Clarke wandered down the halls of the asylum, her footsteps echoing steadily on the dull metal floor. She passed by room after room of padded cells, ignoring the occasional wail and howl from the more active occupants. Clarke, to her increasing concern, was growing accustom to the strange and haunting sounds of the asylum. The halls were all lined with metal walls that creaked and groaned throughout the night, almost as if they were mimicking their human occupants. When she first started working as an orderly not three months ago, she had jumped and flinched at every harsh scratch and thud she heard. Despite having lived alone for most of her life, she had still felt that childhood fear of imaginary creatures that went bump in the night. Now, having been through the monotony of taking food in and out, cleaning the floors, and exchanging chamber pots, she tuned out the cacophony with ease. She didn't know what unsettled her more – that she no longer was disturbed by the anguish noises or that she was too aware that real human beings, not imaginary creatures, were capable of making such sounds.
Perhaps it's for the better, she thought. It's not like Clarke had much of an option of finding another occupation. She was already lucky enough to land this position thanks to her rudimentary knowledge of medicine and caretaking. She had been alone for most of her life. Her father died in a freak accident while attempting to salvage the backup generators in their city. Clarke was five years old, just old enough to hold a foggy memory of him yet too young to hold onto anything but a fantasy version of him. All she had left of him was his broken watch, which he had worn the day he died and still bore the singes on the leathers straps from the lethal electricity that surged through his body. If she focused hard enough, she can just make out his easy smile and his hearty laugh, two things she thinks he did often. Her mother was a physician, one of precious few in her city. When Clarke turned eleven, her mother had led the medical team during a brutal epidemic of the influenza virus that struck in the winter. She perished along with several hundred other victims. Her mother was an unsung hero. She had tried to save her people, and she was lost in the mass grave along with them.
So for the past ten years, Clarke has been fighting to survive. Living would be a generous word to describe her experiences. She eventually found herself in the company of other young stragglers – children who's parents had died or abandoned them, teenagers who had run away from abuse, girls and boys who were desperately trying to avoid the hustlers who could make profit from their young and unused bodies. As one of the older members, Clarke often found herself taking care of the others, using what little money she had left over to feed the younger ones. Her best friend, Raven, would help in other ways. She was a certified genius, but her body was failing her. Often bedridden from episodes of intense spasmic pains, Raven made herself useful by rebuilding mechanical equipment salvaged by the others. Clarke had insisted Raven live with her so that she could keep an eye on her when the pain got too intense. But in all honesty, Clarke wanted Raven around because she relied on the girl's infinite resilience. No matter how desolate things got, the girl never gave up. She never let her anger, sadness, and pain get to her, even when Clarke found it unbearable to watch. When her body failed her, she used her clever brain to push on and fend for the family. Clarke survived off of her strength as if by osmosis. Clarke knew no one else who fought against the darkness quite like Raven.
Well, almost no one else.
Clarke's mind drifted to the brunette in cell 307, as it did more and more often these past weeks. She knew very little about Lexa Woods – nothing about her past, why she was here, or what exactly her illness was. But that didn't stop Clarke's fascination with her. Lexa wasn't like the others. Most patients after a few weeks eventually caved in on their despair. The fight left their bodies, and while they continued to thrash against the treatments, they had long given up hope of ever leaving this godforsaken place. It was their eyes, Clarke noticed. There is a light that is brutally snuffed out in these patients, smothered down by stifling padding and leather straps till there was nothing but a dull shadow staring back at her. But Lexa was different. There was a flame, a spark, in those intense peridot eyes. They brimmed with intelligence, strength, and calculation. While Lexa looked to be no older than twenty-five, her eyes looked far older, full of a pain and wisdom that shouldn't have been possible for a girl her age. They haunted Clarke and made a shiver run through her body every time she connected with them across the cramped padded cell.
