Author's Note: Hope everyone is doing well! Time for our next chapter, and we're SOOO close to finally beginning the actual crossover part. Then we can get equal story time for our two main couples. There's just been so much to sort out for Clarke and Lexa. Season three was really a freaking mess. I hope you like this version better.
Cover Art for the story is from the LexaRecovery tumblr. Stay strong together.
I do not own the television show "The 100" or make any claims upon it or its characters. Similarly, I do not own Frozen, its characters or any Disney characters or property. All these characters are used under the concept of Fair Use, and I make no profit or income from using any of them.
Our Fight Is Not Over
by Jo K.
Chapter 3: Dark as Night
All the stars and all the worlds
Filling up this universe
Could never be as close as us
Will never shine as bright on us
I won't desert you
I don't know what to say
I really hurt you
I nearly gave it all away
I got it all wrong
Cause you were not the wrong one
And I don't know where to turn
When you're gone
-New Order, "Waiting for the Siren's Call"
—O—
As they reached the bottom of the dimly-lit stairs, Lexa reached back to take Clarke's hand. "The door's right up ahead," Lexa said quietly.
"Please tell me this isn't going to be some secret torture chamber, with people hanging from the ceiling and skeletons in chains against the walls," Clarke said at a near-whisper.
Lexa turned, and despite the weak, flickering light from the lantern she was holding, her smile was radiant to Clarke, a smile that was given to absolutely no one else. "It's nothing like that, I promise."
As they exited the stairwell and began to walk down the hall, Clarke's eyes were drawn to a speck of color ahead of them, farther down the hallway, glowing brightly in the pool of dark surrounding it. "What is that?" she said, leaning forward.
It was very clearly a soft red light, coming from a dark gray box affixed to the wall beside a heavy steel door, the details becoming clearer as they stopped several feet away from the door.
"A lock," Clarke breathed softly. "How does this have power?" she asked, dumbfounded.
"Sections of wall on the tower's outside and roof that gather sunlight, placed subtly along the walls of the tower," Lexa replied quietly. "There is also a battery back-up of some sort, as it has never gone out, even during storms lasting several days." She turned to look at Clarke. "You must understand, Clarke, this room contains the most sacred artifacts of my people. Very few even know of this room's existence, and the only people who know what is inside this room are the Heda, the Flamekeeper and the Flamekeeper's second."
Clarke nodded. "I won't tell anyone, I promise," she replied, just as softly. Reluctantly, she shifted her gaze from Lexa's bright green eyes, rich with color in the lantern's flickering light, to the glow of the red light in the upper left corner of the box next to the door. "How do we get in?"
Lexa didn't move, except to smile when Clarke's eyes tracked back to her own. "This way," Lexa said, the grin still on her face as she stepped forward until she was right in front of the door; with a quick beep, the light changed from red to green, and a soft click emanated from the door.
"How did you—" Clarke asked; Lexa hadn't touched the sensor, she hadn't used a keycard or anything. Lexa reaching out and taking Clarke's hand again finally spurred the blonde into motion, stumbling forward for a step or two until she had her balance once more.
As Clarke entered the room, Lexa closed the door behind them, the metallic clack of the locking mechanism engaging resounding through the large, cavernous room that stretched out ahead of them. As lights around the room flickered into life, Clarke found her attention drawn irresistibly to the large object in the center of the room, something so unexpected, so anomalous to everything she had seen, heard and believed about the Grounders that she momentarily found it difficult to breathe.
"A drop ship," she weakly gasped, unable to focus upon anything other than her pounding heart, her dizzy head, her vision beginning to fade to black at the edge of her sight. "Oh my God."
—O—
Really, people just wanted to be fooled.
He had convinced himself of that long ago, and the actions of the people in this Ice Nation, or Azgeda, as they called themselves in their own language, only reinforced this theory. Why else would they be so eager to believe some man coming out of the icy wastes, who promised he could not only restore their beloved "Ice Queen"—he laughed to himself again at the irony—to life once more but also grant her mystic powers as well?
And all it would cost was lives, and souls. Scores of them.
Such irrational belief, such faith (how he hated the word) was useful, though, and he was the last to let opportunity slip past him. Restoring life to the dead was easy enough, provided one had the proper tools, enclosed in the book of black magic he kept on his person at all times, and enough raw materials. But magic was weaker in this new world. He had learned that the hard way, and even something as simple as siphoning a victim's memories left him drained for some time. He was still capable of performing enough simple acts of magic to convince these people of Azgeda that the power he wielded was real enough, but they quite reasonably balked at letting him kill over a hundred of their number to power a ritual that would restore Nia, their queen, to life.
So in the end he had decided to kill two birds with one stone.
As the life drained from the last of the prisoners staked to the ground at the ritual site, Hans looked up as the air crackled and ripped, reality tearing a jagged, irregular line to reveal a swirling storm of blue and white. The ice people who had assisted him broke and ran at the sight and sound of their world rupturing, only stopping after they were much farther away, and they saw that the tear in reality wasn't enlarging further.
"Magic is stronger in the dimension on the other side of this portal," he said to the leader of the small army who remained loyal to their deceased queen, the movement still plotting to overthrow her traitorous son who now sat upon her white throne.
"So your ritual will be carried out... there?" asked the slim woman with dark blonde hair and cold blue eyes, regarding the crackling gateway warily.
"Yes, Echo," he said, keeping his voice friendly and free of any derision. The people in this world didn't have much in the way of courtesy, or forgiveness. "And we'll be able to gather more than enough sacrifices there. One or two small villages should be sufficient with the remaining prisoners you already have. As long as your warriors can keep anyone from sending for help, it should be simple. The people in Arendelle are hardy, but they're no match for fighters as ferocious as your Azgeda."
