Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Really this was fun and depressing and different for me to write. Thank you Lydia Darling (as you are in my phone) for sharing your writing and allowing me to use it. See end note for the exact lines. She's wonderful. If anyone wants to see random thoughts my twitter is at PlaceForAnEcho where pictures of my dog, me about to write, screen shots of snarkiness, etc are shared. Presently-happy holidays. Be happy, healthy and hopefully be filled with laughter with the new year coming. One can hope...

"In a nice world I would die in my sleep." It was a quiet admission and one brought by so much silence that she felt compelled to be painfully, irrevocably honest. Lexa tilted her head as if she were trying to get a different view on her words. If it was possible to live to old age she thought but didn't say. There wasn't such an urgency now that there weren't any wars. If she kept being faster than the carriers she would keep surviving. But it was only surviving and she knew this. What's living if you can't share it with anyone? She questioned as she looked at Lexa who sat stiffly in the chair, fighting sleep, her mouth twitching in a way that seemed she wanted to offer comfort or her own experiences...something like feelings. More so she was always fighting something. "Lexa. Come lay down," she edged on being demanding.

Lexa who seemed rooted in the chair and didn't move with the exception of a twitch clearly heard Clarke but ignored it.

"Do you want to talk," Clarke asked. It was the constant question she asked once a day. She hoped it assured Lexa that she cared and was there to listen but Lexa shook her head again. This is why she read books and talked with Arthur. Some days it seemed like the books talked back and if Arthur could speak actual words instead of with his eyes or occasional groans she imagined he'd say "Where are we going? Adventure? Food?" But she knew she couldn't pull words out of Lexa. "Okay. Would you come lay down?" She asked in a softer tone, seeing how tense Lexa looked in the chair.

Smoothly Lexa stood and moved slowly, allowing Clarke the chance to move further to the side of the bed. The unknown truth was Clarke never took up the middle of the bed. Her side was on the left, regardless that she didn't have anyone to share it with. Subconsciously and with her own realization she felt she refrained from taking up the whole bed because she was waiting to share it with someone. If she allowed it. It would take certain traits in an individual that would prompt Clarke to welcome anyone into her bed.

It seemed inevitable and inescapable she would be alone. Her life was becoming a series of words with negative connotations. But there was always that hopeful edge to human nature that didn't allow for a complete submission to despair.

And Clarke thought she's Lexa, not Heda. She has resigned her leader role. With a pause as Lexa stood before her like a young woman who had lost everything like her she wondered how much of Lexa had been changed and molded when she was renamed Heda because she knew names held power and influence.

It wasn't until Lexa was tense laying beside her, back facing her with slow breaths did Clarke allow her thoughts to slip into a lull. Until Lexa shuddered and took in a strange breath. Carefully Clarke moved closer, lifted her head and looked down at Lexa who was still wide awake and trying to concave on herself. If it wasn't for her training she didn't believe she could access with such emotional detachment. Clarke held Lexa's ribs, hand slipped under her shirt after she professionally asked, "can I check?" It almost felt like she was cradling her anatomy. Uneven intakes had worried her and this was the easiest way to gauge as Lexa squirmed away at the gentle movements. Almost making Clarke laugh. Almost because it was Lexa's job to be strong and hold to that but she was ticklish. "Deep breath in through your nose, out through your mouth." She instructed. After what felt like a five minutes but realistically she knew had to be two she felt Lexa had relaxed. For a second she tensed once she noticed she was pressed against her, the realization made her take in a sharp breath and tried to move back, but her wrist was held gently. With small circles made, like tracing a full moon in a soothing graze. She held still. She let go. And she chose to connect.

Day 4

The right side of her bed was empty. Which meant her door was unlocked. Quickly she got up, startled Arthur and grabbed her knife. Something could be waiting above as she moved to check. Luckily it was a forest and snow. With a sigh she thought she should have known snow had descended since her knee felt stiffer the moment she got out of bed. Without any rush she began to pack and get dressed. She was looking forward to a shower if Lexa was there to offer. But the walk to her bunker made her knee feel like someone was removing the cartiledge and she had to sit numerous times on whatever large enough rock to rub heat into it. With a sigh she knocked and waited. Finally she pulled on the door, went down the stairs and was surprised Lexa wasn't in. For a second she felt invasive that she was looking at everything in the room. Pressed flowers, botany in cups in her corner, neat slashes on the wall to represent the days, and a piece of paper folded near her bed on the side table. As though in a trance Clarke went over and read it. Handling it like it were butterfly wings as the paper felt thin and smelled old and with elegant handwriting.

Do not be sad if your skin is textured rough from past sins.
Your sins are not the essence of you
Your wrecked sobs at midnight
Your ruptured veins at one a.m.
Your tattered bones at two
They will be your thrown one day
You are more than your bruises
You have always been your own.

-C

Holy...Clarke thought and reread it and reread it to the point the words blurred. Even as an atheist she thought it takes a certain...other-worldly bond to understand someone to the extent Costia could of Lexa. And without a doubt, she felt it before she knew it-Costia had written it. Composed it with love in each letter. How Lexa was more than her predecessors bestowing their burden and legacy on her, more than sins and glorified actions, that she was more than fierce will and breakable bones, far more than a bloody thrown.

