Clarke's eyes opened to the dimmed lights of the Ark's medbay. She couldn't say that she felt rested, she didn't think she had even really slept. Her body still ached and her mind seemed too dulled and slow to think properly. Around her she heard the footsteps of those who moved about, their motions quiet and careful. Hushed whisper could be heard too, but Clarke couldn't find it in herself to focus on the sound for more than a few short seconds.
She found herself lying on the hospital bed she had first woken in. Her ribs ached and as she lifted her head only enough to peer down her torso she couldn't help but to grimace at the small tube that was embedded into her side. Her injured wrist, surely broken, was strapped down and immobilised by her side, the cast around it neatly wrapped and clean. And the white of the clothes she wore, the white of the cast all seemed to contrast so very starkly with the colour of her skin, with the bruises that covered any part of her body she could spy.
Clarke heard the door to the medbay open with a quiet hiss, and so she let her gaze find the sound. Lexa stood at the medbay's entrance, the woman's posture stiff, robotic and uncomfortable. Lexa's gaze was directed to the bed beside Clarke's and as she turned her head just a little she found herself staring at Nessa's still unconscious body, her chest rising slowly, and Alexandria in a chair beside the young girl. It took Clarke longer than she liked to put the pieces back together, but as they fell into place she found herself feeling an emotion she couldn't place. She knew not if it was sadness, if it was anger, hope, happiness that they had all survived, or if it was guilt, guilt for whatever part she played in the attack, guilt at the suffering of those she had visited, of the death of Jaxta who she had known for only long enough to begin to care for the woman in her own right.
But perhaps above all, as Clarke turned her attention to Lexa, she thought she saw all those same emotions colouring the greyed green that stared at sleeping mother and daughter.
"Lexa," Clarke called out quietly, partly because she wished not to wake Nessa and Alexandria, and partly because her throat felt far too raw to do much more than whisper. But Lexa seemed not to hear or, or had perhaps simply dismissed her voice as that of a ghost, and so Clarke found herself calling out Lexa's name once more, this time just a little more sure.
At that Lexa seemed to respond and react, and Clarke watched as she let her gaze move from Alexandria and Nessa and then to her. Lexa's gaze seemed unfocused, seemed distant, but only for a moment.
"Klark," Lexa said, her voice quiet enough not to disturb those who slept, and those who moved about quietly.
She wasn't entirely sure what she wanted to say then, she couldn't even quite gauge how just she had been in Arkadia, had been kept in what could only be described as isolation under the guard of far too many warriors for her to count.
"How long?" Clarke asked, and she tried to ignore the scratchiness in her throat.
"Only a day since you last woke," Lexa answered as she took a cautious step forward before coming up short, the space she occupied between both beds somewhere between awkwardly close and cautiously distant.
"Has Nessa—" Clarke paused as she swallowed. "Has she woken?"
"Not yet," Lexa answered as she seemed to look around her for a moment.
Clarke heard the approach of feet, and as she peered out the corner of her eye she saw her mother walking towards them both, each step she took light and perhaps just a little unsure. The expression on her mother's face was one Clarke had seen any times before, and so it didn't surprise Clarke to hear what her mother next said.
"Clarke needs rest," Abby's voice came out calm, just tinged with the slightest hints of fatigue. "You can stay, but don't push her," and as Clarke looked from Lexa to her mother, she thought an unspoken understanding must have transpired.
Lexa nodded just once, the motion simple, yet it seemed to convey more than it should. Abby seemed to take another moment to consider something, and in that time Clarke found herself looking her mother in the eyes, and as she did so she thought things uncertain between them both, too, she thought things awkward, frayed, perhaps even broken.
But Abby seemed to understand, at least in some way, that whatever needed to be said, whatever was wished to be said, could wait until they were both more rested, until they were both of clear mind. And so she smiled tightly, seemed to fight with her want to reach forward, to take a step closer and embrace the daughter Clarke didn't feel she was anymore.
Lexa seemed to wait until Abby had retreated back to the far end of the medbay, always within eyesight, but far enough that Clarke could at least pretend they were alone. And so, perhaps for the first time in a very long time Clarke let herself really take in Lexa.
And she saw the tension in the woman's posture, she saw the dark smudges under her eyes that spoke of sleep longed for, and, perhaps for just a moment, as Lexa seemed to shift ever so slightly in stance, Clarke was sure she could see the barest beginnings of a dulled hair that seemed to curl its way from her temple and into the wilds of her braids.
"You're going grey," Clarke said, and she didn't know why she said what she said, she didn't know if Lexa even knew what that meant, or if she had insulted, had demeaned or simply made a fool of herself for admitting that she had looked hard enough to notice.
