Author's Note: This is where it get's interesting...and then brutal...I warned you. Enjoy. The only reason this story has been updated again so soon is because I finished Jessica Jones. "I love you."

In a crab like movement she had gotten behind the door and thought she needed an arrow in her chest like she needed a hole in her head-likely from a bullet. Rationality and fear didn't mix. They were not friends, they did not get together and bond. On the arc they would watch archived material called westerns. One of their themes was shoot first and ask questions second. Sometimes Clarke thought all she was missing was a horse to be in the genre.

With a full pull and hold the door was completely open. She expected the bunker to smell of stale air, something acrid. It could go either way. The first time she had gone into her bunker it smelled of dust. As she descended the stairs that let out small creaks her eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness though they didn't trust change from above ground to below. She finally saw the faint flicker of what she believed was a candle. For a moment she thought to roll her eyes at herself for the fleeting, clichéd symbolism the candle was a flicker of hope. With a firm grab of her knife that felt more like an extension of herself she descended the remaining stairs, bracing herself with every step. Finally she was on the concrete floor taking it in. That it was clean, organized, larger than hers, and smelled faintly of soap. Slowly her senses took it all in and caught tired, guarded green eyes that were always trying to overtake the hazel. She saw them widen slightly then narrow in what seemed to be recognition amid the layers.

Bare skin-those eyes the color of a dying earth that may have mirrored their surroundings kept a watchful, weary, withdrawn gaze. For a second Clarke paused and with a tilt to her head thought I was right. There was a weapon down here. As she looked at Lexa. A girl. There weren't any black smudges, as though Heda was gone, the commander was extinct or forced to retreat in this world. Clarke could make out some emotions but Lexa always had that control of holding back. Of protecting herself, Clarke would imagine to her last dying breath.

But she was alive. Clarke narrowed her eyes and thought it was possible for someone to look like a remnant of themselves. As she lowered her knife she wondered when would she stop being shocked by this world and she watched Lexa slump like her matter had been stolen from her. Without thinking Clarke crossed the short distance and held onto Lexa's forearms, forcing her upright against the wall. Up close Lexa had the same eyes. Still is shocked her there was no black war paint. Finally Lexa lowered her own knife, though smaller and likely more deadly. With a frown Clarke noticed even the bones in Lexa's hands seemed more prominent. Again she looked up at Lexa's eyes, feeling they were her only honest tell. Maybe that's why she kept reading from poets they were the windows to the soul. She frowned deeply, unable to obtain a poker face.

Aside from the leather pants Lexa wore lose clothes. A long sleeve shirt and a scarf looked comfortable. For a second Clarke thought she could pass for casual, but she looked too thin. Smaller than she remembered. Clarke thought she was borderline before but also knew she was composed of lean muscle that held deadly instruments in her surprisingly soft hands. Half constructed by other's expectations and self composed product of contradictions. Lexa deflated further, like her steel bones had turned to rust and were crumbling.

"Do you want to sit down?" She paused and thought of all the questions to ask she voiced that one? "You look...tired." She added when Lexa didn't reply. With the smallest nod Clarke was given the go ahead to step away from the brunette who sat down with a long sigh and breathed like she had run a marathon.

"Were you going to intimidate anyone who comes in here to death? Was that your plan?" The amateur earth dweller said as she stood, looking down on Lexa who narrowed her eyes then smirked when she saw Clarke flinch.

"How long have you been here?" Clarke asked more out of curiosity than needing to know. Lexa sat erect and pointed at a wall. Smoothly Clarke turned and looked behind her to see scratch marks in increments of five tallied. There was more than she could count in a single glance. When she looked back at Lexa he breathing seemed more controlled.

Finally she looked around the large room. The bed looked made, a glass bottle was set on a small side table, miniscule jars were on a slightly large dresser, a trunk that likely contained weaponry was directly within reach and...there was a shower.

"How do you have a shower?" Clarke asked amazed, her voice growing louder. Lexa looked up and held her gaze on the ceiling as though she could see through the earth, could sense if anyone was coming. Clarke made a mental note to talk softer.

"Does it work?" She pressed, unable to hide her excitement.

Slowly Lexa nodded, as though trying to hold Clarke back from creating anymore noise.

"How have you survived?" Clarke half demanded to know while the other half was in shock. To her annoyance Lexa only shrugged as though saying 'I'm here. I just happen to be here.' After a moment Lexa tilted her chin up in a way that asked back you?