Just as she set it back on the table she heard the door nearly silently shut. Slowly she turned around and caught Lexa's eyes that looked...

Betrayed.

Layered over hurt, disguised as anger as her eyes narrowed. She looked at this quiet woman who was molded into a weapon, who was content to live out her days reading, pressing flowers and distancing herself from the violence, malice and brutality of death as she could. She was too busy looking at Lexa's eyes to notice her subtle movements of tucking a shovel behind the ladder, the shadows swallowing its presence. With strength Lexa crossed the distance, with the utmost care picked up the note, grabbed a book quickly and with such delicacy put the note between the pages. It was like watching a war or a dance. Soft, hard, soft motions. As Lexa turned and focused on Clarke, the girl who came from the sky on instinct took a step back. Ending on hard.

There was a clenched fist that moved in circles near her hip and Lexa's breathing was erratic. Then Lexa started to hyperventilate. She tore at her shirt, pulled to the side showing a prominent collar bone, dirt and bubbles of sweat. Without thinking she moved forward and grabbed Lexa's forearms and positioned her to sit on the bed.

"You're hyperventilating." She said with distance and in shock. Maybe this was Lexa, not Heda, because she didn't have to act strong anymore. There was no one to lead but as she looked down at Lexa, checked her pulse on her wrist and told her to breathe through her nose, out her mouth she thought "sometimes breathing doesn't feel automatic, it can take work...and sometimes the energy to do it feels like its not worth it, but the conscious effort can make anyone feel floored and flooded. But we keep doing it." It wasn't until Lexa blinked at her with an unwavering gaze and clear eyes did she realize she said it aloud. She also didn't realize it made Lexa feel calm and normalized her difficulties realizing Clarke was offering understanding or explaining she had felt similar.

With her breathing under control Lexa stood. With a tilt to her head she indicated she wanted Clarke to take a shower. Before Clarke could overthink it she gave a brief nod and tried not to feel like Lexa was dismissing her. But the space was welcomed. With distance she was able to process how blatantly protective Lexa was of the memory of Costia. How willing she was to fight and instead of falling into wondering what it all meant to love a ghost she paused and looked at the towel that was waiting on the chair for her.

When she came out of the shower it was to an empty room. She didn't dare say Lexa's name out loud because it would make her feel stupid and quickly got dressed. Arthur would expect her in a few hours and if Lexa wasn't in to eat, sit and read with she had other options. With the time she decided to wander. It had been days since she had sought an adventure.

Feeling a high from the freedom she walked in a daze, content to feel clean and hopeful Lexa would in time willingly not hold back. It came with a brutal shock she had walked to Mount Weather.

For a moment she stood, feeling that need to consciously breathe as she looked at its mass. It wasn't for a few moments of unknown minutes she realized she was hearing strained grunts and tools hitting rocks, like muffled earth being wrenched open.

Muscle memory was stronger than her awareness as she walked around to the backside and stood before rows and rows of rectangles. There were tools propped against the wall. Briefly she thought it must have taken time to procure that many instruments. In another flash she realized she rarely came across a carrier's body or a body within miles. Had Lexa formed their graves? As she looked at the field of an overwhelming amount of rectangles she knew she didn't need to ask the question. Before her was the confirmation. The dedication. The physical labor. Regardless that no one would see them and Clarke knew Lexa would never have shown her this anger settled into her in a visceral way.

Something solid stopped her hands. The sides ached, pinky and ring fingers felt like they smashed into a tree. But she looked up into green eyes that had more sorrow and compassion, things Lexa wasn't truly allowed to express before. Deep breaths. With a cringe and a frown she knew Lexa would have bruises on her chest. Even though her bones felt like stones, she was built like all others. Tendons and muscles and blood below the surface over her malleable structure. No matter how finely made she was still breakable. But she stood there. Just stood there, with Clarke who felt pressure on her elbows at being held as the blonde gripped the lapels of the jacket with a painful intensity.

Later Clarke would ask Lexa if she was masochistic. If it was a trait that was learned or if it was passed down generation to generation of commanders like left-handedness, brown hair...

It was disconcerting if it was a side effect to being put on a pedestal to be sacrificed. And the questions would be asked in a whisper as she held small ribs as Clarke thought if I knew how to play an instrument that bass chords would suit Lexa's breathing...her sharp edges...sort of vibrating with unused, contained energy that's bigger than her.

Still she stood unmoving and solid. Torn and somehow maintained a connection as Clarke mirrored warring emotions. If anyone said closure was an easy thing she would have to call them insane. It was more a feeling that Lexa didn't intend for her to come across any of this as she looked at her pleading. And it was intuition or Lexa's demeanor that offered the dialog 'you weren't suppose to see this' as she kept Clarke steady. With a heavy swallow, having felt her throat constrict she thought Lexa would do well as a worker bee. Another creature limited by a short life.

There wasn't anything to say to the only living person she had found for miles. On the tip of her tongue she wanted to scream say something but they were in the open. Instead she turned and walked to her own bunker.

Author's Note: Lydia wrote Costia's note. You can follow her twitter at xlroex. She's talented and sometimes my jaw drops. Yup. Sure does. This chapter was meant to be longer but that means Day 5 will be long & harsh.