misses you."

A pause. A subtle one, but Lexa heard it.

"I miss you, too."

But perhaps Lexa frowned, perhaps she bit on her tongue, shook her head as she tried to tell the voice that the words that were spoken were a waste.

"There's still time."

And Lexa heard the voice fray once more. She heard it crack.

"Please wake up."

Lexa sighed then. And she was sure that the voice spoke to another now, she was sure she merely intruded in another's pain. If only because she wasn't asleep.


Lexa felt time move oddly for her. She felt it linger around her some days and she felt it shift and bend and slip through her fingers. And maybe she wasn't so sure how long she stayed in that little space between the emptiness of sleep and the vibrance that she thought she could only just recall.

And it was odd, too. It was odd because she seemed to sense others come and go as they please, each with little worry for the too loud softness of their steps, to the too loud echoing of whispered words that she was able to listen to, that she was able to snatch every so often.

But perhaps she didn't mind. And Lexa knew she didn't mind the interruptions to her sleep. If only because she felt it too easy to slip back into its embrace.

But she heard it again. She heard that same voice, she heard that same frayed timbre, that same cracking breath on each exhale. And perhaps she felt a little sorry for whoever it was. And perhaps she felt a little guilty that she didn't say something, didn't tell that voice not to waste its breath on her.

"I dropped Bruce off at Anya's."

And Lexa remembered the names. She remembered a Bruce, an Anya. And she tried to recall who they could have been, who they must have been. And she worried her lip, she quirked her eyebrows and she grunted out a frustration as the recognition seemed to slip through numbed fingers.

"I think he thought you were going to be there."

Who? Lexa knew she felt just a slight tinge of frustration that she couldn't quite discern who Bruce was.

"I think he smelt you on me."

Oh.

And that gave Lexa pause, that gave her a moment's hesitation as she tried to consider what those words had meant. And she thought. She thought that perhaps Bruce was an animal. If only because she was sure people wouldn't quite smell another person on others. Maybe.

"I almost snapped at one of the nurses today. I got angry and."

And?

And Lexa wanted to snap at the voice, to tell it to continue, to finish its thought. But why? She thought for a moment, she let it sift through her mind, but she wasn't so sure why she felt invested, why she wished to hear, to learn the more of the voice's trials. But perhaps she merely wished to know what happened next because the voice seemed sincere.

And surely if the voiced wished to waste time talking to her, then Lexa was polite enough to listen. If only because she thought herself polite.

"And I apologised."

Finally.

Lexa sighed. She sighed, but she felt a frown furrow her brows as she thought over what the voice had said. And perhaps she realised it made no sense. Perhaps, as she shifted through the words, she thought them not so deserving of an apology. If only because the voice had said almost, had said that they hadn't quite been rude, been impolite.

"I don't think I even started yelling at her. But I said sorry for whatever I was about to do."

And perhaps Lexa could admire the voice's manners, the voice's awareness of others.

"She didn't mind. But I tried to be polite."

And Lexa smiled then, she smiled because she thought the voice kind. If only because it had made an effort to be polite, and had been aware enough to know to try to be polite.

"I don't know who I am anymore, Lex."

Lex?

And perhaps this time Lexa felt a little unease, a little confusion at who the person spoke to, at who must have been lying near enough to her that she could so impolitely listen and intrude in this person's pain.

"I don't know what to feel, I do't know what to think, I don't know what to do."

And Lexa was sure she heard the quiver and the pain in the person's voice. And perhaps she felt indignation now, perhaps she felt frustration. But not at the voice. And she knew it must have been directed at whoever the voice spoke to. If only because she thought it rude, she thought it impolite to so blindingly ignore the pain Lexa knew she heard.

"I don't know how to feel. I don't know how to think."

And the words seemed to etch themselves into Lexa's mind once more. But Lexa waited, and she let the pause linger, she let it stretch until she sensed the voice want to say something more, to say something less painful.

"I don't know."


Lexa's wasn't so sure how long she spent trying to find sleep, how long she spent trying to find something a little less dull. But she was sure from the way her lungs seemed to fill, she was sure from the way she felt the scratch at the back of her throat, that it must have been an age. And she was sure it was an age from the way her mouth seemed to dry out.

But she heard the lock click on what she thought must have been a door, she was sure she heard it swinging open carefully.

Lexa heard the choked sound again, and she recognised the voice it belonged to. She recognised the way it seemed to be a constant presence whenever the voice came to visit.

"Hey."

And Lexa sighed just a little as she felt the voice close the distance, and yet she found herself just a little annoyed that the voice seemed to not be answered, seemed to be ignored. And she knew it frustrated her to know that whoever it spoke to was so cruel as to let the pain continue to fester.

"I spoke to Anya today."