"And this doorway will remain open long enough for our warriors to pass through?"
He nodded. "I took care to make the duration longer, which, along with the weaker level of magic in this world, is why I needed twenty-five sacrifices. Sixteen might have been enough, but I used a bit more to make sure the effect would last long enough."
Echo nodded. He might be insane, and she might be just as insane for following him, but Nia was the only chance the Azgeda had to outmaneuver and overthrow Lexa. She looked back at the line of warriors gathered behind him, nearly three hundred Azgeda, properly geared for winter's biting touch. Cargo sleighs held cages of surviving prisoners; the cages had been covered securely with thick hide covers to prevent the people inside from meeting death too early in the frozen lands. "I still have concerns about the portal remaining open once we pass through," she said. "Others could follow us through."
The man nodded, his ruddy sideburns unlike any facial stylings Echo had seen. "That is certainly a possibility," he admitted.
"I'll leave a squad of troops to guard the passage," Echo said with a nod. "I did bring a contingency plan I can leave with them, in case they get overwhelmed. It'll be a suicide ploy to release it, but if they're desperate enough to use it, they'll be desperate enough to need it."
The sorcerer nodded agreeably. "A practical assessment. I suspect it was more than just good fortune that brought me to your Ice Nation," he said, drawing Echo's attention once more.
She tried to repress a shudder but was only partially successful. There was a sibilant hiss to some of his words, so subtle as to not be clearly recognizable but somehow seeming to worm its way into her mind; the sensation was unnerving and, Echo would be hesitant to admit, was beginning to 'creep her the fuck out,' a phrase she had picked up from her brief time with the Skaikru. She steeled herself, continuing to watch her allies work at securing the heavy horses and the bundles holding her aunt's remains rather than turn to look at the sorcerer. "What makes you say that?" she managed to say, her voice only slightly unsteady.
"I suspect the climate where I performed the ritual, ice and snow and bitter cold, caused the gate to open in a similar location on this side as well." He smiled, and despite her not looking at his face, Echo still felt her skin crawl at the gesture. "And perhaps it brought me to people with similar goals and sensibilities as well," he said smoothly. "I'm still learning the intricacies of this particular form of travel."
Echo swallowed. Maybe she wasn't as insane as he was for following him.
Maybe she was more insane.
—O—
Anna continued to pet the icy osprey as Elsa finished signing the note at her desk. The bird looked at her curiously until she scratched its neck below its beak; the bird then lowered its head and pressed deeper into her scratching, making Anna giggle softly.
"He's cute," she said, turning to look back to Elsa's desk.
Elsa slid the rolled-up parchment into an oiled leather case. She had chosen to use parchment instead of paper for a few reasons, durability in hostile elements among them. She sealed the leather case with a circular patch of ice, profiles of both her and Anna embossed in the center of the seal. She stood from her desk, smoothing her dress as she walked across the study to her wife and their courier.
Stopping to pet the osprey, Elsa smiled as the bird turned to look at her. "He is," she agreed, drawing a happy little squeak from deep in the large bird's chest. "He'll get this letter there safely," she said as she positioned the tubular leather case lengthwise down the osprey's spine, affixing it to his icy feathers with a pulse of magic. "Won't you, noble one?" she asked, gently stroking the feathers of the osprey's head.
The large bird of prey turned to look at its mistresses, dipped its head respectfully to them, then leaped from its perch and flew out of the large open window in the study. In moments it was fading into the gray sky, heading southerly toward its destination.
"She knows more about dark magic than anyone I know of," Elsa said, turning to look at Anna. "Hopefully she can shed some light on this... situation."
Anna nodded silently, watching the icy creation disappear out of the range of her sight. "It'll be nice to see the two of them again, too," she said quietly. She reached out and took Elsa's hand, lifting it to her lips to place light kisses on the fair hand of her wife. "We have to catch the monster who did that to those people," she said, brushing her lips against Elsa's knuckles. "Because I have a very bad feeling he's going to keep doing this until we kill him."
Elsa sighed faintly. "I'm afraid I agree with you, my love," she said sadly. "I've dispatched riders to the smaller villages to try and warn them that this sorcerer might strike again, but some of the more remote settlements are nearly two weeks away."
"Arista left this morning to try and find what information she could. I also sent word to Rapunzel, Ariel and Snow White to see if any of them have dealt with anything similar in the past."
"Snow's a good choice," Elsa said, nodding her head once. "Freya knows she's had to deal with her share of dark magic."
"You want to have a late lunch?" Anna asked, turning to look at Elsa.
Elsa smiled. "With you? That sounds quite lovely."
Anna grinned, the skin around her freckles reddening slightly. "The lunch or me?"
Elsa smiled back as they left the study. "Who says I have to choose?"
—O—
It took Clarke nearly a minute to regain her composure enough to speak, and then only because Lexa gently grasped her left arm, afraid she might have frozen in place. "How—" she tried to say, but her voice squeaked more than spoke. She swallowed and tried again. "How... old is this?" she asked, unable to pull her eyes away from the machined sides of the drop ship.
Polaris, she read on the side, although the a and r in the middle of the word had been scorched black from the heat of re-entry, nearly erased completely and giving the appearance of Pol is.
"Nearly a hundred years," Lexa answered quietly. "Shortly after the cataclysm that burned the world." She reached out and hesitantly, reverently touched the cool metal of the pod. "This city above us was still smoking, the air still blackened with ash and soot when the first Commander of our people stepped out of this craft." Lexa gently turned Clarke to point to a mural painted on the concrete wall, depicting an abstracted gigantic figure painted entirely in black standing amidst the burning buildings while a multitude of smaller figures bowed before her. "She fell from the sky, much like you did many years later. She shared the gift of her unusual blood with the survivors of this city, creating the first nightbloods. She brought the gift of life to those few who had survived the cataclysm itself but were dying from the poisoned air and soil."
