*spongebob voice* one month later

yikes. with the whole grieving and the semester starting - i got a little too swamped that i forgot about this fic for a little while. but i promise that there will be updates, i just can't promise when anymore. i would rather not leave you guys hanging. still, i won't be one of those people who post a fic and then don't complete it. so this fic will definitely have an ending, but it'll probably be a decade from now lol

that's better than nothing, right?

now, read, ponder, and enjoy!

Joshua Holbrook was reasonably flummoxed when he opened the door and saw the youngest Princess of Polis standing outside his door. Moreover, directly behind her stood a gigantic and quiet Gustus who insisted on the sunglasses, and lining up the driveway behind them were an array of Brigade men – the Polisian Secret Service – prepared to give up their life for the princess in a second's notice.

Not that she wanted it. After having been in the army and having more than enough men and women die instead of her, the last thing she wanted was for more people to sacrifice their lives for her. But her family were very insistent on it, especially her sister, surprisingly, saying that they had had to wake up not knowing what they were going to be told about Lexa for three tours – there was no way they were letting her out of their sight without being sure that she was safe.

It was a pretty effective guilt trip, she would give them that.

Joshua stuttered in inviting her in. And they sat down and she went through the usual procedure of explaining this fresh program that was still in its infancy but would very much like to offer him membership in. Unlike the other widows and widowers that she had personally visited, he kept a stony face throughout, and she would have thought he was being ungrateful and was of half the mind to just rescind the offer.

That was, until he nodded curtly and asked her if she would like to meet his daughter. The kid was in her bedroom, building a mini city infrastructure with Lego pieces. On the bedside table sat bottles of pills and syrups.

She knelt down in front of Heather, getting the sense the girl didn't actually know who she was, which was perfect. They conversed a little, built some more tiny buildings, and Lexa knew that she couldn't stay any longer if she wanted to catch her flight.

So she held Heather's hands and looked into those big brown eyes and said, "I want you to know that your mommy was very brave and heroic. She went ahead and did something that we will always owe her for. I hope you are very proud of her. I also want you to know that you don't have to worry about your daddy or anything else. Just focus on what you like to do, be excellent at it, and make your parents proud, okay, Heather?"

When she was at the door, Joshua unexpectedly engulfed her in a hug, eliciting a yelp from her and probably a whole array of panic mode from her security team, particularly Gus. But as his body shook violently against her and her ears rang with his barely suppressed sobs, she could only hug him back.

On the flight, Lexa couldn't stop thinking about Heather and her brown eyes and the medication and the Lego pieces. She had hoped that this little thing she did could really contribute to a child's future. And she was so tired.

Logically, her exhaustion should have brought her home. But when they finally landed and Lexa and Gus got into the limo, the first thing she said to the driver was Clarke's address, her irate words over the phone still circling in the brunette's head.

Two days ago, when she had boarded the jet for Sangeda, she had lost all hope in any progress in her friendship with the doctor. In her mind, when one had borne witness to a panic attack, one would stay away. Clearly, she had underestimated Clarke, because she was in the middle of looking through the documents for Joshua Holbrook again when she got the call and became the recipient of an earful.

Clarke's promise had done something to Lexa – strengthened a sense of optimism that she thought had died with her leg. So now that she had infused hope in someone else, brought a sense of reassurance to a family, perhaps she deserved her own peace of mind herself. Because she knew that she would never be able to sleep peacefully if she didn't talk to Clarke face to face.

Not that she had ever gotten proper sleep since her return, but that was the whole gist of it.

"Don't judge," Lexa snapped when Gus eyed her from beside her. "And don't go gossiping to my dad again." His expression darkened, which oddly pleased her.

She had waited at Clarke's door for a little more than an hour when Clarke had finally shown up with her friend in tow. But it wasn't as if she was going to tell the doctor that, so she just spun a little white lie about how she had just landed forty-five minutes ago. Though she couldn't find it in herself to feel guilty for Clarke chasing her friend away – her energy had become more finite in the day and there was only so much she could focus on – so she just willingly followed the blonde into her home once the door was unlocked, quietly telling Gus to stay outside.

As she watched the doctor deal with plastic bags in the kitchen, the heaviness that Joshua Holbrook had left her dissipated almost completely. This was comfortable, cozy – something that couldn't be completely found in the palace that she called home. So she allowed herself to close her eyes to the sound of plastic rustling and Clarke's rustic voice.