And perhaps Lexa found herself trying to imagine what this Anya looked like, whether she laughed freely, whether she smiled, whether she growled out her words or bit back laughs at times more serious.

"She still worries about me."

And perhaps Lexa thought this Anya person at least a little caring.

"Gustus visited yesterday. He'll be here tonight."

And perhaps that intrigued Lexa. If only because she thought a person named Gustus must have been grand, must have been a character, someone steeped in mystery. Or perhaps a gentle giant, a quiet presence that may knock some sense into whoever ignored this voice.

"Bruce behaved though. He didn't jump up on Gustus until he was sure I wasn't looking, so maybe it wasn't really behaving."

And Lexa smiled a little as she tried to imagine what this animal looked like, and she tried to imagine a cat, a dog, or perhaps even a rabbit.

"But at least he waited until he knew he could get away with it."

And perhaps Lexa felt herself smile as she imagined a smart animal, a stubborn animal. A caring animal. And as she considered what she knew, what she had learnt, she thought Bruce a dog.

"I think Bruce understand snow. I think he's figured out you aren't coming home."

And that gave Lexa pause. It caused her to snap her attention back to the voice, and perhaps now she felt even more anger, even more frustration that the voice was ignored.

"I thought it'd be easier, I thought It'd get easier after all this time."

And Lexa couldn't help but feel a little saddened at the defeat she heard in the voice.

"But it still hurts, Lex. Every time I call, every time I make arrangements I feel like I'm letting you down, I feel like I'm cheating on us. On everything we've been through."

And Lexa felt that the voice was too hard on itself, she thought the voice too selfless in its blame. For surely part of the blame must have been placed on who the voice spoke to.

"You aren't gone yet, but they tell me to prepare, to make sure that it doesn't catch me by surprise."

And Lexa heard the quiver in the voice once more.

"Everyone seems to know, too. I think Anya warned them so that it didn't come as a surprise."

And perhaps Lexa thought this Anya was stubborn, was set in her ways. But perhaps she thought her kind. Just a little, from the things she had heard.

"I thought I'd be angry, I thought I'd be furious at her for telling them before I had a chance to do it myself."

And who could blame the voice for feeling anger? Lexa was sure she would have felt the same.

"But I think Anya knew I wouldn't have been able to, I think she knew I couldn't. And I think she knew I would have made a scene, wouldn't have been able to say it right."

And perhaps that made a little sense to Lexa.

"I was selfish. I was selfish. I am selfish. And I forget that I'm not the only one hurting."

And perhaps that made sense, too.

"I think Anya needed to do it though, and I'm happy she did. I would have ruined it. I think it was her own way of saying goodbye."

And Lexa knew she felt her annoyance flare up once more as the voice continued to go unnoticed, continued to go unanswered.

"But I'm not giving up."

And that gave Lexa pause. It made her consider what the voice said, what it meant. And perhaps she felt a little pride at the conviction she knew she heard then.

"Not yet. I won't give up, not until the end."

And Lexa could respect the sentiment. Even if she thought it lost on someone not so caring. For surely they must have been not so caring to continue to ignore, to continue to leave the hurt untended.

"I won't give you up."

And perhaps for the very first time Lexa thought she felt just the slightest of pressures against her skin, against her flesh. And perhaps for the very first time in a long while she registered that she couldn't quite remember what it felt like to move.

"There's still time."


Lexa tried thinking of something a little less dull than whatever that sound was that seemed to fill her ears. And as she tried not to listen to the way it seemed to whir through her mind, the way it seemed to linger all around her, she was sure it caused her thoughts to scream out in frustration at its constant, unending presence.

"Clarke."

And perhaps this time Lexa let herself fully listen to this voice. If only because she wasn't sure who Clarke was, she wasn't sure who spoke, who seemed to be close.

"Hi."

And Lexa felt herself smile at the recognition of that voice once more.

"When did you get here?"

And perhaps Lexa couldn't help but feel just a little victory at having gained an insight, gained a little more knowledge about the unanswered voice.

Clarke.

And Lexa cursed quietly as she repeated the name, as it rolled off her tongue. If only because she didn't wish for Clarke to know that she was listened to, that she was intruded upon. But Lexa sighed. She sighed because she was sure she wasn't heard. If only because the voices seemed to continue in their conversation.

"—what you're thinking."

And Lexa cursed as she heard Clarke's voice trail off, and she felt a bubble of annoyance as she realised she had missed part of the conversation, that she had missed part of whatever life Clarke must have been living.

"What am I thinking?"

And as Lexa listened to the voice she thought it sounded older, sounded more lived.

"That I look liked shit."

And Lexa scoffed. And she was sure Clarke would have looked fine, would have looked nice. If only because someone who must be so caring, so selfless as to continue to visit a person who would ignore them would always look fine.

"You do."