"From the radiation," Clarke said. "It's like an invisible poison, a side effect of the nuclear bombs that destroyed the world in the... cataclysm." Seeing Lexa listening to her intently, Clarke continued. "It's what makes some of the animals be born deformed."
Lexa's eyes grew sad. "It is not only animals that are born deformed," she said grimly.
Clarke nodded. "Yeah, of course it would affect people too. That's what killed the people in.."
It was frustrating that even after several months, her eyes still burned with threatened tears at this particular memory. Clarke took a deep breath, but before she could speak again, she felt Lexa's arms slide around her body, Lexa's hands gently pressing against Clarke's back and pulling the blonde into a gentle embrace.
"Breath, Clarke."
Hearing Lexa's tender whisper in her ear made Clarke clutch her lover even tighter, that soft voice somehow able to steadily quiet the screams and wails of the restless dead. After a few seconds, a few minutes or a few hours, Clarke finally was able to speak once again. "Radiation is what killed the Mountain People," she said softly. "They weren't able to survive the radiation like we were, or like the Grounders were."
Clarke lifted her head from Lexa's shoulder, looking into her wife's green eyes. "How did the first Commander create the nightbloods?" she asked, curiosity tamping down her lingering guilt.
Lexa's expression drew serious once again, but her eyes remained open, vulnerable as she continued to look at Clarke. "Remember," Lexa said, stepping backwards slowly. "Everything in this chamber is protected and kept secret for very good reasons. Again, the only people who are allowed to know what is in this room—or even that this room exists—are the Flamekeeper, the Keeper's Second and the Heda. It has been this way for nearly a hundred years."
"But you're showing it to me?" Clarke asked, now beginning to fear she wasn't worthy of such sacred knowledge. When Lexa nodded in reply, Clarke shook her head. "I somehow don't think being Wanheda earns me the right to know all this," she said, unable to keep the bile from rising in the back of her throat at having to speak the title she despised but had to bear.
"Why do you hate the title of Wanheda so?" Lexa asked, and the confusion on her face seemed heartfelt.
"Seriously, Lexa?" Clarke asked, amazement on her face. "The 'Commander of Death'? It's a title I earned because I've killed more people than anyone in your culture's history! Do you think I want to remembered for that, to be honored for that?" She took a breath to calm herself down; she knew Lexa didn't mean to be insulting to her or upset her. "I know that it's something I have to accept, because God knows I deserve all the shame that name brings me, and I'll answer to it for you, but—"
Lexa's hands on her cheeks broke Clarke's train of thought, stilling her lips instantly. Before Clarke could say anything else, Lexa was leaning against her, pressing her lips against Clarke's so tenderly, so gently, that Clarke nearly broke down and cried. When she felt a warm wetness touch her left cheek, she opened her eyes to see Lexa's eyes closed, tears seeping through dark lashes.
After several seconds of kissing softly, Lexa pulled back. She refused to wipe away her tears, bearing them proudly before her mate as she looked into Clarke's eyes. "Clarke..." she said, gripping her wife's hands tightly. "Wanheda means more than you think. You say it means you have killed more people than anyone in our known history... and that is correct."
Clarke's eyes closed tightly, and now a tear of her own made its escape down her face.
"But Wanheda has a second meaning as well."
Slowly Clarke's eyes opened, hurt and pain swimming in their blue depth.
"Wanheda means you command death, Clarke," Lexa said patiently. "That you command it in all ways. Both in inflicting it, as well as saving others from it."
Lexa smiled at her wife proudly. "Clarke, you saved the reapers. You recognized what was wrong with them, you devised a plan to treat them, and you brought life and sanity back to ones we had thought had been lost forever. You escaped the mountain, something that had never been done before. You freed the prisoners from the Mountain with your plan, your courage. You saved not only Grounders but also Skaikru from the Mountain. Your skills as a healer are amaz—"
"My mom is the real expert," Clarke interrupted, shaking her head, but Lexa's fingers on her lips forestalled any further self-deprecating comments.
Lexa looked into Clarke's blue eyes with a combination of amusement and adoration, holding her gaze—and her fingertips on Clarke's lips—for several seconds, until she saw Clarke visibly relax and felt her sigh against her fingers. Only then did Lexa slowly retract her fingers, smile and continue. "Clarke, you are already one of the most skilled healers we have ever known. You're still learning the herbs and medicines we use and how to prepare them, but your skills of diagnosis and surgery are incredible. You have saved lives that would have been lost were it not for your skills on several occasions, and our people talk about those accomplishments as much as they talk about the mountain, both the monsters slain and the captives freed, the lives lost and lives gained."
Clarke's eyes looked away nervously, but Lexa immediately reached out and gently grasped the side of Clarke's neck, not tugging or putting pressure to shift her gaze, but simply resting her hands against Clarke's skin, patiently waiting until Clarke's eyes shifted to look back at her again. When those light blue eyes were again staring into her own, Lexa smiled. "Clarke, there have been dozens of Hedas since the first Commander fell from the sky," she said quietly. "But there has never been a Wanheda. Until you."
Clarke was speechless at the revelation, the comparison. Lexa thought the look of utter surprise on her face was honest and beautiful and indicative of just how special, how humble, Clarke truly was. She deserved their people's adoration and devotion, and her reluctance to claim that devotion only made Lexa love her more.
She took Clarke's hand and led her across the room, to a metal workstation, its brushed surface spotless and empty. In the wall above the workstation was a safe, with a numeric keypad beside the safe's silver door, a red light glowing above the number keys. Clarke glanced at the safe and its keypad for a few seconds before she returned her attention to Lexa.