And yet, as Clarke continued to look at the way Lexa reacted, she thought, if only bitterly, that Lexa did not mind.
"I do not often have the luxury of rest, Klark," and it came out simple, to be expected.
"Sit," and perhaps whatever questions and answers and explanations were to be had could have been had in private, in Lexa's tent away from curious ears, but she knew she wouldn't be allowed to move anytime soon.
Lexa seemed to judge whether to listen, whether to remain standing in some odd display of power, of control, but as Clarke let her own eyes drill into Lexa, she found the woman submitting, if only a little in the way she sighed and reached for the closest chair that sat at the foot of her bed.
And so Clarke found Lexa sitting by her side, the small, grey and plastic chair she sat upon a starkly different one to the mighty throne that adorned Lexa's tent, whose twisting wooden branches and weathered spear shaft and battered metal seemed at times comical and at times awe inspiring.
Clarke had so many questions she wanted answered, she had so many regrets she wished would leave her be, she had so many thoughts she couldn't dare hope to comprehend in her weakened state. But Lexa seemed to understand, she always did, for she shifted a little awkwardly in the chair as her clothes, her armour and furs and leathers all battled for space before she seemed to give up and simply settle for reclining ever so slightly as her ankles crossed as she tucked her feet to one side against a lone chair leg.
"It was my presence," Lexa began quietly, her voice too calm.
"Your presence?" Clarke asked.
"In the forests near nomon's," Lexa continued. "Where I go is always watched," Lexa said. "By those that simply like to know where I am for when they require assistance, by those who like to know where I am for when they wish to offer assistance, and by those who like to know where I am for when they decide to strike," Lexa paused then, perhaps to order her thoughts, perhaps to control her emotions, "I remained too close for too long," she said. "And warriors realised, they recognised. They scouted and found where nomon and Nessa lived," Lexa continued. "Perhaps they searched for you, perhaps they imagined I had found your trail, perhaps it was any combination of all those things, Klark," Lexa said. "All that matters now is that they found what they searched for, and they attacked."
At times Clarke had found herself apologising for things too often, at times she thought it deserved, at times she thought it the only thing she could do to settle the situation, to regain control, to give herself time to fight for just a little bit longer. But this time, Clarke felt she needed to apologise for anything she had done, for any part she played in Nessa's injuries, in her near death, in Alexandria's home being destroyed and her life being upturned.
"I'm sorry," Clarke whispered, and she tried not to let the pain take hold. "I'm so, so sor—"
"No, Klark," and Lexa seemed to catch herself from leaning forward, from reaching out. "You have nothing to apologise for."
And it was ironic that Clarke found herself apologising despite the past experiences they both shared. But for now, Clarke cared not for her own anguish, but for those who had done no wrong in their lives. And so, for the moment, she ignored that biting, scathing little voice that seemed to darken her thoughts from where it hid in the corners of her mind.
"Did everyone else make it?" Clarke asked, for she couldn't bear it if others had died trying to get to her.
"Yes," Lexa answered. "Only Jaxta fell," and she seemed to look away in thought for a long moment.
Clarke remembered what Jaxta had said, and she knew Lexa wouldn't dare leave someone to guard her mother and sister unless she trusted them completely, and perhaps not now, at a later time Clarke would try to do or say more to soothe the loss that Jaxta's death must have caused. But for now, "I'm sorry," and she meant it. "I'm sorry about Jaxta."
Lexa breathed in deeply, the motion just barely broken, but Clarke saw the stuttered breath.
"She fought well, Klark," Lexa said. "She did her duty."
Perhaps that was always going to be the way it was with Lexa. Duty, emotionless, cold at times. And yet again Clarke fought that darkness in the corners of her mind as she looked Lexa in the eyes.
"She saved our lives," Clarke said, and she believed it so very much, for she knew if even one more person had broken through Nessa's door, she wouldn't have been able to fight them off, she even wouldn't have been able to do much against a warrior who had been uninjured. But Jaxta had saved them, had taken life until she couldn't, and had, Clarke was sure, maimed the last warrior with the last of her strength.
"The dead are gone, Klark," Lexa said as she looked her in the eyes. "The li—"
"Don't," and Clarke didn't want to hear echoes of the past, not now. Perhaps never. She shook her head only to grimace at a pain that flared up her her right shoulder. "Don't."
Lexa's mouth clicked shut with a finality, but she seemed to accept whatever it was for she looked away and sighed.
"You can leave," Clarke said. "If I'm bothering you," it came with a little more venom than intended and Clarke found herself uncaring.
But she must have surprised Lexa for the woman's eyes widened just a fraction before her head tiled to the side ever so slightly.