And Lexa knew she snarled a little at the other voice's answer.

"Cane you blame me?"

No.

Lexa was sure no one would blame Clarke, could blame Clarke for looking however dishevelled she apparently looked. If only because Lexa thought Clarke had spent hours, days, lifetimes waiting for a response that never seemed to come.

"No."

And Lexa sighed.

"I'm ok."

And Lexa smiled a little as Clarke seemed to ease into the conversation.

"Are you?"

And perhaps Lexa felt just a little relief that the other voice seemed to care for Clarke, seemed to worry for her as much as Lexa found herself caring, as much as Lexa found herself worrying.

"As much as I can be."

Lexa knew she felt that Clarke was too hard on herself.

"It's getting colder."

And Lexa couldn't blame the other voice for changing topics. And it was smart, she thought, it was smart to try to ease Clarke's suffering.

"It is."


Lexa felt content to just float through moments as they came and went. And she couldn't help but wonder a little about things she couldn't quite grasp, couldn't quite understand. And perhaps if she tried to think of an answer it'd be easier. But she thought it even difficult to try to think of the question to ask, to voice, to give thought to.

"I hate you."

And the voice cut into her mind with a frenzy, with a chill that seemed to bring breath to her lungs.

"I hate you."

And Lexa heard the conviction in Clarke's voice, she heard the anger, the resentment, the hurt. And she couldn't blame Clarke for saying this to the person who she spoke to. If only because Lexa had been rude, had been impolite and had listened to each conversation Clarke had had only to be ignored.

"I hate that you made me promise. I hate that you made me agree."

Clarke's voice came out a little more broken now, a little more frayed than Lexa had heard in quite some time.

"Why? Why did I have to love you, Lex?"

And Lexa couldn't quite find an answer to that question herself. But she knew that love had never been simple, had never been easy. But perhaps she felt a little sorry that Clarke had loved such a rude person.

"Maybe if you said something, maybe if you made me angry before you left then I wouldn't feel guilty about not listening, about not keeping my promise."

And that gave Lexa pause, it made her think that Clarke must be selfless, must be strong to be willing to throw away what little happiness she had tried to hold onto for someone so uncaring of her suffering.

"If I didn't love you so much maybe it would be easier. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. But I do and it hurts more each day. It hurts to wake up, it hurts to fall asleep only to dream of you. It hurts to wake up to you here. It hurts to not feel you against me, it hurts not to know how your day went."

You should say something.

And Lexa couldn't help but gasp out in shock as the worlds slipped past her lips before she had even really registered them. But after all this time she knew she felt anger at Lex, at how they had ignored Clarke's every broken plea.

"Please."

And Lexa let out a sigh of relief as Clarke continued, as she seemed to ignore Lexa's rudeness.

"Please just give me a sign."

And Lexa felt the pain in her own mind as she heard Clarke's desperation.

"Tell me that you're still there, that you can hear me."

And Lexa was sure Clarke was heard by the other. If only because she found it hard to ignore the beauty in Clarke's voice.

"Do something, do anything."

And Lexa tried to wipe away the tear she felt begin to form.

"Please, Lexa."

But she stopped before her finger even started to lift.

Her blood curdled and her thoughts froze as Clarke's words began to sink in, as Clarke's voice filled her mind. And she tried to turn back the seconds, the minutes, the days. She tried to grasp onto what Clarke had just said.

But she didn't think it made sense. She didn't think it true.

"You still have time."

Clarke?

And Lexa called out to her, to ask her something. Anything.

"Please."


Lexa wasn't sure how long she turned back the conversations she had heard, how long she had relived each one. But she knew it made no sense, she knew it a lie. If only because she had heard, she had responded, she had lived every conversation Clarke had had. And she knew she hadn't ignored her, she knew she hadn't been so rude as to remain silent, as to ignore the pain so clear for her to sense.

But Lexa found herself lost. She found herself unsure now. She found herself uncertain of what it was that existed around her, what seemed to bleed through her mind, that seemed to whir through her head.

"There's no more time, Lexa."

Clarke?

And Lexa tried to ask, tried to voice her uncertainty.

"I'm sorry."

But Lexa knew not what Clarke was sorry for, she knew not what she apologised for.

"If you're going to do something it has to be now."

I'm here.

"I love you."

Clarke?

"You're thirty-two today, Lexa."

Clarke?

And perhaps Lexa wasn't so sure why Clarke ignored her.

But perhaps she thought it punishment. If only because she thought that just maybe, she had been the one to ignore Clarke all those times.

"Happy birthday."


Lexa was aware that something was changing. And as she snapped her mind back to the sounds around her she knew she heard things begin to change. And she knew she heard voices, new voices, familiar voices. And she knew she heard pain in some, anger and frustration in others. And she was sure she heard acceptance and devastation.