After a few seconds of quiet admiration, Lexa reached forward, thinking the code that would unlock the sealed vault. With a quiet beep and the red light yielding to a green one, the metal door opened.
—O—
Harper's stride was brisk as she hurried toward the main structure of Arkadia. She had worked a long shift, twelve hours standing guard at the fence overnight with only a small break to relieve herself and check on Monroe, but Abby had promised to wait until Harper was present to start weaning her girlfriend off the sedative keeping her in a medically-induced coma.
Harper unzipped her protective jacket as she hurried, ignoring the burning in her hips from bones notched by the uncaring bite of needles thirsty for her marrow. She had already handed her rifle over to the woman taking her post, and now she was ready to hopefully see her girlfriend wake up for the first time since her exposure to the poison gas.
As horrible as it sounded in her own mind, part of her was dreading that moment when Zoe regained consciousness. If she was in unbearable pain, if she was miserable to the point of wanting to die to end the suffering, Harper wasn't sure how she could reconcile keeping Zoe alive in such a state of perpetual misery. But the rest of her mind offered support, reminding Harper that Zoe was strong and determined, willing to deal with pain and discomfort to achieve her goals and return to her partner.
Harper hoped fervently that the second part of her mind was correct.
She had just entered the Ark, eyes still adjusting to the lighting change, when she literally ran into Hannah Green, who was walking with Charles Pike, the current Chancellor of Arkadia. "Sorry!" Harper said, reaching out to catch Hannah by her arms before the older woman stumbled. "Eyes are still adjusting."
"Aren't you supposed to be on guard duty?" Pike asked, his typical dour demeanor apparently out to play like usual.
"Just handed off my shift, sir," Harper said calmly, not flinching. "Sorry for nearly running, but Dr. Griffin is planning on taking my girlfriend off the ventilator today, and I want to be there with her."
Pike looked closely at Harper, but she refused to wilt under his gaze. "Monroe, right? Your girlfriend? The one we nearly lost in the attack on the village."
Harper nodded, trying not to twitch or shift in place due to her impatience... or her irritation. "Yes sir. She's doing better, but no idea when she might be able to return to duty. Right now I just want her to be able to breathe on her own."
Pike nodded, actually smiling slightly. "She's a hell of a soldier. Not scared of much of anything. Bellamy thinks the world of her."
Fighting the anger that hearing his name triggered, Harper managed to keep her expression neutral. "Yes sir. She'd follow him to hell." And nearly did. We're going to have a serious talk about that as soon as she's up to it. Her hero worship for him has to stop, and the sooner the better.
"Hope she gets better soon," Pike said. "It's Harper, right?"
Harper nodded. "Yes, sir."
Pike nodded. "Good. Better move on, then. Tell her we're all pulling for her."
Harper nodded. "Sometime later, sir, I'd like to talk to you about a suggestion for pairing up guards on duty. A way to make the most of the guards who already have full training as well as utilize the skills those of us from the 100 have already learned here on the ground." She held Pike's gaze, then glanced briefly at Hannah before looking back to the Chancellor. "We've already learned a great deal about this area, the terrain and the habits of the Grounders in their region. Despite our relatively young ages, I think we have quite a bit to offer even the more experienced guards."
Hannah nodded. "Monty's suggested something similar to me too, Charles," she said to Pike. "I just hadn't brought it up yet."
Pike regarded Harper for a moment longer. "Interesting suggestion," he said. "Come find me later, once your girl's off that ventilator."
Harper nodded, smiling without having to fake it for the first time all morning. "Will do, sir. Thank you."
As Hannah and Pike moved to the side to let Harper continue toward medical, she nodded and hurried past them. However, she only made it another section closer when she ran into Thelonius Jaha, standing calmly and watching her in a way that made Harper distinctly uncomfortable.
"I can tell you're hurting, Harper," Jaha said, using the condescending voice that made both her and Zoe's skin crawl.
"I have no time for you," Harper said to him sharply.
"Your pain isn't just physical," Jaha said, ignoring her dismissal as he turned to follow her. "It's emotional, and you continue to suffer needlessly because of it."
Harper stopped and turned to face him. "And you're adding to it," she snapped at him.
"Why do you continue to torture yourself, Harper?" he asked, his voice remaining annoyingly calm and artificially friendly as he continued. "I offer you relief from all your pain, through the City of Light."
Harper felt her anger boil over as her self-control snapped. "The same 'relief' you offered my parents when you floated them, you sanctimonious asshole?!" she said bitterly.
"That was another time, another world. The Ark was different. The rules had to be respected, or things would have descended into chaos."
"Yeah, the same chaos you decided to drop a hundred teenagers, even some kids down into, because things were getting tight and you needed to conserve some resources!" she shouted, the last note of her words ringing off the metallic walls of the corridor. "And you now you think you're some sort of holy man, handing out a magic pill that'll make everything better!" She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. "You haven't achieved any kind of enlightenment, Jaha. You haven't even learned from your mistakes."
She swept her right arm out and around. "This is life," she said harshly. "We hurt in life. That's part of living." She patted her chest twice. "Yes, I hurt every day. I accept that. But I deal with it, because it's part of me now. It's a reminder that I'm still here, that I'm still alive, that I have a job to do and friends to protect and a woman to love and care for."
Her brown eyes grew cold as she glared at Jaha. "Unlike you, I'm not taking the easy way out, drugging myself up or whatever the hell that pill you're pushing does, just to keep from accepting responsibility for my mistakes and dealing with the shit that life throws at me everyday."
She leaned in close to him, smiling at the fact that for once he seemed speechless. "Ironic, isn't it, that you adults sent a bunch of kids down here to die, and now we're the ones teaching you how to fucking live."
