Clarke stares out the window for 20 minutes watching the amber sunset dance over the city. The colours morph from orange to red to purple before finally fading altogether as the sun disappears over the horizon, tossing the city into darkness. Along with the light goes Clarke's ability to see the detail of the streets below. In the dark, she can no longer distinguish between the people of Polis; now they all just look like mesmerizing trails of torchlight winding through the streets. While the merchants may have closed up shop for the evening, the city appears to still be very much alive.
Lexa marvels at the way Clarke seems to be transfixed by the city. She was hoping she would be. She wants nothing more than for Clarke to find something here that makes her want to stay. She knows it's selfish and she has no right to wish for it but her heart wants what it wants, and she has to believe that if she waits long enough, Clarke will choose this place as home.
It's the lightest touch to her shoulder that snaps Clarke out of her preoccupation with the city below.
Clarke has been so engrossed with what has been happening outside the window, she hasn't been paying attention to anything else going on around her. She knows Lexa has been present in the room with her the whole time but she doesn't expect the contact. The touch startles her and she instinctively flinches away.
Lexa's does her best to hide the disappointment and nausea that crashes over her in waves at the sight of Clarke being physically revolted by her touch. It's just too much, too early for Clarke. Lexa just triggered a silent alarm without realizing it. She wasn't thinking, she should have known better. She isn't sure if it's due to the months of solitude spent in the wild or if it's just the animosity still boiling close to the surface that causes the reaction but the way Clarke pulled away from her makes her feel more guilt than she ever thought possible.
"I'm sorry, Clarke." The Commander's voice is barely above a whisper and Clarke can see that her eyes are filled with genuine remorse. Clarke hears in her voice that she's sorry for more than just the unannounced touch to the shoulder. That's a start at least.
"It's okay. I'm just not used to being around people anymore. In the woods everything is trying to kill you. If it's close enough to touch you, it's close enough to kill you".
Lexa doesn't try to hide the small smile that makes its way to her face. "You would have been a great Trikru warrior, Clarke. Your instincts are sharp".
Clarke hears the hint of pride in Lexa's voice but tries to deny that it has any emotional impact on her. There was a time when she would have revelled in Lexa's admiration. Now though, she's not sure she can handle it.
"My instincts are telling me to run". Clarke shocks herself with the blatant and brutally honest admission. She doesn't know why she feels guilty for feeling it but it causes enough discomfort in her stomach that she can't look Lexa in the eyes when she says it.
Lexa just nods silently in understanding. She doesn't question why and she doesn't chastise Clarke for feeling it. After everything Clarke has been through, it's a valid impulse. It's survival instinct at its finest. The Commander could try to reassure her but she doubts her word means much anymore. She'll have to show Clarke she can be trusted and that this is a place she need not run from.
"Would you care to take a walk? The city is beautiful at night".
Clarke scans every inch of Lexa's face trying to read her; trying to figure out how the cogs are turning in the Commander's head. While the city no doubt looks to be beautiful at night, she's not sure it's safe to be wandering the streets and she's just not sure the purpose of the Commander's proposed excursion. The hesitation is borne from months spent alone in the woods, relying only on herself for survival. She's not sure she trusts herself in this new place, let alone anyone else. But under the layers of exhaustion and apprehension about her unfamiliar surroundings, there is an undeniable desire to see the city from the ground.
Lexa can read Clarke's hesitation. The way her eyes drift from her back to the window tells Lexa she's considering it, she wants to but she's scared.
"It's okay. You're safe". Lexa does her best to be reassuring without being forceful or insistent. If Clarke really doesn't want to go, Lexa won't force her.
"Are there many people in the streets this time of night?" Clarke still sees an awful lot of torchlight below and the darkness seems to swallow everything else in its path.
Lexa gets it now. Clarke is worried about the crowds. She's nervous about being overwhelmed by people. She doesn't want the attention of Wanheda.
"You'll be safe, Clarke. I promise. It's dark and your hood will shield your face. We won't draw attention and we can return at any time if you wish".