Perhaps the first thing she was really aware of that changed was the quieting of the room, though. And it didn't quite register in her mind until it ended that a beep had ceased to exist, that a constant rhythm had ended. And Lexa thought that in its place existed nothing but hopelessness.

Or maybe Lexa was simply too colourful, too imaginative in her thoughts.

Perhaps the next thing Lexa really registered was a strange scraping in the back of her throat. And she wasn't so sure what it was. She wasn't so sure what it could be. But she knew it uncomfortable, she knew it unpleasant.

Stop.

She let her voice fill the room. She let her voice tell those around her not to do whatever it was that they had done.

But she found herself ignored once more.

And maybe she thought this punishment for all the times she had ignored Clarke.

The third thing Lexa realised was that her arms didn't quite move as she tried to reach up to her throat, to her mouth as she tried to stop the removal of whatever it was that scratched and bruised. And she was sure her arms must have been restrained, must have been tied down. For surely that was the only thing, the only reason why she couldn't quite move.

Lexa felt a burn in her nose then. And it stung, it bruised behind her eyes and made her jaw clench painfully.

And the next realisation Lexa had was that the whirring had ceased. And it took her a moment to realise what it sounded like not to have that constant droning in her mind. And she found she liked it more. She found she enjoyed the quiet.

And it was quiet.

Lexa didn't quite realise how long it was until she registered that the room had fallen still, had fallen empty.

And Lexa didn't quite realise until her lungs began to burn that she needed to breathe, that she needed to take a breath.

And so she did.

She did.

And it scared her.

She wasn't so sure why, she wasn't so sure how. But as Lexa felt her lungs expand, she was sure the motion felt unnatural, felt unlearnt, unfamiliar to her.

she breathed out what little air she had taken in and the sound that met her seemed unkind, seemed unfair.

And Lexa was sure her breath came out broken, she was sure it came out ragged.

But that wasn't quite what seemed unkind and unfair to her.

And Lexa heard the quiet sobbing besides her. And it took her a moment to register that a weight existed by her side.

Perhaps Lexa had heard the way the breath would break at its ends, the way the voice would hitch a little in its husk as it took in another breath.

And Lexa recognised Clarke.

It's ok.

And it was. Lexa thought it would be ok. She thought Clarke would be ok in whatever pain she seemed to be facing. And Lexa thought Clarke deserving of so much more than just existing through the pain, through the hu—

Breathe.

Lexa cursed herself as she realised she had forgotten to take a breath, she cursed herself as she realised her lungs were screaming out.

And so she did.

And she was sure it came out ragged once more. She was sure it came out awkwardly. And as she thought her lungs began to fill a little more than half way she choked, she spluttered on the unfamiliarity of the motion.

And she froze.

She froze as she felt a pressure on her cheek. She froze as she felt it linger, and she froze as she felt a wetness cling to her face. And she froze because she was sure Clarke had kissed her.

Clarke?

And Lexa waited for a response, she waited for Clarke to say something. To do something.

But nothing came, and so she breathed once more. And perhaps this time it came just a little more sure. But perhaps not by the way she coughed and wheezed and spluttered.

Don't be afraid, Clarke.

Lexa took in another breath, and she was sure she felt the barest hints of a tickle run down her cheek.

And Lexa realised she had forgotten to exhale, she realised that her lungs protested their expansion, their filling.

But above all?

Lexa found it frustrating. She found it annoying. She found it rude. For surely whoever had made it harder for her to breathe could make it easier once more.

Can you get them to fix my breathing?

And it couldn't hurt to ask Clarke.

Clarke?

And Lexa felt herself begin to feel angry that Clarke continued to igno—

Breathe.

Lexa didn't quite like the way her body seemed to not listen, to not behave.

Can you stop ignoring me, please?

Perhaps Lexa could try to be polite, perhaps she could try to make amends for the times she thought she had ignored Clarke.

Clarke?

Lexa waited, she waited as she heard Clarke sniffle a little, as she heard Clarke shift a little.

I'm sorry.

And Lexa was. She was sorry that she had ignored Clarke. She was sorry she hadn't done more to ease her pain.

I'm sorry, Clarke.

Breathe.

Lexa winced a little as her lungs didn't quite take in as much air as she wanted.

I'm sorry I ignored you, Clarke.

And Lexa was.

I'm sorry for whatever I did.

And she was.

I'm sorry you're hurting so much, Clarke.

And perhaps Lexa was surprised to find that in this moment she wanted Clarke to know and to understand the words she said. And Lexa wasn't so sure why she felt that they were important. But she knew they were. She knew they must be.

But above all?

Perhaps she felt regret that Clarke seemed to ignore her.

And so Lexa was surprised when she felt the tear that slipped down her cheek.

I'm sorry,

"Clarke."