The next time Lexa opened her eyes, instead of dimming sunlight, she was confronted rather rudely by very bright rays that didn't seem to be setting any time soon. She frowned in confusion, blinking away the confusion as she slowly sat upright and took in the surroundings that were definitely not her bedroom.

Wait, this was not her bedroom.

Her sleepiness dissipated in as short as a second and she leaped out of bed, the heavy blanket easily flung aside, alertness seeping into her consciousness at the unfamiliar surroundings. Her arms were stiff and in position – she didn't have a gun, but her hands were enough. One of her knees was bent and the other firmly placed but prepared to lunge if necessary.

She could feel her pulse slowing to an almost dead man beat, eyes roving over the furniture and the decorations. Seemed innocent, nothing too harmful. Picture frames posted everywhere, but her attention span could not care enough for the people in those photos.

Still, anything can be used as a weapon. She had learned that the hard way – the very hard way.

And then her eyes caught onto a letter in a frame, words written on a familiar parchment. A random paper snatched from the clipboard in opposition to the nurse's protest in a hurry to write down a few words for a certain pretty blonde doctor.

Right, Clarke had ignored her request for coffee yesterday afternoon and instead forced her to sleep. But she clearly fell asleep on the couch, so how did she end up in bed?

The tension locking her joints and stiffening her muscles gradually but definitely sapped away at the letter. She looked back to the photo frames and began noticing the people in them, recognizing only one person in all those photos. Body sagged and the bells in her brain silenced, she regained composure and permitted herself ten deep breaths as taught by Sergeant Roberts in Iran.

When she was certain that her nerves had rearranged themselves and she would be able to keep it together, she picked up the closest frame that was stood on the nightstand. In it were three incredibly happy girls, perhaps in their early twenties, huddled together in a tiny tent – one of them being Clarke and the other two Lexa vaguely recognized as the two women she encountered the last time she came over.

She moved on to the other photos, seeing an older male figure with a kind smile and rough physique, an older female figure who was rather attractive despite her sternness, and random people that appeared throughout. Finally, she found herself picking up the letter that had been framed, reading over her own words and blushing at her own boldness. Her blush deepened when she realized that Clarke had actually framed the letter in such pristine condition and placed it in her bedroom.

Still, despite her absorption to all these snippets that defined the blonde's life, Lexa's earlier panic mode had steered her into a constantly alert condition, which was how she sensed a change in the hair and heard a soft sigh before the door opened. When Clarke walked in with a tray of cookies and milk, Lexa had already put down the frame, turned towards the door, and her hands clasped behind her.

Clarke yelped at the sight of Lexa not in the bed but up on her feet, nearly dropping the tray and spilling the milk. Lexa smirked at the reaction.

"You are awful and I don't like you," Clarke complained, glaring at the princess.

"And yet you brought me breakfast in bed," Lexa said.

Clarke huffed and deposited the plate of cookies and the glass of milk on the study table, gesturing at it. "I was afraid I'd get arrested for not feeding the princess."

Lexa scoffed, but she made herself comfortable on the chair instead, humming in appreciation when the warm milk smoothed over her parched throat. "Come share with me." Clarke leaned against the table to Lexa's right and picked up a cookie, munching into it immediately. "So how did I end up in bed?"

"You know, you're surprisingly heavy for someone so slight."

The brunette stopped eating her cookie to frown at the blonde. "Excuse me. I will have you know I am anything but slight."

To prove her point, she curled up the sleeves of the shirt she had worn yesterday and slept in, curling it up to flex her bicep for the blonde. When Clarke's pupils blew a little and her mouth opened just slightly at the sight, Lexa knew she did the right thing. Still, treats shouldn't be given out so freely, so she lowered her arm and went back to the cookies, waiting for Clarke to shake out of her thoughts and clear her throat.

"Well, you're still heavy."

"It's muscle."

"I know."

Lexa snorted and continued to chew on her cookie. The breakfast was eaten in silence; not uncomfortable though. As a matter of fact, Lexa wasn't sure when the last time she had felt so cozy in such a state of silence with another person.

They demolished the cookies and the brunette gulped down the milk after having snatched it a second before Clarke could reach it. Clarke was huffing again when Lexa put down the now empty glass.

"I should have kicked you out yesterday," she said.

"Yes, because I'm awful and you don't like me," Lexa echoed.

"Oh, good to know that someone's learned to be a little more self-aware."