Clarke casts one final glance out to the window before turning back to Lexa and nodding her affirmation. Clarke Griffin doesn't often back down from fear, especially when there's something she wants.
Lexa expertly un-clips her pauldrons and the Commander's red sash and sets them down on the chest at the foot of her bed. She makes a quick detour to the washbasin in the east corner of the room to rid her face of the Commander's war paint before picking up a long shawl and wrapping it around her own shoulders and over her head.
Clarke recognizes that Lexa is doing it for her benefit. If Clarke wants to remain unseen, wants to blend into the shadows and not draw attention, then the Commander too will become an invisible citizen of Polis. The symbolism of laying down one's armour is not lost on her. The gesture is not lost on her as she pulls up the hood of her own jacket and does her best to tuck her blonde hair out of sight.
When they reach the ground floor of the tower Clarke stops just inside the threshold that will lead them out into the street. Lexa can see that the hesitation is back.
"You don't have to Clarke. It can wait for another day".
After a brief second of hesitation, Clarke steels herself and confirms,"No, I want to".
With that, the Commander steps out into the cobblestone street with Clarke following closely behind. Allowing someone to hover over your shoulder but just out of view goes against everything Lexa has been taught. It's an open vulnerability to attack but she doesn't have it in her to ask Clarke to move. It's clear Clarke still isn't comfortable with this and as they pass by a small gathering of people, the blonde withdraws further behind the Commander's shoulder, using Lexa's body as a shield to hide from sight.
Clarke takes in as much of her surroundings as she can while remaining vigilant about staying unnoticed by the people around them. While the stalls that had been selling clothing, tools and medicines are closed for the evening, a number of food carts along the main route are still in operation. It reminds Clarke just how hungry she really is. She has no idea how grounder economy works here and she no longer has anything to trade. She refuses to ask Lexa about it so she does her best to simply ignore the rumbling in her stomach.
Clarke need not worry though, Lexa is already ahead of her. About 5 minutes into their walk, the Commander stops a short distance from one of the operational carts.
"I have one stop to make", Lexa informs Clarke. She sees a brief flash of panic in blue eyes and reassures, "it will only take a minute, wait here".
Clarke nods and shrinks back into the shadows of the surrounding stalls to wait. Her instincts gnaw at her again to run. This may be her only opportunity. She's unattended, there are no guards and she could easily fade into the black of night and make her way back to the woods if it was what she wanted. Before she can consider the impulse any further Lexa is back standing by her side, handing her a package wrapped in cloth and twine. The contents are warm and smell absolutely heavenly.
It's a peace offering. One that Clarke is eternally grateful for in this moment.
Lexa avoids any need for thanks or gratitude and immediately initiates the continuation of their journey. "Come, there's something I want to show you, you can eat when we get there".
Lexa continues to lead them along the stone streets, making only one turn the entire way. As soon as they round the corner, Clarke can see a huge bonfire a block away. She briefly thinks it may be another funeral ceremony but the closer they get, the more the activity sounds like celebration. This is no somber event. At the end of the block the street gives way to a large meeting place in the heart of the city. The ruins of the buildings around them are in various states of collapse but it's clear these people have salvaged what they could from the destruction. Out of the rubble, the grounders have created something akin to an ancient Roman forum. The public gathering place even has an elaborately crafted seating area. Tiered grandstands look out over an open area where musicians are drumming a soft but steady beat while two performers put on a display of fire dancing that is unlike anything Clarke has ever seen.
"This way", Lexa directs, raising her voice only slightly to be heard over the sounds of the drums and the excitement of the crowd. Clarke follows as Lexa heads in the opposite direction of the grandstands. The Commander manages to maneuver them around most of the onlookers before finally finding them a seat on a large, weather- worn rock on the outskirt of the performance area. While the grandstands would have provide a better view of the performance, it's clear to Clarke that Lexa is trying to save her from the crowd and that the less ideal angle for watching the performance is a necessary sacrifice to keep Clarke comfortable.