From down the corridor, Pike and Hannah Green listened attentively to the exchange, watching Harper finally turn to walk away from Jaha, who continued to calmly stand in the hallway, seemingly unperturbed by being told off by a young woman over thirty years younger than him. Once the altercation was over, they quietly moved in the other direction, down into a lesser-used section of the Ark before they stopped.
"That's the type of person we need to get on our side," Pike said quietly.
"Harper?" Hannah replied, confused. "She was against us killing the Grounders outside Arkadia. She's furious at you for ordering that attack that nearly killed Monroe and at me for participating. And she isn't being quiet with criticizing what you've been doing since becoming Chancellor."
"That's exactly why we need to get her to see reason," Pike replied. "Yes, she's critical of me, but she doesn't hide it. She comes right out and says it. She still does her job, without complaint and without cutting corners. She might have been against the strike on the Grounders, but she followed orders and stepped aside to let us pass. Plus she's one of the 100, and the others in that group look up to her. With the exception of Monty, the other teenagers still don't trust us."
"But she blames us for Monroe getting hurt."
"We just have to get her to see that we weren't the ones who had a trap waiting. We didn't use poison gas on ourselves. That was the damn Grounders." He looked at Hannah. "Get her to correctly blame them for Monroe getting hurt, and she'll be our biggest supporter."
"And the rest of the 100 will fall in line," Hannah said, nodding slightly.
—O—
Abby looked up from the monitor displaying Zoe Monroe's vitals and oxygenation status to see Harper walking into sickbay. For the first time in two days, she saw a smile on the face beneath the blonde bangs.
"Is she still doing okay?" asked Harper hesitantly.
Abby nodded, smiling at the young woman's concern for her partner. She had come to know a great deal about the resilient blonde over the last thirty-six hours, and she couldn't help but admire Harper's tenacity. Unlike her own daughter, who was never shy about speaking up or stepping forward, Harper was most comfortable doing her job quietly, only becoming vocal and aggressive when pressed or angered; however, both of them possessed spirits that were stubbornly unyielding, and without Clarke here, Abby was grateful for every little quality in the blonde that reminded her of her daughter. "She's doing great," Abby finally replied, shaking herself out of her reverie. "I've already started weaning her off the ventilator and reduced her sedative."
Abby walked around Monroe's bed, the redhead's small body still without any movement beyond the rise and fall of her chest but definitely with more color in her fair complexion now. "Look at the monitor," she said to Harper, pointing to the line that gently swept up, then down again with Monroe's respirations. "She's breathing on her own now."
"Oh," was all Harper could say as her eyes flooded with tears. She felt her jaw clench and she raised her hands to her face, covering her nose and mouth as she fought not to break down and cry. It took a few minutes for Harper to compose herself, wipe her eyes, clear her throat and calm the floodgates of emotion that had been stirred up at the good news.
"I'm sorry," she finally said, her throat burning slightly. "For getting so emotional. I just..."
Abby shook her head. "You have nothing to apologize for, Harper."
Harper nodded, not trying to speak further. She simply took Monroe's left hand in both of her own and focused on the tube still sticking out of her girlfriend's mouth. When Abby moved to Monroe's head and looked at Harper once more, Harper simply nodded and focused all her willpower on not being terrified at what the next few minutes would bring.
Abby turned to look at Jackson, giving him a nod to signal for him to disconnect the ventilator from the breathing tube. Once that was done, he pressed the button to deflate the cuff holding the tube in place; with a smooth motion, Abby removed the long plastic tubing from Monroe's pharynx, handing it to Jackson before lifting a suction wand and making a gentle sweep of Monroe's now-empty mouth.
It was handled so simply and efficiently that everything was over before Harper even registered it as such. "Is that it? Will she wake up now?" she asked hurriedly.
"We've stopped the sedative," Abby said calmly. "But we've given her something for pain already. She's likely going to have some discomfort for a few days, but we'll help manage that."
Harper blinked tears from her eyes, the drops falling eagerly to the floor in their haste. "Thank you," she whispered, looking from Abby to Jackson.
"You're welcome," both doctors replied almost simultaneously.
The faint groaning coming from beneath them drew everyone's attention instantly.
Harper's brown eyes grew big as her gaze swept over her girlfriend's face, taking in the hesitant movement of the redhead's throat, the soft, raspy intake of breath, the tremor passing beneath the blankets of her eyelids. "Zoe?" she said, eagerly, desperately. "It's me, baby. I'm here. Come back to me, 'kay?"
The noise that came from Monroe's throat was more a wheeze than a syllable, but after a pause, a visible swallow followed by a faint grimace, then another intake of air, the pale lips moved sufficiently to utter, "H... Harp..." weakly.
Harper nodded fiercely, ignoring how the motion flung salty droplets all over herself as well as the blanket covering her lover. "It's me, Zoe!" she said excitedly. "It's me!"
Fair eyelashes shuddered as Monroe's eyes hesitantly opened, then shut, then barely opened again. "Harp..." she whispered, unable to vocalize any more effectively.
"Don't try to talk too much, Zoe," said Abby. "You've been on a ventilator for nearly two days. Your vocal cords and your throat are still swollen and inflamed."
"You nearly died, Zoe," Harper said, lifting Monroe's hand and kissing it over and over. "Your lungs got burned badly by the gas, but you're alive."
"You..." Monroe wheezed weakly.
"Baby, don't try to talk. I'm here. You'll be able to talk soon, but you still have to heal."
Monroe managed to keep her eyes open, sliding them in Harper's direction. Despite the burning in her chest and her throat, she weakly smiled at the blurry sight of the young woman she had given herself to. "You're... here," she whispered hoarsely.
"God, yes," Harper said quickly. "I'll always be here, Zoe. I'll always be here for you. And if I had been there with you when you got hurt, I've had crawled into that gas just to be with you."