There would never be a time where Lexa was not thankful that she was not an obvious blusher; it was what helped her build her reputation as the emotionless princess with the public and kept her out of trouble whenever she ran into a pretty girl or something embarrassing had happened. The heat crept up her neck at the callout, but she kept her expression as blank as possible.

Meanwhile, the pretty blonde doctor eyed her intentionally as she pushed off the table and picked up the tray once more. The teasing twinkle in her eyes had mostly diminished; in its place was careful consideration and scant concern.

As she retreated out of the room without another word, Lexa obeyed the silent order and followed after locating her cane by the bedside table. She found herself entering a room that she had barely taken a glance at yesterday before collapsing on the couch. While her host was still washing the dishes quietly, she looked at more photos, taking in the memories that Clarke had built in her life before meeting the princess, pausing at a photo that comprised of her and her colleagues at the hospital where they met.

She didn't know how long she'd been staring at the photo – at the bright smile on Clarke's face as she had an arm around a black man's neck, the way she unabashedly had another arm around a nurse's waist at the other side, the sheer happiness of the medical personnel in the midst of what was surely chaotic and deadly – but she did jump a little when Clarke's voice sounded from a few feet behind her.

"Why'd you join the army?"

Clarke had made herself comfortable on an armchair and was gesturing at the couch that Lexa had apparently fallen asleep on.

Okay, so it was serious talk time – and Lexa hadn't even been awake for a full two hours. In the back of her mind, she briefly thought about the paperwork that must have piled up on her desk over the time she'd been absent. But she sat down anyway, choosing to forget about them for awhile and tricking herself into thinking that she deserved a one-day break from it all.

"That's a tough question," Lexa responded, rubbing her palms together. Clarke simply raised a brow, lips shut. Lexa sighed and rested her elbows on her knees. "Do you remember when Polis Sentinel outed me?"

Clarke's lips twitched a little. "I don't think anyone could ever forget that."

She could still picture it, everything that had happened that day. How Lincoln and Anya tumbled over one another in their haste to barge into her room and snatch the day's copy of Polis Sentinel with hopes that she hadn't woken up yet, but Lexa had always been an early riser, and she had just returned from a morning run when she saw the paper. The descent of their panicked expressions into pity and regret. Her parents strutting into the room with their mouths going off about how they were going to sue the paper and that they supported her no matter what. Her kicking them all out of her room and closing herself off for the entire day, refusing calls and texts from her friends and family. Costia calling her that night and telling her that she couldn't handle the paparazzi hounding her door and apologizing for her weakness and the dial tone signaling the end of their one-year relationship.

But that wasn't the worst. Those weren't the worst.

"I was eighteen and I've never felt more purposeless in my life. I tried to do things, you know – LGBTQ+ programs and assorted charities and joining my dad on diplomatic ventures. Hell, I even met Putin. But I felt…useless." Lexa rubbed her palms harder, as if the friction was the only thing stopping her from seeing things. "I was known as the gay princess from Polis everywhere I go. And I know that I should feel – maybe not proud, but significant, in that way. Like I'm doing something for the community. But I didn't like it. I hated it. That wasn't – I knew that I wasn't born to be known as that."

Clarke had shifted on the armchair. She sat sideways with her legs hanging off the right arm and her head propped in her hand. Her eyes were blank, save for the quiet prompting for the brunette to continue.

"Then I just – you know, signed up my name and then told my parents about it."

"You signed up before you told them?"

"I didn't want them to stop me. I didn't want anyone to stop me. At that point, I just thought: 'what the hell'," Lexa replied with a sheepish shrug. "I just got so tired of the scrutiny. The finger pointing. The shame I feel for being gay."

Clarke shook her head. "You shouldn't feel –"

"I knew that," Lexa cut in.

She was slightly annoyed at the repeated words that had been thrown at her since the moment she found out about the outing. She hated hearing that sentiment, that advice, because they didn't understand. They would never know what it was like to be outed like that – without explicit permission or so much as a prior notice.

Lexa had gone to bed the night before all peaceful, still thinking about the amazing sex she had had with Costia few hours ago in a random broom closet. The next morning, the world had crashed down on her in the rudest of ways possible.

Taking a deep breath to hone in her annoyance, she cast an apologetic glance at Clarke before continuing softly, "But knowing and knowing are two different things." She pointedly eyed the blonde, hoping that Clarke would understand what she meant. She was relieved when the blonde just nodded. "I guess I just…" Lexa squinted slightly as she found the photo of Clarke and her peers at the hospital again.

