Lexa has not been a happy commander.

She's been at a relative state of unease while Clarke's been away, but that unease bled to a tsunami of turbulent waters very quickly.

'The desert is no more.'

'Tell Lexa not to come.'

Two sentences; just five words each; they're simple, to the point, and gut wrenching. Clarke's messages threatened to break Lexa. They easily conducted shockwaves through her, sending her into many endless circles of thoughts and doubts in her head.

Clarke didn't want her there at her sickbed. Clarke didn't want her sharing her pain, neither physical nor emotional. Clarke didn't want to see her or feel her at all. The temptation to reach out was so strong that Lexa needed to block her gift, herself, off completely from Clarke. It left Lexa feeling bitter, distracted and weak.

Reports came in from the desert swiftly after their radio call to Shaw. It wasn't hard to put the puzzle pieces together of what transpired. Shaw's people didn't stay long out there; they didn't need to.

The only people alive in the desert now were the nomads, and even they were needing to move on due to the remnant flames of Clarke that carry on the wind. She knew this would sit heavy on Clarke.

It would sit as heavy as a mountain.

That knowledge, that fact had Lexa's nerves shot.

Lexa felt consumed in her own guilt for what Clarke had undoubtedly been forced to do. Clarke wouldn't have made that decision lightly. She would have had to have no choice…

Lexa, of course, felt partially responsible. No matter how much Clarke wanted to carry this burden on her own - it was far too late for that - Lexa is Heda and Clarke was acting for them.

She once again found herself angry about duty; bristling and irate about responsibility and burden that weighs on their shoulders. She was angry that Clarke shut her out. She was angry that she was having trouble controlling her own emotions.

She's angry that this, for any normal couple, should be the happiest time of their lives and it's being tainted.

She was concerned about the weight on Clarke. Her wellbeing was always Lexa's main concern. She tried to believe in Octavia's words of comfort that yes, Clarke had been afraid, but she didn't disappear to the wilds. Clarke was, for the most part, safe.

So yeah, the last few days have been especially difficult.

So difficult that Lexa is sure, if it not for Raven and Kai, the myriad torment going on within her would have swallowed her whole. It's a dangerous path to go down, one she ventured down when Costia was taken, one she's thankful she didn't walk again. (Not completely anyways, but she may have toed the path a little.)

Kai, the empathetic soul that she is, had been doing her very best to make Lexa smile. Lexa was informed that Clarke specifically tasked her with that mission and Lexa was hard-pressed to let either of them down. She tried to conceal and not feel. She tried to provide Kai with smiles, even if they didn't reach her eyes. Lexa could tell that Kai was picking up her discomfort; she had begun questioning Clarke's decision without really knowing what it was. She just knew something was off. The young natblida continued to try and make Lexa calm; she was reading to her whenever the opportunity arose, walking with her, visiting the orphanages. They napped together (Kai napped, Lexa held her and cried softly.)

Raven had walked in or interrupted many of her (affectionately dubbed, and poorly explained) 'hulk outs'; her most recent tantrum being in their bedroom. Lexa would have been embarrassed had it been anyone other than her bro. Lexa's current thought tirade in that particular moment had been all consuming fear that duty, what happened in the desert in the name of the future they want for their people, would cause Clarke to second guess uniting with Lexa. It was a selfish fear, but Lexa is human, no one could blame her. (No one but herself.) She was scared Clarke would ultimately bolt into the wilderness once more in the face of all of this.

Like maybe she didn't think it was worth it. Like Lexa was worth it. Like once again, heart and head would be at odds and tear them apart.

And thank her fucking stars, there in that bedroom she was destroying, Raven had promptly wrestled her into a hug and brought her out of her spiral. She brought her to the safety net, her grounding place without Clarke, her throne.

Raven and Kai helped Lexa remember that Clarke was all around, a piece of her in all of them, and she would be home soon.

It didn't stop her from worrying.


Waking up to finally see Clarke in front of her in the throne room was a dream Lexa couldn't be sure was reality. She had had that very dream many times in the last few days. She had been wishing and hoping for it to happen so hard that even though she could feel Clarke's warmth through her hands she didn't believe it real.

Once she knew it was indeed reality, she immediately was afraid to move. She feared breathing and spooking her. Feared making her vanish like the ghost of Wanheda. Clarke's glistening cheeks, soft whimpers, and hushed apologies, only worsened her fears. Deepened her frown.

Her heartfelt apology shatters Lexa's ears.

But when Clarke instructs Lexa to feel her, to lower her walls, they don't lower - they melt. They thaw and warp and become puddle and mush beneath Clarke's unrelenting flood of fiery love. It's not meant to hurt, but the ache it fills hurts in an indescribably fulfilling way.

She feels her tears, she does nothing to wipe them; Lexa simply basks in everything that is Clarke, everything she had been longing to feel for days.

Her Clarke.

And when Clarke asks her if she trusts her, she doesn't hesitate; there are no boundaries, no war tent and no 'I can't do that'.

There is only the truth, "I trust you with my life Clarke."

There's a response Lexa doesn't hear; lips she's watching closely move but register no sound in her head. There is nothing but an undeniable pull to attach her own to them.

To strike the match.

And when Clarke kisses her it steals her breath.

She hears a lion's roar.

She tastes fire.

Clarke makes her feel weightless.


Lexa is overwhelmingly touched that Clarke has brought her back to the wall.

They haven't been here since before Clarke took the blood. Neither one of them (as far as Lexa knew) had been back since Lexa brought Clarke here and told her the story of Heda Kom Faete and Heda Kom Jus; the day they discussed the fact they are those reincarnates, the day before Clarke had her first dream memory from Claire. Not long after they had made their pledges in TonDC. It's oddly fitting considering they are to make them publicly in a few days time...