Despite the cloudiness from the medication circulating through her system, Monroe's eyes sharpened momentarily as they focused tightly on Harper's face, worried and flushed beneath her blonde bangs. "That..." Monroe faintly wheezed with great effort, "would've... been..." She swallowed, grimacing once again but refocusing on her girlfriend. "Stupid." she finally finished.
"Yeah," Harper agreed with a brisk nod. "That's me. Stupid for you."
Monroe slowly shook her head. "Not... stupid," she managed to get out before she closed her eyes, obviously in pain. "Sweet..." she wheezed before falling asleep once more.
"It's the pain medication," Abby said, catching Harper's worried face when the blonde's head tilted up to look at her. "She needs to rest. You probably do too. Didn't you just get off your shift?"
Harper nodded again. "She's doing okay, right?" she asked Abby and Jackson, who had moved closer to the bed to examine Monroe again.
"Honestly?" Jackson replied, looking up. "The fact that she didn't wake up screaming in pain is a pretty good sign."
"We still don't know how fully her lungs will heal," Abby said with a motherly sigh. "There'll likely be some scarring, some loss of lung capacity, but there's no way to know how much at this point. It's also possible that once she heals, she can rebuild lung capacity to make up for most of the loss."
"She's here," Harper said quietly, running her fingertips lightly over Monroe's face. "And she's alive. Everything else is just a bonus." She looked up at Abby and smiled. "We'll deal with it, whatever it is. Thank you."
—O—
As they re-entered their quarters atop the tower in Polis, Clarke and Lexa were quiet, even after the guards had closed the doors behind them. They took already-familiar positions on the large couch, Lexa seated against one end of the couch, with Clarke lying down, her head in Lexa's lap, and for several minutes they were content to sit quietly, Lexa's long fingers gently passing through Clarke's blonde braids, being careful not to tug or pull her wife's hair. Clarke lightly ran her fingertips up and Lexa's leg, skin bared after the brunette had changed from her usual pants into shorts.
"Are you 'processing', still?" Lexa finally asked, a hint of amusement in her voice at the word Clarke had used downstairs, a concept her wife had to explain awkwardly before Lexa grasped the idea.
"Mmm," Clarke mumbled sleepily, making Lexa's smile grow at the adorable sound. "Lot to consider."
"Agreed," Lexa said quietly.
"All this time, when you talked about the Commander's Spirit, I just assumed you were talking about something abstract, something symbolic or metaphorical."
"What did you call it?" Lexa asked, her own curiosity piqued and fanned like a flame at the discussion she had held with Clarke down in the sacred vault below.
"A computer chip," Clarke said softly. "Or a processor unit, on a scale beyond anything we had on the Ark. That's what it sounds like, at least, from the description you could give me, and from the scar where it was implanted in your neck. Although I've never heard of a computer chip that existed symbiotically with a human like this one seems to do."
Lexa took a steadying breath. "I will try harder to ask Heda Prime," she said finally. "It is difficult to contact a specific Heda, but she is almost legendary. I have never heard from her that I know of, and if she has ever spoken to another Heda directly, that knowledge has been lost to time."
"And the nightblood!" Clarke said, excitement clear in her voice despite her speaking just above a whisper. "How is it still liquid, after nearly a hundred years?! What else can it do, besides scrub radiation and maintain the Commander's Spirit?" She shifted to look up at Lexa. "Is it still viable? When was the last time it had to be used?"
"Roughly twenty years ago, when three Hedas died in the span of a few months. No more nightbloods of sufficient age could be found at the time, so a conclave was held among the most esteemed warriors. The most worthy candidate was injected with one of the remaining vials before receiving the Spirit. The case holding the vials was designed to keep them safe until they were needed, and the nightblood itself shows no signs of aging." Lexa sighed quietly, looking down at Clarke fondly. "The existence of nightblood on its own, outside of a warrior's veins, remains one of the most tightly-kept secrets of my people, for reasons that are obvious to you now."
Clarke nodded. "If someone was able to inject themselves with a vial of it, they could become a challenger to the position of Heda, like that girl the Bitch Queen was hiding."
Lexa nodded, shifting her fingers from sliding through Clarke's hair to slowly, deliciously rubbing Clarke's shoulders. "Exactly," she sighed, the contact with her new wife relaxing her nearly as much as it seemed to be working on Clarke.
"What ever happened to her after that mess with Nia challenging you?" Clarke asked, closing her eyes as Lexa's strong hands gently, patiently worked the stiffness and tension out of her neck and shoulders.
"I killed her," Lexa said quietly. Feeling Clarke's reflexive tensing of her body, she added, "It was quick. Though she was involved in Nia's plot to overthrow me, she did not directly attempt to harm you, so I granted her that mercy."
Clarke swallowed and forced herself to calm down, to not argue or challenge her wife, who knew much more about this culture than she did, despite her efforts at learning. "She would always have been a threat, wouldn't she?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Lexa answered just as quietly. "Not just to me, but to you as well. Even the younger nightbloods would have been in danger had she lived. She had been raised by Nia, trained as a warrior and likely as an assassin, and letting her live would have resulted in more deaths than just hers."
Clarke slowly turned over in Lexa's lap, and despite her position as Heda Lexa felt her heart begin to race and her pulse quicken as she anticipated Clarke's disapproval, and her likely very vocal dissent. But when Clarke's blue eyes settled on Lexa's green ones, the only emotions the Heda could see in Clarke's gaze were acceptance, sadness and love.
"I know why you had to do it," Clarke said, reaching up to grasp Lexa's jaw, smiling when she felt her proud warrior wife lean more into the comforting touch. "And I'm okay with it."
