4

This will either be a bunch of one-shots or a continuous story from Lexa's perspective since I've really wanted to explore Lexa's character.

Lexa patted her face dry with the cleanest cloth she could find and stared at her reflection. A strong jawline brought in her almond-shaped face, her tanned skin almost always speckled by dirt. Thick lips—the top which peaked sharply like a cresting wave—whose corners tugged down by a stone expression that softened only for brief moments. Above, her thin nose had been broken numerous times and was more often smeared with blood than it was clean. Precise, straight eyebrows had the ability to either lift her expression or set it into granite; two small wrinkles had formed over the years from constantly furrowing her brow. And her eyes, most always lined with kol, were a forest green—a color that darkened with her mood. She grazed her index finger down her most recent cut—a blade nick that had missed blinding her by millimeters—cutting through her eyebrow at the inner section nearest the bridge of her nose. Her freshly washed hair fell in dark tendrils down her back, covering most of the ink along her spine. Bruises marked her scar-flecked body; a map of her battles on her skin. She'd gotten used to the aching, so much so that she wasn't sure what it would feel like to have a moment without pain.

Lexa sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She'd put it off for long enough. Just below her chest wrap, a sword wound ran from the bottom of her sternum horizontally along her ribs. She'd insisted on bathing in her chambers in private because the well-being of her people was more important than an insignificant injury. Lexa sucked her lips between her teeth as she looked in the mirror. Despite being cleaned, the wound still trickled black. She swiped a rag upward to keep the blood from getting onto her clean pair of pants. She stood for a moment, her eyes flicking back and forth at nothing in particular. She hadn't thought about how she'd suture the wound when she had no supplies in her chamber. Her hands trembled—a foreign feeling that angered her. She could not be weak. She was the Heda, the Commander of Blood, the leader of Trikru. Weakness got you killed. As the adrenaline of battle wore away, a searing burn replaced the numb, every breath accompanied by an aching hitch. Lexa had ignored the pain for the past hour, scolding herself every time her hands fumbled or her mind clouded. A new wave of red-hot pain stabbed Lexa as if a metal brand had been pressed against the torn skin. She inhaled sharply, leaning against the dresser, her fingers gripping the surface for balance.

A knock exploded through the chamber, and before Lexa could yell at them to leave her in peace, they barged through the doors.

Clarke exhaled. "Lexa." Always on the verge of exhaustion, yet still so serious.

"I commanded to be left alone." Although she kept her back to Clarke, she could feel her gaze on her, studying her, piercing through flesh and bone. "Do you think yourself above my command?"

"No, Heda."

Lexa smirked at Clarke's accent. She liked how she said her title, how she gave in and spoke Trigedasleng but kept that hint of a growl on each word. She lifted a hand to shoo Clarke out, but it wavered, so she clenched a fist in hopes of calming the shaking. She could not be seen in this state. The Heda could not be vulnerable; her people needed someone strong, someone who did not falter at the first sign of weakness.

"Lexa," Clarke said again, her footsteps thudding softly against the fur-carpet floor.

Lexa raised a hand behind her. "Do not come any closer." Her arm strained to stay upright against the dresser, the muscles in her abdomen twitching with each breath.

Clarke's voice turned tender—a rare occasion in Lexa's presence. "What's wrong?"

Blood spilled in rivulets down her torso, soaking the waist of her pants. Her heartbeat pulsed in her temple, and breathing became nauseating. With all the apprehension of a scared child, Lexa placed a hand against the wound, but the edges of the slice still extended several inches beyond her hand.

Clarke marched forward, the vibrations across the floor jolting pain through Lexa's torso. She inhaled sharply, every muscle in her propped arm burning. Clarke placed a hand on Lexa's shoulder, gasping at the sight of the revealed wound. "Oh my God, Lexa."

Lexa chuckled weakly, the strength in her legs quickly evaporating, but Clarke's arms were strong and steadying as she carefully helped Lexa to the nearest chair. Her hair had grown out since she'd last seen her. She was as filthy as the rest of them, but she smelled of rain and pine. Lexa stared up at her face, trying to decipher her expression. The candlelight created shadows across the fluid planes of her face, sharpening her round cheeks and jaw. Her brows pursed upward in that way they did when she worried.

"There's no need to worry, Clarke," Lexa said.

"Who said I was worried?" she barely breathed as she spoke, her hands darting around the table adjacent to the chair Lexa sat on.

"You're doing that thing with your eyebrows." Lexa gave her a small grin. "I'll be fine, Clarke."

"You won't be fine if we don't stop this bleeding," she said as she found a piece of cloth and pressed it against the wound. Lexa grunted and even biting her tongue could not stop the scowl she gave Clarke. "Don't look at me like that." She sighed. "This was foolish, Lexa. This is a serious injury—it needs medical attention."