How could she explain this clearly? Was there even a good way of explaining it? During her first year on tour, a Captain had told her that no one would have understood; they had to be there themselves, experiencing the torrent of bullets showering down on them and the cruel sun beating on their backs and the laughter and sorrow built in one small bunker together, to know what it was like to be in the army.

Her hands stopped rubbing together and came apart. Her right forefinger started twitching out of habit as she recalled carrying a heavy rifle during patrols and rounds. Her right foot shook as the memories of ambushes and operations rang through her head.

"Lexa." She inhaled sharply and looked again to her companion. "Where did you go?"

"Sorry," she breathed and blinked a few times, grasping onto her right hand with her left and suppressing the shakes of her food. "Sorry, I just –" She licked her lips. "In the army, I found my purpose. To do something for the country, in whatever capacity I can. That's my purpose. Not a – the one and only lesbian princess in the world. I don't – that's not how I want to make my name in the world." She then chuckled bitterly and hanged her head lower. "You know, the only time I felt even remotely good about being that was when you called me iconic."

Clarke snorted and smiled. "Just saying the truth."

"Thank you, though."

"What for?"

Lexa gulped, trying to find the words. "I don't know, but thank you." She truly didn't. All she knew was that meeting Clarke when she had was the North Star she didn't know she needed – she couldn't very well tell the woman that without spooking her.

"Was it worth it?" Clarke asked then. "Joining the army. I mean –" She shifted her position again to sit properly on the chair and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. "There's the panic attack and the not sleeping. Was it worth it?"

"Yes," Lexa replied with no hesitation, causing the doctor to raise her brows. "I did something out there. For this country and my family. I don't regret it. PTSD is…simply an undesirable side effect from it, and I don't like it, but I will bear it."

Clarke bit her lip and Lexa tried not to focus too much on it. They were having a serious talk right now, goddammit. She didn't come here to become a pervert. Actually, scratch that, she never wanted to become a pervert under any circumstances.

She considered herself lucky that Clarke would even call her back and scold her for sending those flowers her way. She considered herself blessed that Clarke hadn't rejected her for showing up at her door and had even allowed her to sleep in her bed. She couldn't ask for more than that.

"Ever considered seeing someone about it?"

"Do you count?"

The blonde looked taken aback at the blatant question, but then she smiled sadly with a sympathetic look in her eyes. She shrugged and said, "I didn't study mental health, Lexa."

"It's not – I don't think I feel comfortable…talking to a stranger about it."

"I'm a stranger."

She rolled her eyes with a scoff. "You are the furthest thing from a stranger to me," she said honestly, enjoying the way Clarke appeared shocked again at her statement. "I feel comfortable talking to you, which is something I can say about only a few people in my life."

"And I am honored for that," Clarke remarked. She considered things for a bit, inserting a bit of silence between them. And then she said, "What if I find someone for you?" Lexa frowned. "I work in a hospital. I do know someone who's dealt with…PTSD patients before. Panic attacks and the sort." The frown deepened. "Maybe you'd feel more comfortable talking to someone who knows me?" she said hesitantly.

Lexa was of half the mind to say no to it on the go. She had refused to talk to the psychologist that her mother had hired when she first came back, adamant that some quack would never be able to help her in any way. She had been convinced that it was her own obstacle – no one fought for her, and she would have to face it head on. Even if it would haunt her the rest of her life, she was determined to go through it alone without dragging anyone into her state of nightmares.

Then she thought about the day her father had strolled into her office and pretty much called her out on her isolationist behavior since her return. She didn't even have to think hard to see the concern in her mother's and siblings' eyes the day she had blown up at them to get the hell out of her office. She hated that her father had to go to her bodyguard to know things about her, instead of coming to her himself – and that was of her own doing.

If she kept this up, there was a chance she could lose her family – she could lose everyone. Plus, the man her mother had hired was a stranger; no one knew him but a distant relative whose son went to him. Lexa didn't trust a distant relative; Lexa trusted Clarke.

Also, there was that hopeful glint in Clarke's eyes.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I guess I'll try."

Clarke's grin almost made her decision seemed menial. But she had heard stories from her fellow soldiers about their experiences with psychologists, and she knew she wouldn't like it.

"If you send me flowers like you did last time, I'm gonna kick your ass."

Well, okay. There went potential romancing tactics. In the midst of her worries about what it would be like to actually talk to a professional about her condition, Lexa reminded herself to find alternatives to gifting flowers to Clarke.

"Okay, this is ridiculous. Now you don't come home too?" the king exclaimed as he sidled into her room after having passed by and saw her coming out of her closet.