"Eat", Lexa encourages, nodding toward the package Clarke still has clasped in her hands. Clarke opens the cloth to find two skewers of meat and some kind of heavy, golden brown pastry that smells like the rows of herbs that used to grow in Farm station. Amazingly, everything has retained it's heat and her mouth practically waters at the sight and smell. She reaches out to hand one of the skewers to Lexa but the Commander refuses with a dismissive wave and confirmation that, "it's yours".
Clarke smiles for the first time in 3 months as she bites into the warm pastry filled with vegetables and some kind of sweet herb sauce. It's easily the best thing she's had to eat since she arrived on Earth and that includes the food from Mt. Weather. She has to stop herself from moaning out loud but it doesn't stop Lexa from catching the look on her face as her eyes shut, savouring the first few bites. It pleases Lexa to know she's done something right tonight. The walk, the food, the entertainment; finally she is starting to get something right.
Clarke is completely enamoured by the fire dancers. Their skilled movements are clearly borne from warrior training but as their bodies twist and spin in the firelight, they look more like dancers than fighters. The two of them, one man and one woman, hair in elaborate braids and tattooed from top to bottom, move in perfect synchronicity, each with tethers in both hands, alight at both ends. They twirl the tethers in intricate patterns around their bodies creating mesmerizing patterns of light. It's powerful and delicate and artful all at the same time and not at all what Clarke would have imagined the grounders capable of.
"It's beautiful", Clarke marvels.
"Yes. It is. I'm glad you enjoy it. We can come back another time if you like, but we need to get back now".
The Commander sees Clarke look at her questioningly as she stands, prepared to make her way back through the throngs of people and back to the tower.
"The performance is almost over. In a matter of minutes we will be swallowed by the crowds."
Clarke simply nods her understanding and rises to follow.
Their walk back to the tower is uneventful aside from the brief second that Clarke's hand grazes Lexa's as they weave their way through a particularly dense section of the crowd. It's barely a second and Lexa knows it's completely unintentional on Clarke's part but that doesn't stop it from making her heart constrict in her chest. Feeling Clarke's breath on her neck as she is practically plastered to her back is bad enough and the skin on skin contact makes it that much worse. The torture is worth it though. Clarke is here, in Polis, with her and now, after months of waiting, she finally has a chance at redemption.
Within 15 minutes they are back in the tower. Lexa leads Clarke to a room down the hall from her own. The room is huge; decorated with drapes and furs, much like the Commander's quarters. There's a set of well worn chairs by a window and a wire framed bed in the center of the room.
"I hope this is to your liking. I'll have my most trusted guards posted outside your door. If there is anything you need, tell them and they'll get it for you, anytime of day or night."
"Thank you". It's the last thing Clarke ever thought she would be saying when this day started, much less saying it to Lexa, but she really does means it. While the approach was heavy handed, Lexa was just trying to keep her safe and she appreciates the sanctuary more than even she initially realized.
"You're welcome. You shouldn't feel like a prisoner here, Clarke. If your instincts still tell you to run, I won't try to stop you. I have allies to the east that would keep you safe if that's your choice, but you are always welcome in Polis."
Clarke simply nods her understanding. It's getting harder and harder to deny that Lexa is doing any of this solely for selfish reasons. She has so much to think about but what she wants most right now is sleep. Even Lexa sees it, Clarke is exhausted.
"Sleep well, Clarke."
"Goodnight, Commander."
With the slightest nod of her head, Lexa leaves Clarke to get settled into her new accommodations. The heavy set of double doors close behind her and in her last order of business for the evening, she issues specific commands to the guards not to disturb Clarke under any circumstances but to accommodate any request she should make.
While Clarke will fall asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow, Lexa will spend the remainder of her waking hours that evening thinking about the innocent graze of Clarke's fingertips against her own and how desperately every fiber of her being hopes there comes a day when a similar gesture is undertaken with intention.
It's clear that the dancers in Polis aren't the only ones playing with fire.
A/N: I accept full responsibility for any errors (grammar, spelling or otherwise). I do my best to edit but please let me know if I miss anything.