"I...came across...found a bunker..."she said with hesitation. This was Lexa. The same commander, woman that essentially sold out her people to save her own. Who was to say Lexa would take her bunker, ransack the place for supplies and leave? No one was around to say so Clarke had to listen to her gut. With a pregnant pause Clarke shifted her gaze to the floor, not having realized she was staring at Lexa for the better part of ten minutes. With each minute Lexa seemed to build her barriers...or reinforce the ones that she already had.

"You don't...look well." She tried and caught Lexa shrug in the most dismissive way. "Can I..." she searched for the right words. But touch was a lot to ask, even if it was needed. "Can I check your vitals?" Clarke questioned in a professional, emotionally removed tone. Because Lexa looked pale and the dark circles under her eyes from this angle were concerning.

She watched as Lexa processed the request. Instead of flat out saying can I just touch you, make sure you're real and feel concrete proof of it she tried to prompt something safe. When the commander smoothly gestured for Clarke to sit on the bed she felt compelled to oblige. Gently and with care Clarke pressed her fingers to her wrist. It wasn't possible to get an entirely accurate reading, relying on her internal clock for a minute but she at least felt her pulse was strong. No erratic pattern and nothing that supported Clarke needed to greatly worry about her heart. Slowly she retracted her hand and rubbed her knee, the pain settling in at the change of position.

There was a heaviness in the room. It didn't need to be discussed. Clarke knew it was the tension. Of all the people to still be alive it had to be Lexa. Though the bunker was large than hers she felt claustrophobic. Or rather it was their past that was pushing on her.

"I have to go," she said standing. With a glance she saw hurt pass across Lexa's features in a flash. "I'll...can I come back tomorrow?" She asked on second thought, feeling more so than thinking interaction was needed. And she couldn't abandon Lexa, couldn't dismiss her in such a harsh way, even if it may have been justified. She wasn't that person.

With what seemed deep consideration Lexa nodded.

"I promise I'll be back," she said as she moved to the ladder and held onto a rung. At best Lexa seemed conflicted but offered a resigned nod as though saying-your choice.

Above ground she stared at the door and turned away only when she heard a solid clink of a lock sliding into place. It was after a few paces was she able to gather her thoughts, form them into some sort of coherency and breathe easier. For weeks she had felt like a vagabond. Now...she wasn't alone.

Day 2

Regal. The next day she comes back to an unlocked, broken door she finds Lexa regally sitting on the bed with a knife always within reach. Her body language and emanated power. Clark thought it might be ingrained in her. Or it was residual power now that she didn't have anyone to rule over-anyone to watch over-anyone to be responsible for. Her eyes were unguarded, uncertainty floated in them, like clouds hanging, obstructing what were once full of conviction. Clark could see the tendons tense in her shoulders she took a step closer into the room. Her sanctuary she thought.

She had spent the better part of last night gathering food into a backpack for Lexa. Anything of use that could be consumed. A book found its way in there as well. And there were a million questions she wanted to ask but couldn't bring herself. Rather than ask her questions Clark settled on the one that seemed the most important- do you want to talk. Lexa shook her head but there was something there that said conveyed she appreciated the question. They sat in silence after Clarke emptied the contents of the food onto the bed. When she held up a utensil, prompting Lexa to eat Clarke felt awkward watching someone glare at sustenance. Even with the change of clothes and scarf Lexa still seemed uptight and proper. With a tilt to her head she indicated Clarke could take a shower rather than watch her slowly eat. The only thing that betrayed her facade were her eyes she thought as she slightly flinched with each bite.

But the consideration was gone when Lexa used sign language towards the shower. Her movements fluid. For a second Clarke humored the thought of in another life Lexa could do ballet even as she felt the commander was trying to create physical distance.

The shower was a reason she could keep coming back here she contemplated once the water was on. Somehow the water was warmer than the waterfall. For a second she had felt self conscious of undressing in the same room as Lexa but after a glance over she saw the pensive woman writing in a small pad, giving Clarke privacy by essentially dismissing her.

Standing under the stream she was able to see small jars on the man-made shelf that had been dug into the wall. With delicate twists she opened each one, finding part of the source that smelled like Lexa that wasn't just Lexa. Only one jar was marked with the word jasmine. Once she stepped out of the shower she was surprised to find a towel on a chair for her. With a glance back to the uncluttered bed she found Lexa with the book she had brought in her hand. Her bag was at the corner on the floor.