Lexa blinked rapidly, fingers pausing in the twirling of the lollipop still in her mouth. She stared at her father, who seemed to be struggling between irate and glad. Slowly, she popped the candy out of her mouth and raised both hands in the air by her sides in a half shrug.

"Um, I'm home now…?" Unsure how to gauge his current mood, she decided to not challenge him too much. "Because I'm pretty sure that was my closet I just walked out of." Yeah, like that was gonna happen.

He rolled his eyes. "Do you have any idea how anxious your mother and I were when you didn't come home last night?"

She winced at the desperation that had seeped into his voice. Scratching her head with the hand that was still holding the lollipop, all she could do was offer a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I wasn't exactly planning on not coming home last night either."

After that ridiculously harrowing talk with Clarke that had made Lexa want to go back to bed, Clarke managed to persuade Lexa into one movie with her before leaving, promising popcorn and unhealthy soft drinks. The princess had claimed that the popcorn had lured her into staying, but the truth was that she had been convinced since the invitation came out of Clarke's mouth.

If asked, Lexa would vehemently deny it, because it was implausible and illogical and totally stalkerish. But the truth was that as long as it was Clarke asking, Lexa probably would have said yes anyway.

It was creepy and insane, and the brunette couldn't recall when it was that she had become so unbecoming of a woman, let alone a princess. She suspected it was more than half a year ago, when she was the victim of multiple gunshot wounds and almost lost a leg and was sent to a hospital where she met a pretty blonde doctor who made her laugh.

Two movies later, a knock sounded on the door and it turned out to be Gus. Honestly, if he hadn't knocked, she probably would have just stayed and watched more movies and found another excuse to sleep over. She felt slightly guilty for forgetting him, but once she had bidden her inevitable goodbye and promised to not be an idiot to Clarke, her guilt was assuaged when he told her that he had summoned his prodigy team to watch over the block while he went home to catch a few hours of shuteye.

So now she was here, twenty-four hours after she was supposed to be home, facing her father's non-wrath and feeling the guilt rise again at making her parents worry.

"Where were you?" Richmond demanded.

She shifted on her feet and popped the lollipop into her mouth again to have a good suck before popping it back out. "I'm home now."

He squinted. "Lexa."

No, the last time she told her father the slightest bit about Clarke was to get him off her back about her sleeping habits and her pulling away from the family. She couldn't tell him any more than that. Call her selfish, but Lexa wanted to keep Clarke to herself for as long as possible – preferably forever, but that wasn't likely, if their friendship was going where she hoped it was going.

She shook her head with determination. "There were things I had to take care of."

"Things that prevented you from coming home?"

"Unexpected complications came up."

Like her total exhaustion from dealing with diplomatic assholes in Sangeda and being entirely obsessed with the adorable kids that she had visited and the long flight to get her home. Like her inexplicable connection with a certain Clarke Griffin. Not that her father needed to know any of that.

"Do we need to have another talk about your late night habits again? Should I talk to Gus? Maybe your mother can talk to you this time."

"Dad, please." Lexa placed hand on her father's chest and shot him the most convincing look ever. To make it even more convincing, she threw in a pout – something that her mother was adamant always made him weak in the knees. "I'm fine," she insisted.

When Richmond tilted his head and looked at her in the way that she always did when she was always trying to dig for answers, she knew just the way to avoid succumbing. After all, she was the one who inherited that look. So Lexa simply shoved the half-eaten lollipop into his mouth, eliciting an undignified yelp from the king.

She giggled and extended her arm to slink around his shoulders, guiding both of them towards the door and out of the room.

She placed one kiss on his cheek, took a moment to watch him suck on the lollipop, and asked, "So what's for dinner?"

Her family had all collected in the dining room when the youngest princess and the king emerged. The queen peppered with similar questions as her father, and this time, Lexa had to repeat that she was fine and she just had things to deal with until Storme succumbed, because the pout just didn't work the same way with the queen – supposed it was the strength of mothers, or something like that. Her siblings, knowing her tendency to keep things to her chest until she was ready to tell them, only shot her curious looks.

Dinner was boisterous. Raucous. Filled with laughter and stories from all directions. National discussions were carried out as well, as all five members of the royal family offered their suggestions to each other how they ought to handle certain matters with the departments they were involved with. Nothing was off the table, apart from the growing elephant that was Lexa's PTSD.

