Author's Note:

Hello everyone! I'm sorry about the timing of this chapter's release; I had meant to have it out this morning, but I just couldn't decide where I wanted to cut it off. I spent a lot of time debating, so I hope the ending (for this chapter, that is) that I chose leaves you wanting a little more!

I'm going to be aiming for a new chapter every Tuesday (or perhaps Monday or Wednesday, depending on where you are...I can't believe I have international readers! Oh my gosh!). If I'm feeling particularly ambitious, I may post this next chapter a little bit early because I already have a lot of it written.

Thank you everyone SO MUCH for your views, follows, favorites, and reviews! It feels so good to be getting so much feedback! If there's anything you love, or hate, or see too much of, or not enough of, I'd always love to hear about it. Feedback will always be encouraged!

The first few minutes of the car ride was nearly silent. Clarke chewed her nails and stared out the window, hoping Lexa couldn't see her nerves building up.

"Clarke?" The butterflies in her stomach grew restless at the sound of her name.

"Yes?"

"Maybe we should add a little bit more of that golden color to the rest of the right hand side of our painting. I was looking at it last night, and I think that it would benefit from the extra contrast."

"Oh, um, sure. That sounds good, I think." Her heart settled. The quiet resumed for several minutes, until suddenly, almost clumsily, Lexa continued.

"So, did you want to maybe get to know each other a little? I mean, I would like to know more about you, especially considering it seems we may be working together for a while."

Strange, Clarke thought. Lexa's voice was rarely so uncertain. Maybe it's just school that gives her that confidence. She is pretty smart. Either way, if she's uncertain, she's probably just trying to be polite.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not super interesting, anyway."

"You seem pretty interesting to me," said Lexa. She let her voice trail off so that Clarke would not notice her continuing, "More interesting than most."

The girls got right to work when they arrived, having developed a bit of a rhythm in the quiet of the night before. Lexa sketched and painted over the simpler areas, giving them a steady handed base, and Clarke came after her, adding detail and depth. Now and then their hands or bodies brushed as they moved around the five-by-five foot canvas, and though Clarke had jumped and apologized the first time or two, she now allowed it calmly. While she worked, Lexa stole subtle glances at the softened features of her face, the smoothness of her cheeks, the highlights in her hair.

"If you were going into a battle," she spoke up, "what kind of weapon would you use?"

Clarke looked up from the jar of paint she had been stirring, one brow raised.

"Excuse me?"

"You know, like, if there were a war right now, and you could have any weapon you wanted at no cost, what would you choose?"

The blonde turned the thought over in her head for a moment, visibly conflicted.

"Why do you want to know?" She finally concluded that she was, in fact, skeptical of the other girl.

"We said we were going to get to know each other, right? We have to start somewhere."

After another brief contemplation, Clarke replied.

"A gun."

"Like a shotgun? Or a pistol?"

"A pistol," she declared.

"Interesting choice. Why a pistol?" Lexa had put down her brush and turned to face the blonde.

"Because it's probably the most lethal."

Lexa fell quiet.

"I suppose that is true," she said.

"So then," Clarke cut in, afraid she had been too blunt, "what would you choose?"

"I'd probably prefer a sword, because of what it's a symbol for. Valor, honor, discipline, skill, strength, courage: those are things I would want to be known for."

"Of course." Lexa could see that with those two words, Clarke had begun to rebuild the walls she had been working so hard to remove.

"What is it? Did I say something wrong?"

"No. It's just not surprising. You're not the only one who has ever told me I'm the kind to take the coward's way out."

"Oh no, I didn't mean it that way at all, Clarke, of course not. How could I say something like that?" They could have heard a pin drop. "Has someone said that to you before?"

"No. Never mind it."

And with that, Clarke was gone. For the rest of the evening, Lexa could hardly get a word from her partner, and now and then she noticed the blood leaving the blonde's lips from the force of her bite. She considered asking again if there was something wrong, but knew that she would get no reply. There seemed to always be a tension to the girl, as if whenever she spoke, she was on the verge of tears. Someday, Lexa vowed to herself, I'll find out what it is that's bothering her. Someday I'll find it, and I'll destroy it.

She woke the next morning with the pounding headache she had anticipated the night before. Hours of lying awake, unable to escape her thoughts, had left her groggy and anxious even after managing a few hours of sleep. She turned off her alarm, pulled herself gingerly from her pillow, and stood, shielding her eyes from the light of the window. Lexa knew, as she pulled on jeans instead of leggings, that she had not intentionally turned down a morning run since before she had moved to Polis: something was wrong. She knew, having pondered a certain pair of sad blue eyes until she couldn't keep her own open: something was wrong. And something would have to be done. But first, she would need a second opinion.

"Good morning Anya!" She smiled as she spoke cheerily into her phone, trying to mask the rasp of her sleepy voice.

"What's wrong?" demanded the girl on the other line.

"Nothing, can't I say good morning? I haven't talked to you in days."

"I'm not stupid, Lexa. It's five in the morning, and you're not running. You only call me this early if you wake up and something's wrong. So what is it?"

"Damn, I miss how well you know me." Her grin returned, this time genuine, as she packed up her backpack with her free hand.