"I can see you're restless," Clarke continued. "You don't have to be here if you have better things to do."
"That is not my intention, Klark," Lexa said as she forced herself still. "I—" she paused.
"I get it," and Clarke found that frustration dissipate as quickly as it had appeared.
And so they both fell quiet, and perhaps for a moment Clarke realised just how vulnerable she felt as she lay on a table, immobilised, perhaps more open to Lexa than she had ever been before, but she was thankful that Lexa didn't stare, didn't ogle, didn't pry. But only slightly, for she could see Lexa's gaze taking barely noticeable glances over her body, over her wounds, over her bandages and the wires and tubes that stuck into her body, that fed her medicines and liquids to fight whatever pains and infections she was sure she had suffered from the attack and the fall.
"It's a chest tube," Clarke said as she watched Lexa's gaze settle on the clear tube that snaked its way out from her ribs.
"What does it do?" Lexa asked.
"Make's sure I don't die," she said, and it was a rudimentary answer, but one she thought would be enough for Lexa.
And she thought correctly for Lexa nodded in one slow motion, the understanding on her face far too serious that Clarke knew she didn't quite understand how it did whatever it did.
"You don't understand, do you?" perhaps she couldn't help but to be just a little snarky.
Lexa simply shrugged, "it is tech that keeps you alive," she said. "That is all I need to know, Klark."
As Lexa's words finished, Clarke found herself looking away, she found herself turning her attention to the dimmed light that just barely flickered overhead. And she did so for she realised Lexa never quite asked for explanation, not really, never seemed to dismiss her opinion. Always seemed to do more than she should or give without quite asking or taking when needed.
Or maybe, quite possibly probably, Clarke's thoughts were clouded by whatever drugs filled her system, that her thoughts were scrambled, that they made no sense even to her own tired mind.
But whatever it was, she found that Lexa's words was enough to awaken memories and the fleetest of hopes she had once had.
And so it was regret, it was guilt, it was anger and annoyance, frustration and resentment that she couldn't do anything more than simply lie still and wait until her body was healed before she could really confront the woman who now sat by her side.
"So," Clarke said, and she thought her voice came out wry, perhaps a little hollow, or perhaps it was simply lost. "What happens now?"
"You will remain under guard in Arkadia until you are well enough to move," Lexa said simply.
"That's it?" Clarke asked.
"Nessa will remain under guard in Arkadia until she is well enough to move," Lexa echoed.
"That's it?" Clarke couldn't help but to let her lip twitch up at the corners just a little.
"My nomon will remain under guard in Arkadia until you are both well enough to move," Lexa said.
"And then what?" Clarke asked, and she knew she could see just a little humour in green of Lexa's eyes.
"I have warriors patrolling the forests, Klark," Lexa said. "They search for anyone else who was responsible," and she seemed to darken in mood just a little.
"Do you know who?"
"I have my suspicions, Klark," Lexa said.
"But it's not enough to do anything about, is it," and Clarke didn't know if what she said sounded more question or statement.
"No," Lexa's head shook sadly. "For now, it is not."
"You have to have a plan, right?" Clarke asked, for she was sure Lexa wouldn't just sit by and let this go unanswered.
"I will return to Polis, Klark," Lexa said. "In time, and I will present the ambassadors with evidence of the attack."
"Evidence?" Clarke asked.
"Weapons," Lexa shrugged. "Armour. Furs, clothes, even the footprints that we found in forests," she paused, and Clarke was sure Lexa read the confusion on her face. "Footprints show us how these attackers moved, how they were trained, where they were trained," she finished.
"Oh," and Clarke coughed for a moment and lifted her arm to wipe at her lips only to wince at the strain in her wrist as it pulled against the cast and the way it was bound to her body.
"What's going to happen to Nessa and Alexandria?" Clarke asked, and she didn't know what would happen, she didn't even know if she would be welcomed back, or if she would remain in Arkadia after being returned long before she was willing to return.
"Warriors are guarding their home," Lexa said. "They will repair it," but Lexa paused, and it was long enough for Clarke to realise that Nessa and Alexandria's lives would be changed dramatically now that their whereabouts were discovered.
"You're going to hide them away again, aren't you," Clarke said, and she didn't know if she meant for the venom in her voice to seep through. "Nessa deserves more than that, Lexa," she said, and she found her anger beginning to build just a little, she felt her emotions beginning to flare, each thought fuelled by her revelation during their confrontation in the forest so long ago.
"I have not decided what I am to do," Lexa said, and this time Clarke knew she had tread just a little too close for Lexa's voice came out cold and full of ice.