And she would love nothing more than to assuage their worries and reassure them that she was 100% fine. But as Clarke had mentioned, she was learning to be more self-aware, and there was no point deceiving them all and herself. Still, she wasn't lying when she had said that she was willing to try with this psychologist that Clarke was supposed to introduce.

She wanted things to stay this way. This happiness and tightness in this family – this bond that was unbreakable despite some setbacks. And if it meant her having to talk to someone about her issues, she was more than willing.

If seeing a psychologist was on the horizon, Lexa figured that she could start her own healing process by not sneaking out in the middle of the night and stealing away Gus' sleeping hours. God only knew how long this would last; maybe tomorrow night she'd just repeat the cycle again – but one couldn't say she didn't try.

Still, despite that, she still found herself restless. Her right forefinger wouldn't stop twitching. The shadows in her room began to spook her as it grew darker and darker. She wanted so badly to remove the bedding from her much too comfortable bed and toss them on the floor. She needed hard packed soil and the distant noises of bombs setting off to lull her to sleep – even after four months.

That was how Lexa found herself wandering the corridors and hallways that was the infrastructure of the palace, nodding at Brigade agents and occasionally making conversation with a familiar face. Somehow, she discovered that her wandering her had led her to the kitchen – and Anya was in there gorging on a tub of ice-cream.

"Mom taught us better than that," Lexa said after knocking her knuckles loudly on the wooden panel to alert Anya of her presence.

She snatched up a spoon from a random drawer and sat opposite her sister at the island, gesturing for the ice-cream. No one had to know that she had deliberately seated herself with her back towards the door that she usually sneaked out of. Anya obliged, and Lexa scooped a whole spoonful of vanilla ice-cream into her mouth, humming in appreciation.

"Look who's talking," Anya deadpanned.

"I ate canned ham out of the can for three tours. Give me a break."

"One of these days, you won't be able to use that as an excuse anymore."

"Maybe," Lexa concurred. Then she shrugged with a mischievous smile. "That day's not today."

They traded ice-cream in silence for a few moments before Anya asked, "You ever gonna tell me about that girl you met?"

The spoon paused halfway in the air. Lexa looked up to see Anya staring at her pointedly, eyebrows raised and a smidge of hurt in her eyes.

Oh dear. Lexa couldn't really blame her sister for taking this a little hard, since it had been a habit of theirs to share things with each other before they shared things with anyone else – even Lincoln was excluded in this pact.

But then to be fair, her secrecy had been a thing since she was honorably discharged. She hadn't really talked with her family about anything even a smidgeon more than superficial, and Anya was just, unfortunately, a victim who got hurt more. Still, it was her fault for being so determined to keep a distance from them, and she couldn't really tell them it was because she was afraid that one day she would really blow up and they would get hurt more.

What happened the other day was an occurrence that Lexa had been actively avoiding by keeping her distance – and she suspected that it wasn't the worst of it.

"I'm sorry I've been…not around lately," Lexa murmured, lowering the tub on the island.

Anya scoffed, shaking her head. "It's not 'lately'."

Lexa closed her eyes. "I know."

"I'm worried, okay? You came back and you won't talk to us. Not even me. And we've been walking on tiptoes around you ever since, like you're some kind of bomb or something." Lexa winced. "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have –"

"It's okay," Lexa cut in with a hopefully forgiving smile. "I know. I know that…there are issues. I am very aware that I've been behaving in a…less than ideal way," she stammered, struggling to find the words. Why wasn't it this hard when she was talking with Clarke? Lexa sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. "I just didn't want to – it was so bad, Anya. It was so bad." Anya hummed in acknowledgement, tilting her head. "And you guys are so good. The things I saw out there – I just didn't want to bring them home, you know. This is – this is this, and that is that."

"But you're you, Lexa," Anya affirmed. "You're our baby sister. You're Mom and Dad's baby girl. And we don't care. We just want you to be okay. We miss you. I miss you."

"I'm sorry," Lexa whispered.

Her sister shook her head and reached out to tangle their hands together across the island. She offered a reassuring smile and ducked down her head to meet Lexa's eyes. "Don't be sorry. Just be here, do you know what I mean?"

Lexa squeezed the hand in hers and smiled back. "I will certainly try my best," she promised, thinking about the psychologist that Clarke had suggested.

"So…this girl?"

With her free hand, Lexa tossed her spoon in her sister's direction.

holy shit that conversation with clarke sucked the life out of me - so many rewrites went into that. i hope y'all like this chapter. don't stay tuned though. the next update will come when it comes lol