"Do you make your own lotions..products?" She asked in a dazed awe she forgot she was standing in a towel. Lexa didn't bother to look up from the pages but nodded. Clarke bit her lip. A habit since being alone and lacking a need to talk or really use her mouth. Quickly she pivoted away to put on her clothes, but when she turned around she saw tucked away behind a corner a small dresser with instruments that looked like a lab. Herbs and dried plants were bunched and some looked like they had been ground and bowls were in a clear order.

When she was dressed she stood looking down at Lexa who seemed incredibly far away but within arms reach. I should ask if she even wants me here...

With a sigh she picked up her bag and moved to the ladder. Once her jacket was on she looked back at Lexa who still seemed enamored with the book.

"I'll be back tomorrow, ok?" Though she didn't receive a reply there was a slight stinging that quickly passed through her. With another sigh she went up, out and back to her home.

Arthur was thrilled to see her and focused on her bag as if there was something new. After she let him out she refilled the jars with food for tomorrow. It wasn't until she flipped open a lid did she find a piece of paper folded neatly into the top. Slowly she opened it, curious but with trepidation.

Life is asking yourself the same question in varying degrees- Who am I? Who am I without someone defining me. Who are we if you don't have a point of reference? Or the antithesis or similarities? Am I a pacifist because I loath war, hate what it does, what it brings and wish no 1 should have to enter into it? Our lives are only a series of choices.

Clarke had to sit down to process Lexa's existential crisis. For a second she was distracted by the handwriting-seeing it for the first time. All capitol letters and somehow artistic. It seemed useless to analyze Lexa. If anything Lexa did everything with a purpose, but she was too tired to work it out. Instead she fully emptied her bag and quickly grabbed the book that fell out to avoid Arthur treating it like a chew toy. A small piece of paper stuck out. With a delicate pull she read-reading quells boredom. With a smirk she considered no one their age commonly used the word quell. So that's how it'll be she wondered. They would trade books while she kept checking in on her? Thoughts became disjointed as she lay in bed, feeling ambivalent at best towards taking care of someone, specifically Lexa. Arthur yawned, distracted her as he curled into a ball. Her night had been in a daze. Eating, packing, organizing. One of her last fully conscious thoughts as she replayed the surreal interaction was how calm Lexa looked reading on her bed, tuning out the world that made Clarke wonder if Lexa had grown up on the arc she would have been completely different. She would have a very altered life. Clarke could see her working in the library, contently surrounding herself with knowledge or she could see her as an engineer. Not as rash as Raven but methodical and quiet. Anything she could enjoy peace and be in her element. The idea of peace, along with the concept of inner peace allowed her to drift to sleep easily.

Day 3

The walk was becoming painful with the cold weather. Part of her wanted to stay in bed and talk with Arthur who seemed more willing than Lexa to engage in conversation. As she walked she bit and

chewed on her bottom lip, feeling like it had bubbles in it. When she tore the layer open it felt like a toxin when blood released. Mulling it over she thought it was an allergic reaction or a horrible sinus infection but she didn't give it much thought when she bent and knocked on the door. Not that she expected an answer but she was surprised it was unlocked. Even more shocked she found Lexa asleep, eyes held tight as she flinched and cringed her was through a dream. For a second she thought the leader seemed the most honest in this state as she watched her eyelids flutter, took a seat, and waited.

It would be insane to wake Lexa who likely had a knife under her pillow. Again she took in the room and found a piece of paper folded with her name on it. Underneath was material. Quietly she picked it up and found a jar inside the fabric. She turned the jar in her hands. The sound of a groan startled her but Clarke was more surprised Lexa was fully awake within seconds-ever watchful and alert as she looked from Clarke to...what were they..gifts? She kept touching the item that was course on the outside, soft on the inside and seemed to have bands of copper wire inside it. She could only guess on account a piece of the wire stuck out slightly of the meticulously made piece. The stitching looks machine done, which is impossible.

Again she felt it too surreal. And with a frown at realizing it was easy to enter in while Lexa was vulnerable said, "You need to put a lock on your door." A raised eyebrow from the commander was the only acknowledgement. An infuriating gesture that on someone like Finn she would have found attractive, but instead of allowing that thought process she raised the jar and asked, "what is this" with narrowed eyes and almost regretted her accusatory tone. Because a gift was a foreign concept and hard to wrap her mind around. But Lexa only raised her eyebrows like she was amused then pointed to the jar. In a trance Clarke followed Lexa's index finger as she touched her own bottom lip. Slowly she twisted off the cap and brought it to her nose. It smelled of peppermint and was a faint cream color. After a pause she applied it to her top lip then to her raw bottom lip. It felt like a chill of ice then cool water on her sensitive skin. With widened eyes she looked back at Lexa who was already pointing to the material and then to her own knee. Of course when Clarke was confused Lexa held out her and like saying may I?