"I—" but Clarke bit back whatever it was she was going to say. She didn't want to fight, not now, not yet. Perhaps all she longed to do was to return to the life she had been living with Nessa and Alexandria before she had realised who they were, before she had been forced to confront Lexa, before she had needed to defend herself and Nessa. Clarke swallowed, she ignored the rawness of her throat and she tried to settle her breathing and her emotions before continuing. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked.
"No, Klark," Lexa said with a sad smile that didn't quite seem to make it to her eyes. "All you should do is rest, heal, regain your strength. You are safe," but Lexa paused once more, and this time Clarke saw just a flicker of emotion in her eyes. "How is your arm?"
And Clarke couldn't help but to smile, albeit lopsided and painfully.
"Hurts."
Lexa's sliver of a smile seemed to just touch the corners of her eyes then, and as she made to say something Clarke's gaze snapped to Alexandria whose head nodded before she startled awake, one hand quick to fall to the knife strapped to her hip, the other quick to reach out for Nessa as if she searched for a sign that her daughter still breathed.
Clarke watched as Alexandria seemed to remember where she was before relaxing, her gaze just once moving towards the medbay's entrance before moving to Dhorma and Ryder who stood on either side of the entrance, and then to the others.
"Klark," Alexandria said quietly as she smiled, the motion sad, tired but honest.
Clarke found herself unsure of what to say, unsure of how to say whatever she thought needed to be said. But as she made to voice her thoughts she found her vision beginning to blur as tears sprung forth without warning.
"Klark," Alexandria whispered as she rose from her chair and came to her side in a single motion.
"I'm sorry," Clarke managed to choke out past the hurt and the pain. "I tried," and she thought it the least she could do to make amends for whatever role she played in Nessa's injury. "I tried to stop them. I tried to keep her safe," and Clarke felt her lips quivering as she tried to fight back the sob.
"You do not need to apologise, Klark," Alexandria whispered, her own tears beginning to well in her eyes as she knelt down beside her, one hand reaching out to brush away the tears that fell down Clarke's cheeks. "You did all that you could— more than anyone could have expected."
Despite Alexandria's words, Clarke found herself shaking her head, she found herself refusing to believe.
"Nessa is only alive because of you," Alexandria's voice came out more firm, more determined.
"I—" Clarke didn't know what to say. "I—"
"No, Klark," Alexandria said, her own head shaking. "You did everything that you should have done, do not blame yourself."
And perhaps it was because Clarke couldn't quite remember the last time she had felt safe, perhaps it was because she couldn't quite remember the last time she had felt a mother's embrace, or perhaps it was a combination of the medicines and drugs, the pain and the fatigue, but whatever it was, Clarke found herself falling apart as tears flowed more freely. Alexandria pressed her lips to her forehead and embraced her as gently as she could, and through it all Clarke felt herself shatter as Alexandria whispered to her words of comfort and of acceptance.
Abby felt drained as she tried to focus on the small tablet in her hands. There were things she wanted to say, things she knew she needed to say to Clarke. But she also knew that she couldn't say them, not yet, not when Clarke's mind was too dulled from the drugs, and her body too weak to cope with the emotional toll she was sure would arise.
Abby would make things right, or perhaps not quite right, for she knew her role in Jake's death was something she could never run from, as she also knew Clarke would never quite forgive her. But she wanted to talk, she wanted to explain, more than she already had. But Clarke's wellbeing came first. So she wouldn't bring the subject up until Clarke was strong, until she was rested, until she was healed.
Abby sighed then, shook her thoughts and took one moment to save the work on the tablet before placing it on the nearest surface. She heard noise, and as she turned she saw Alexandria rising from her chair from beside Nessa's still sleeping form, and though Abby couldn't make out what was said, she could see that Alexandria spoke to Clarke.
She took a second to take in the way the Commander sat awkwardly in the chair beside Clarke's bed, she even took in both warriors who stood by the medbay's entrance, but perhaps the thing that made her feel a pang of guilt and loss was the way Alexandria knelt down beside Clarke as one hand reached out to brush away the tears she could hear falling from her daughter's eyes.
Something cruel flared up in Abby's heart at the sight she saw. And it was cruel for it was a revelation that what she saw was the result of her actions, of her decisions, of her role in Clarke's anguish. Abby saw Alexandria press her lips to Clarke's forehead. Abby watched with a deepening sadness as she saw the woman embrace Clarke as gently as she could. And Abby watched as Clarke leant into the embrace as fully as possible.
And she watched as Alexandria and Clarke embraced each other in a way Abby had once embraced her Clarke. But the thing that hurt the most, was that she couldn't quite recall the last time she had felt Clarke hold her with as much love as she did the other woman.