Lexa kept her mouth and her eyes tightly closed. As much as she was capable of and willing to do what needed to be done, she knew that such things still bothered Clarke. But Clarke was a leader as well, and she understood that hard, terrible things sometimes had to be done to protect others. "Thank you," she simply said, hoping that Clarke could feel all that she wasn't saying with words.
A knock at the door to their chambers (for that was a development that had only occurred today, after Clarke realized that her few possessions had been moved into Lexa's rooms while they had been in the tower's basement) managed to tug both women from their private moment of relaxation.
"What is it?" Lexa called out, more than a hint of harshness in the tone of her voice.
"The person you asked for, Heda," came the reply from the other side of the double doors.
"He may enter," Lexa replied, not stopping despite the questioning look on Clarke's face. Lexa patted the couch in front of her, between her legs, and after a moment's hesitation, Clarke turned and leaned back into Lexa's arms again. However, as Clarke turned, she noticed that Lexa had two knives lying on the floor beside the couch, within easy reach.
As the doors opened, two guards came in, flanking a cleaned John Murphy. His face was bruised and scabbed in a few places, but his usual expression of self-assurance and condescension was firmly in place, Clarke noted. Although it did seem slightly subdued from his baseline at the moment, he was doing his best to conceal that fact, and Clarke would have missed his heightened concern if she hadn't dealt with him so much over the last year.
"John Murphy kom Skaikru," Lexa said flatly as the guards stopped well over twenty feet away from the couch holding her and Clarke, with Murphy stopping as well between the two large warriors.
"Commander," Murphy replied, pleasantly enough. "Clarke. Glad neither of you got killed earlier. Especially since that guy planned on blaming me for it."
"Titus has been dealt with," Lexa said curtly. "Permanently. I take threats on the life of my wife very seriously."
"Wife?" Murphy replied, his eyebrows raising slightly as he looked at Clarke again. "Congratulations," he said, with only a hint of sarcasm audible, which was really better than Clarke was expecting. "Sorry I didn't bring a gift, but I kind of didn't get an invitation."
Lexa looked slightly confused, but Clarke couldn't help but snicker quietly. "It's an old custom," Clarke told her wife softly, her eyes promising to explain later. "What are you doing here, Murphy?" she asked.
He rolled his eyes slightly. "Are you talking about me getting kidnapped and brought here to this city so I could be the scapegoat for Baldy trying to kill you, or do you mean more why am I here in this room right now?" he said, unable to keep the seemingly omnipresent snark out of his voice.
Clarke felt Lexa stiffen behind her; she sat up to let Lexa stand, not surprised when she saw Lexa pluck one of the daggers from the floor as she rose to her feet. It was then that Clarke realized that Murphy wasn't bound or restrained in any way, other than the two guards flanking him.
"You are in this room right now because I would like to learn more about what Titus's plans were and how they involved you," Lexa said curtly. "I have already heard that he planned on killing Clarke with the gun and blaming you; Clarke herself has told me that much. What I am more interested in would be anything else he might have discussed with you before his attempt on Clarke's life."
"Well, he was freaking out because I had something that had what he called the 'sacred symbol' or something like that on it," Murphy said calmly. "Then he took me into some secret room with paintings on the walls and—"
Lexa's hand shot up so quickly that Clarke turned to see where the knife had struck Murphy; it took her a full second to register that Lexa hadn't thrown the knife at all, just raised her other hand to point at the guards. "Leave us!" Lexa said to the pair of warriors, who immediately shifted uncomfortably rather than comply. "NOW!" she shouted, her tone clearly declaring she would brook no argument.
As the two guards left obediently, if hesitantly, Lexa continued to glare at them until the doors were closed. Clarke found herself moving to the edge of the couch and sitting up straight; she hoped that it hadn't been entirely obvious that she had also moved the second knife to within easy reach of her hand.
"Sit down, John Murphy," Lexa said in a voice quieter but not the least bit more friendly, gesturing to a chair closer to the couch but significantly farther away from the doors. "My wife and I would like to hear more of your story," she continued as she returned to the couch, seating herself beside Clarke, idly playing with the dagger still in her hand as she kept her eyes fixed on Murphy. After several seconds, Murphy finally dropped into the seat Lexa had indicated.
"I must say, I like this approach a lot more than trying to beat the answers out of me like Baldy," Murphy said as he leaned back into the comfortable chair.
Lexa acknowledged the statement with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a nod. "You are a most curious person, John Murphy," her face neutral but with what Clarke recognized a look of true interest.
"And why is that?" Murphy replied, sitting up and leaning forward. "Because I'm only out for myself?" he asked, a challenge in his voice.
"No," Lexa replied calmly, not raising her voice or altering the tone of her voice. "We are all 'out for ourselves,' as you put it. You just happen to be almost ruthlessly honest about it. That is one of your most interesting qualities."
Murphy grinned slightly. "Never heard it put that way before, but, hey, whatever you say. You're the boss."
Lexa's laser-like gaze never shifted or wavered as she kept her eyes locked on Murphy, and he awkwardly shifted in his seat under its intensity. "You were present for the massacre of the civilians outside TonDC, but you did not participate; in fact, you tried to prevent the killings. You willingly left Skaikru and hold no loyalty to them, but you refused to help Titus kill Clarke. You seem to follow no one and have faith in nothing beyond yourself, but you somehow came into possession of an object marked with one of our most sacred symbols." Though her eyes remained locked on Murphy, Lexa's hand sought out her wife's, gently grasping Clarke's fingers.
"Clarke and I might not have the smoothest history, but that doesn't mean I want to take the fall for her being killed. Not exactly a fan of a slow, lingering death, if you know what I mean."