Smoothly Lexa took it, opened it and put her arm through the loop and held it around her elbow like a display. Clarke was more distracted by the tattoos and burns on tan skin than the tutorial. There were far more marks than she remembered. It was only when Lexa held out the brace does Clarke refocus.

"Thank you," she said with a frown. Though Lexa looked like she wanted to say something they sit in silence, eating, being tense, and Clarke thinks there's a lot of almosts with Lexa. Always had been. A consistency to her. Lexa who holds herself rigid and somehow torn and Clarke thinks tragic words can be beautiful. Like shattered...as she looks at Lexa who seems to have concaved into herself. And its painful to see and she doesn't stop herself from pushing when she asks, "do you want to talk?"

The shake of her head is another solid barrier and Clarke sighs and gets up to leave. With effort she made her voice flat, knowing anger often shuts people down. "I'll see you tomorrow," she added solidly just before she moved to put on her jacket. It was an excuse but she was glad to have Arthur as a reason to leave, his presence in the back of her head.

With concerned eyes Lexa held Clarke's wrist. It was night. It's not safe. Green eyes that were far too expressive said with the accompanied hold.

"I have to go." Clarke finally stated as she placed the items in her bag and expected Lexa to ask why but frowned when the girl went to grab her own heavy covering. "You're going to walk me home?" She questioned in disbelief and watched in what shouldn't have been a surprise the slightest shrug she had witnessed in her life. In shock she didn't refuse Lexa but she didn't offer her or question her to stay the night. Lexa was capable of wandering back on her own she reasoned.

It would have been easy to be offended. The implication that she couldn't fend for herself was there but Clarke knew...in the way that Lexa had held her wrist that wasn't what she should take from their interaction. Once they were on the surface she had more proof she had no reason to be offended when Lexa walked beside her, not as a body guard, though still tense and protective. Each step as an equal.

The distance seemed shorter walking with someone else. Strange as it was, her bunker felt like it snuck up on her. She didn't think to inform the commander of Arthur who raised her knife and gripped it hard when she opened the door and he ran out.

"Don't you dare," she said with authority to Lexa. "Arthur sit." She commanded and was proud he was already in the process of sitting before she had to say it from to the hand gesture of her palm facing the ground. Lexa looked at her like saying-oh hell, you named it.

"What?" Clarke said with narrowed eyes, ready for a verbal argument. Lexa only shook her head, clearly annoyed but chose to put her knife away. "He seemed like an Arthur," she added and pat her thigh, prompting the big creature to push his head into her leg affectionately. Lexa continued to look on with apprehension.

"In all of your readings you've never heard of nature versus nurture?" She challenged in a strong tone after Lexa's vibe of 'that thing cannot be trusted'.

Though Lexa knew several languages, a fact Clarke was aware of, the woman raised an eyebrow that signaled touché. A part of her didn't want to say she understood Lexa's mistrust. In a few days Arthur had grown fast. She couldn't imagine what his size would be in a month. He already reached mid thigh and he was bulky, but she was thankful for him. She was responsible for him and if that meant arguing with who she believed may be the only living person for a great distance she'd protect him, regardless of how intimidating he looked. With contentment she let out a little laugh as she waited for Lexa to go into her bunker but tilted her head as though saying you and him first.

She knew Lexa was not be the type to ask for help. It would never happen. Even when they were trying to escape the gorilla Lexa told her to leave her because she was raised to be a sacrifice, because she had accepted that she would die young. Clarke saw this behind every inspirational, rallying speech. Lexa who waited for her next move like chess pieces. Lexa who was smaller, smaller than her, graceful in a way that was painful, tragic in a way that was heartbreaking and spun Clarke into angry madness because Lexa had accepted her early grave because her people had dug it with care, reverence and love. But her people were gone, as was her duty. All that was left was Lexa. Not commander Lexa but someone who was more human and a young girl who carries an old soul in her Clarke thought as she looked at Lexa who scanned her eyes over the forest that seemed to be forging maps of trails and recounting steps to get back to her bunker.

"Lexa." The girl still peered at the trees. Distracted. Intense. I'm exhausted. "Lexa," she said louder and followed with a sigh "you can stay the night."

End note: There was suppose to be more to this chapter but I want them to have a realistic build up. The reason why I wrote this story which is rather different than my others because I really wanted a chance to comment on human nature/dynamics/emotions. Thanks for reading. More soon.