The mural itself means a lot to Lexa and she's pleased to find, judging by what she can feel from her, it means just as much to Clarke. Seeing it again, touching it with Clarke, feeling their energies along with the ghosts of Alex and Claire, gives it a whole new meaning. It gives it a whole new sense of connection and purpose for them.

And Clarke's soft whispers and explanations in her ears, her affirmation and promise that she would never regret Lexa or the heavy burden that falls on her shoulders simply for loving her, are all she needs to erase the fears that she had earlier about that very thing.

A sense of calm, one that only exists when she's in Clarke's presence washes over her. Clarke's doting words and loving whispers about Lexa being her light, her strength, her hope, are exactly how Lexa would describe Clarke. Lexa pushes what she's feeling back to Clarke, she lets the moment linger and their feelings mesh together; they share them, they breathe as one.

"I'm so sorry Lexa. I'm sorry for getting lost in my head, I'm sorry for blocking you. I'm sorry for scaring you."

Lexa doesn't need her apologies; she understands Clarke, she's the only one that fully understands Clarke. Understands the burden on her shoulders, the responsibility of lives that are not her own, the harsh reality of death; she empathizes because she shares it too. She can feel how sorry Clarke is. She knows she needed time to get out of her head, to process; she doesn't owe Lexa an apology, in her mind she's already forgiven. (She still appreciates the sentiment.)

And when Clarke asks her to shut her eyes, Lexa focuses on slowing her breathing. She's brought back to the moment on the beach when she watched the three blue's meet. She waits for Clarke's command to open them, wondering what could possibly have spiked Clarke's nerves again.

Lexa is told to open her eyes. The air is sucked from her lungs in her surprise or the images beauty, she can't be sure. Clarke's hand tightens in her own as Lexa's eyes greedily try to take in each image at once. Tears fall again at the shear magnitude of what her eyes feast on.

Nothing but flickering flames and rapid breathing is heard in the hall.

"…When did you?" Lexa finally rasps out, shock and awe evident in her voice.

"I've been down here the last two days."

Again, silence engulfs and Lexa's sobs lessen, but the tears remain. She's touched, she's moved.

Literally.

To tears.

She has an urge to move closer but refrains; to move closer means to not see it all at once, a crime she's not willing to commit.

Not yet.

Clarke's mural, her fucking masterpiece, is like Alex's but not. It is all her own. Her technique is different. Her style is more expressive. Her passion is different.

Her hope is different.

Alex painted in mourning, through bereavement of her lost love. Clarke painted in liberation, it was purification and an emboldened statement. Catharsis with both her joy and pain coming out clear on the wall. It was evident in every stroke, in every line and in every curve.

Lexa saw and felt every single emotion.

Clarke's mural is a collage; it's not a timeline. It is layered and intricate. Interwoven. A depiction from dark to light. It has a beginning but no end.

There's the view of Earth from space mirrored with two riders (Lexa and Anya) viewed from the back and watching a star fall. Clarke's even put their constellations in the sky. At first, your eyes are drawn to the darkness of the images. The one after the falling star, unmistakable, is Clarke and Lexa rising from ash and fire after the bombing of TonDC. There's a funeral pyre alit with angry red flames. There is the shadow of the mountain looming in the background.

Then there are words, written in a soft white. They look like whispers. 'Not you.' 'Not yet.'

They give birth to the light. They bring your eyes from the darkness to softer, warmer images. Soothing ones.

There's a parallel to Claire taking the blood; it's Clarke and Lexa shrouded in a soft glow; black wisps, red tendrils and white tresses intermingle and intertwine within and around them. There is an outline of their heads, their first kiss. There are Lexa's green eyes staring back at her. There's a lion, proudly roaring while wearing a crown. There is a short warrior watching a sunset; her long black braids flowing in the wind with a raven perched on her shoulder. There's a regal looking Lexa seated on her throne; she's bathed in white light, the natblida's around her and Clarke standing to her right holding Kai on her hip. There's a sunrise view of Polis from the nightgrove.

And yes, there are flames throughout it, acting like a fuse and bringing the images together. But these flames are visibly different. They're not angry and blood red; they are warm yellow, orange and soft rouge. They appear loving. Welcomed.

It is poetry in paint.

And it leaves Lexa speechless for quite sometime.

To her credit, Clarke remains stoic, silent and focused not on the wall, but on Lexa. She watches her intently soak in her work. Lexa can feel her eyes, she can feel her nerves but she cannot speak. She can't find the words.

Hours could have past. It could be nightfall again for all she knows by the time Lexa finally feels she can speak.

"Clarke... It's beautiful," Lexa whispers as if she's afraid her voice will cause the paint to move. Like she'll cause it damage. Like what she sees is precious. (And to her, it is.)

"It's- …I left space. It's not finished yet..." Clarke stammers a bit choked up herself. She moves to brush the tears from Lexa's cheek.

Finally Lexa tears her eyes off the wall to view her heart, her Clarke. She locks on to blue eyes glowing in the firelight, shining with passion. Lexa reaches up and runs her thumb across Clarke's cheekbone, "Neither are we."

Clarke chokes out a short emotional laugh, "Sha. We will see it finished one day."

We will paint what peace looks like, Lexa doesn't need to hear it to know what she's thinking.

Lexa brings her hand to behind Clarke's neck and brings her forward so their foreheads touch, Clarke's hand on her hip, her other still entwined with Lexa's. "Promise?" she whispers.

She prays.

"Either that or I'll die trying," Clarke vows passionately, her eyes flicking down to Lexa's lips.

Lexa's brow raises subtly, "Reconsider."

"I like it when you try to be funny."

"Shof op en kissem ai, Clarke."

Shut up and kiss me, Clarke.