"Spit it out, I'm tired and grumpy."

"Okay, okay. Remember how I told you about the art project I'm doing with another girl in my class?"

"Yes. The girl whose paintings you think are almost as beautiful as she is."

"Shut up," Lexa blushed. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

"Well…well anyway, she keeps closing off. I'm trying to talk to her, but there's something wrong, like I always say something that upsets her. I think maybe I hurt her somehow." She could hear the rustle of blankets as Anya sat up from her bed.

"Didn't you tell me when you two were first assigned as partners that she's always like that in class? You were worried you wouldn't even be able to communicate on the project."

"Yeah, I did say that. She's always like that in class, and she keeps ending up that way again by the end of the night. I don't know what to do."

"It seems like you already have done something. She ends up that way, 'by the end of the night.' Which means she's not like that the whole time, right?"

"No…no, I guess she isn't." She shifted to hold the phone between her shoulder and her ear. As she wrapped her hair into a slightly disheveled bun, she added, "Yesterday she let me pick her up instead of walking over, and she even answered one of my weird get-to-know-you questions." There was a groan from the other end of the phone.

"Oh God, Lex, tell me you didn't ask her about weapons?"

"What, what's wrong with that? Is there something wrong with that? Should I not have asked?"

"There's nothing wrong with it besides being totally weird." Anya snickered. "You're one of a kind, Lexa."

"Don't I know it. Ever since I moved I've been reminded of that daily. People are nice around here, but rarely interesting. I miss home."

"Home misses you too," she paused, "but there's nothing for you here. You've squeezed all the life you can get out of this place."

"You know that's not true, Anya, as much as I wish it was. Everything is back in Ton DC. Everyone. Which, ironically, is both the reason I had to leave, and the reason I usually wish I didn't."

"I did hear a 'usually' in there, if I'm not mistaken. As in not always?"

"Yeah…not always. There's some good things about being here, I guess." As she spoke, she set a pot of water on the stove to boil.

"Well, like what? Tell me about them."

"Why do I always have to tell you about them?"

"Because that's how I get you to remember them. Come on, work with me, I'm trying to do the best friend thing."

"Ugh," Lexa sighed. "Okay. I like my apartment. And I like the woods behind the neighborhood. And I like that no one here knows anything about my dad, or about why I left. Or…or about Costia. And I like my job at the gym, training the little kids. And I like doing this art project with Clarke."

"Oh please. We both know you like more than the art project, that's why you called me. When are you going to ask her out?"

"Anya!" She nearly dropped the bowl of oats she had been measuring, exasperated. "I'm not going to ask her out! She's only been over twice, and only for homework!"

Anya remained frustratingly casual.

"So invite her over to hang out, then! Even just as friends, if that makes you feel better. You're never going to get anywhere just doing homework with the girl."

"Anya I can't."

"Well why not?"

Lexa leaned on her elbows against the counter, her head in her hands.

"Lexa?"

"I can't put her in danger like that." Her heartbeat pounded against her temples.

"So that's what this is about," Anya muttered, as much to herself as to Lexa.

"I uprooted my whole life to keep the people I care about out of danger. The minute I care about someone their life is ruined. I can't do that to her."

"Lexa stop it. That's not true and you know it. You haven't ruined anyone's life; you left to get away from the person who ruined yours. You left because you needed to care about you. I know that better than anyone, because if you told me you were leaving for me, I wouldn't have let you."

"But it's my fault that she…that Costia—"

"It's your dad's fault," Anya corrected. "It couldn't possibly have been your fault. You weren't even in the car."

"Well maybe I should have been." Her tone was meant to be cold, but Anya could hear her voice shaking just slightly.

"Lexa, do I need to get over there? Do I need to keep you home from school? Because I will."

"No," she said, feeling her walls crumbling.

"Good. You're not doing this again, Lexa. It's not your fault."

"Okay," she breathed.

"Say it."

"It's not my fault."

"It's not. You have to believe that, Lexa. You have to. It's not your fault, and Costia would want you to know that." On the other line, she heard a tiny, strangled sob as Lexa tried to fight her tears. It raked at Anya's heart, but she continued. "She would want you to know that you don't have to be so afraid to care again. Maybe even to love again, when you're ready for that."

"Do you think she would?" Lexa said, sniffling.

"I really do." She heard Lexa take a deep, shaky breath. "I'm glad you called me."

"Me too." They sat for a moment in silence, each collecting themselves and listening to the other breathe. Finally, Anya spoke up.

"Are you still getting ready for school? Are you going to be on time?"

"Yes, Anya." Her voice had regained its composure, and much of its steadiness.

"Good. What are you doing this afternoon?"

"She's coming over to work on the write up with me. It'll probably be our last meeting."

"It sounds like you might need to hurry up and ask her out, then."

"Anya," Lexa pleaded.

"Ask her out, ask her over, whatever. It's your choice, but tonight is your chance. If you think she's upset, you should show her that you care about her. You don't have to be afraid to. Let me know how it goes, okay? Call me when she leaves?"

"Sure."

"Good. I'll talk to you then, Lex."

"Thank you, Anya. I love you."

"I love you too, Lexa. Always."