At the same time Clarke realized that Lexa knew more about Murphy's past history than she had realized, she was also struck with the recognition that the true depth of Lexa's knowledge of Murphy was even more than the brunette was letting on. Clarke turned her attention to her wife, and now Lexa let her brilliant green gaze shift to Clarke's inquisitive blue, matching the blonde's unspoken but evident curiosity with quiet confidence.
After a few moments of silent communication, Lexa and Clarke both turned to regard Murphy once more, but Lexa's next words were forestalled by a vigorous knocking on her doors, followed by the doors opening immediately.
Lexa's shift in tone was immediate and clear; her eyes were flashing with anger at the intrusion into her personal space as she shot to her feet.
"Heda!" shouted one of the guards, who fell to his knees, praying silently he wouldn't feel the sharp bite of the Commander's sword at his neck when he was finished speaking. "The Ice Nation! King Roan has been attacked, the Ice Queen's body stolen!"
His words were so unexpected that Lexa did indeed still completely, considering what he was saying.
"Her body?" Clarke asked, confused. "I thought the Clans burned the dead to free their souls."
Lexa swallowed, slightly embarrassed at having an act of spite revealed this way to Clarke. "I forbade them from burning Nia's body," she said. "I didn't think she deserved the release of her soul being freed."
Clarke looked at Lexa. There was more her wife wasn't saying yet. Despite her wanting to reach out and touch Lexa, to tell her it was okay, Lexa had to make the decision to tell her on her own.
Finally Lexa turned to look at Clarke, the fire in her eyes now replaced with coldness. "I ordered her body to be torn apart and the pieces mounted in the Ice Nation's capital, to be on display as a warning to those who would challenge me." Or threaten those I love, she thought, but she dared not voice that. She had let Costia go long before she met Clarke, but Clarke felt so powerfully and thought so quickly, she might think that Lexa's heart still was partially Costia's, and Lexa did not want to give the woman she loved something else to worry about, particularly when there truly was nothing for Clarke to worry about. Lexa's heart and love belonged to the girl who fell from the sky, and no one else would—or could—claim either one ever again.
Lexa returned her attention to the guards still kneeling before her. "Ready horses and supplies for Wanheda and for me. We will leave with a small force of twenty warriors tonight to assess the situation for ourselves. Have another three hundred ready to depart if we need reinforcements."
"Sha, Heda!" replied both guards, rising to their feet.
"Has Indra left yet?" Lexa called out, making both guards stop in their tracks as they hurried to exit the leader's chambers.
"She and Oktevia both prepare to leave for the blockade of the Skaikru," replied the first guard, turning to face Lexa again. "They have not left yet, Heda, that I am aware of."
"Tell Indra I need her to maintain the blockade around the Skaikru; Wanheda will be there as soon as possible to deal with the new Skaikru leader and his treachery, but it might take two weeks or longer for her to arrive."
The guards nodded, bowed, then again turned, this time completing their task of exiting their Heda's chambers without further delay.
"It appears I might have... made a mistake in defiling Nia's body like I did," Lexa said softly, her eyes fixed on Clarke's boots. "In displaying it where it would stir up the most discontent amongst those still harboring loyalty to her."
Clarke stood from the couch, walking over to her wife who continued to stand in the middle of the room, eyes firmly directed at the floor. She hesitated slightly before gathering Lexa into her arms, but then the hesitation was gone, and her arms closed around Lexa. Without a word, Lexa returned the embrace, neither of them speaking and neither of them crying, Clarke silently offering acceptance and understanding without judgment, the same as Lexa had offered to her.
After a few minutes, the two of them finally relaxed their embrace enough to look at each other and smile warmly.
"Thank you," Lexa murmured before placing a soft, light kiss on Clarke's lips. "My houmon."
Clarke's smile grew wider and brighter. ""You're welcome," she said.
"I'm not used to having someone support me," Lexa admitted, allowing herself to smile slightly.
"Get used to it," Clarke replied confidently. "I'm not going anywhere."
Lexa turned to look at Murphy again, with Clarke stepping to the side but keeping her arm around Lexa as they stood against each other. "John Murphy, I would greatly appreciate you staying here in Polis as my guest until we return," Lexa said.
"Is that a polite way of saying 'don't leave or else'?" he asked, his natural skepticism a large part of what had kept him alive so far.
Lexa shook her head slowly. "Not at all. You truly are free to leave if you wish. You have done no wrong to my people, to Clarke or to me. But after what Titus did to you, I feel that we owe you something in return. Hospitality, food, clothing, at the very least."
Murphy looked around, nodding his head at the simple but clean elegance of Lexa's quarters. "Well, if the rest of this place is like here, I might just take you up on that," he finally said. "For a while."
"Please stay as my guest until we return," Lexa said. "You will be given quarters in this tower and your needs attended to. Clarke and I might be a week or two, possibly longer, but I would very much like to find out all you know about Titus, our sacred symbol, and how you became involved in the former Flamekeeper's plot."
Lexa paused, finally allowing the barest hint of a cold smile to form at the edges of her mouth. "And then, John Murphy, I would like to offer you a job."
—O—
Author's Afterword: There are sooo many good Clexa stories on AO3! Feel free to look at my bookmarks and subscriptions there (my account over there is kurrent, as might be expected) and check a few out. I've also recently found the incredible writer coeurdastronaute, who has a tumblr page under that name with TONS of Clexa stories found there. Her epic stories "The Terminal" and "The Wrestle" are my two favorites of hers, but pretty much everything she writes and posts on her tumblr is worth reading. Seriously, she's that good. There are a few tiny typos at times, but I'll willingly ignore those for the sheer beauty and power in her writing. She's a true artist and deserves lots more recognition.
Okay, next chapter will have the actual meeting between our two power couples! I'm looking quite forward to what's coming next. See you soon!