"Then I guess it's a good thing Wanheda is also a healer."

"Don't call me that." Her tone was sharp, harsh—the opposite of her hands.

Lexa nodded, her chest twisting. "My apologies."

Clarke glanced up, meeting her gaze for only a moment before she busied herself again with the cloth. "Hold this." She moved swiftly across the room to the water bowl, dunking a relatively clean cloth in it before returning to Lexa's side. She flicked her blue eyes up again. "I don't need a reminder of all the lives I've taken." Gentle, curving sweeps of the cloth tickled Lexa's abdomen despite the pain burning through to her lungs. Steady hands and nimble fingers worked to clean the wound site, every move decisive. "I need supplies to suture the wound."

Lexa tried to push out of the chair, but Clarke pressed a hand against the bleeding laceration, drawing a hiss from Lexa's lips. She glared up at Clarke who returned the favor.

"Do not move from this chair while I go get supplies."

Lexa stretched her hand out, catching Clarke's wrist. Clarke opened her mouth, most likely to scold her, but she stayed silent, her expression tempering. Chills washed down Lexa's limbs even though sweat beaded her face and neck. "Call for Niko," she whispered, rubbing a tremulous thumb over the back of Clarke's wrist. "He'll get everything you need. Just—" She licked her lips. "Please do not leave."

Several emotions passed over Clarke's eyes, none of which Lexa could decipher. She blinked four times before she gave a nod.

"Alright." She called for the guards outside the door who fetched Niko and brought everything Clarke asked for. Clarke sterilized the needle over a candle flame, weaving thread through and tying a knot at the end. "Do you want something to bite down on?"

Lexa swallowed but she blinked, wrangling her expression into one of indifference. "I am not an animal, Clarke."

With resolute softness, she said, "I never said you were." She removed the blood-soaked cloth from Lexa's torso, the partially clotted bits of black stretching like tree sap. "If you start screaming, you'll either draw the attention of the rest of Polis or you'll end up biting through your own tongue." She shrugged. "It's your choice."

Lexa's throat rumbled, the muscles in her clenched jaw shuddering. "I will not be reduced to biting on a piece of leather," she spat, the very implication of the words leaving a bad taste in her mouth. "Just do it, I'll be fine."

Clarke shook her head, tucking a grimy blonde strand behind her ear. Regardless of the muck clinging to her hair, the dancing tendons in the back of her hand down to the pale blue of her veins, remained unblemished. Lexa realized, in bewilderment, that Clarke's confidence and ease raptured every bit of her being. She cleared her throat, averting her gaze elsewhere.

"As you wish," Clarke whispered, having one last go at the black leaking from Lexa's front before she took a breath, needle and thread in hand. "Whenever you're ready."

Lexa gave a small nod.

The first prick caused Lexa to suck her lips between her teeth like a flower against the frost. As Clarke pushed the needle through the shredded edge of skin, every muscle in her side tightened involuntarily, shivering with every gentle tug of thread. Her hands moved swiftly and deftly, each infringement no more painful than necessary. When Clarke severed the last bit of thread from the needle, Lexa loosed a long-held breath. The gaping laceration had become no more than a sliver of black.

"Thank you." The power in her voice had evaporated, but an air of authority still graced the softness in her tone. She stared into Clarke's eyes, grateful her voice hadn't wavered. "Clarke," she began, pausing to search for the correct words. Then, softly, "I know it's difficult to trust me. I know that since I met you in my tent that day two years ago, I've betrayed you. I've hurt you. I'm not saying this as an excuse for my actions because," she exhaled, "I'd continue to make those same decisions to protect my people." She sucked in her grunt of pain and sat up, tracing her fingertips down Clarke's forearm. "I'm trying to do what's best for my people, just as you are, but Clarke—you are my people."

"Lexa—"

"I know you hate me for what happened at Mount Weather, but I did that to save you. Yes, I want my people to survive, but if I lost you—" she brought her hand up, cupping Clarke's cheek as she breathed: "I would destroy the world."

Clarke's eyelids fluttered, her ragged breathing warm on Lexa's face as she dropped her stare just below Lexa's eyes. She brough both hands up, curling them around Lexa's head, just under her ears, and then lowered her lips to the Heda's. Lexa cursed internally at how soft Clarke's lips were, regardless of her still-healing split lip. She returned the kiss, pressing with tender caution and held it until both had to break away for a breath. Clarke's expression had softened like the winter thaw. Her smile disarmed Lexa and melted any shred of judgement clinging on to the back of her mind.

"You know," Clarke breathed, "Bellamy said that none of us have every truly known peace." Lexa cocked her head, blinking. "But I have." She smiled. "You."