Clarke shuddered as she remembered those same eyes piercing her body just the other day when they had their first conversation. She remembered Lexa's body, thin but thrumming with energy, as she stood regally beside her cot. Her commanding presence was unlike anything Clarke had felt before, and like a moth drawn to a flame, she couldn't look away. Despite her best efforts, Clarke couldn't hide her admiration for the woman – after all, they were both survivors, and Clarke recognized her as an equal in spirit, fighting to live another day in a world entire unfair to them. Clarke also couldn't ignore how incredibly beautiful Lexa was – curly unruly auburn waves, arched brows and cheekbones, full lips, slender neck that met strong shoulders. Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, she commanded the room like an ethereal warrior from the tales of Valhalla. Clarke's heart sank at seeing such a beautiful creature caged in this hellhole. There must be some truly important reason or illness Lexa possessed, she reasoned. Clarke needed to believe that.
This is dangerous, Clarke thought. She shouldn't allow herself to sympathize with her patients. It could only lead to disaster. There were people who were depending on her, people who she knew better than Lexa that she couldn't let down. What was that phrase the doctor used? Head over heart. "Sometimes the best thing we can do for a patient is what will hurt them the most," she had said. Clarke wonders if her mother would have agreed to a similar sentiment.
Clarke had just entered the main hall, intending on walking towards another set of smaller hallways when she heard what sounded like a waterfall emanating from a set of double doors just behind her on the left. It was followed by the clanking of metal and a few desperate gasps of air. Clarke turned, approaching the doors with caution before peering through the round peephole. Clarke gasped. It was Lexa, bound to the wall by her wrists in almost a crucifix position. She was completely soaked, her thin gown clinging to her trembling body as she struggled against her restraints. Harsh jets of pressurized water coming from an old fire hose sprayed Lexa across her chest, abdomen, and limbs. Lexa turned her head to the side, desperately trying to avoid the worst of the jets that reached her face and gulping air down while she could. Her face was set in a grimace, her eyes scrunched tightly while her mouth was set in a snarl. She gnashed her teeth as she endured pulse after pulse of stinging cold water. Clarke's heart ached, her stomach involuntarily clenching at the disturbing site.
After a few seconds, the jets lessened and Lexa's body slacked. She arched her head towards the center, forehead tilted forward, still breathing heavily and recovering after being pulverized by the hose. She opened her eyes, and Clarke was stunned. Fiery flames glared at an unseen enemy, so alive and full of anger that Clarke could feel the heat of her rage rolling from Lexa's body. It was a glare that promised justice, that promised retribution, that dared to fight back. There was so much spirit in those eyes, and for a moment Clarke wanted those eyes to land on her even if they burned her in the process.
Clarke tore herself away from the door as she heard the hose turn back on. She didn't know why, but she couldn't stand to be there any longer. Maybe she felt disturbed by the brutality of hydrotherapy, maybe she remembered she was still behind on her tasks. Or maybe it was because if she stared any longer at Lexa, she would begin to feel things she really, really shouldn't.
Cold. I'm so cold.
Lexa's body shook with violent shivers as she sat hunched in the middle of her cell, a pool of water growing beneath her as it dripped steadily from her sodden hair. She clutched at bent legs, trying to center her body heat and warm herself in any way she could. Her gown was soaked through, the chill of the dripping water settling deep into her bones. They hadn't bothered to dry her off when they dumped her back to her room. Despite Lexa's best efforts her teeth chattered noisily and vigorously, so much so that each breath she inhaled was stuttered and impeded by the trembling of numb lips. Her diaphragm and accessory chest muscles were clenched so tightly as if desperate to hold onto the little warmth her body made, and each deep breath in harder and harder to accomplish without feeling a tightness build up in her chest. Lexa could hardly form a thought outside a primal desire to get warm, to fight out this numbing and searing cold. She barely even registered her cell door opening. It was only after a few seconds till Lexa realized that nothing else was happening. With great effort, Lexa careened her neck to lift her eyes to the door.
Clarke stood, staring and unmoving, with an empty chamber pot in her hand. Her blue eyes were wide with shock as she took in Lexa's shivering form, her jaw slightly ajar as if the sight in front of her left her speechless. This wasn't the ethereal warrior she verbally sparred with nor was she the fiery fighter she witnessed just hours ago. No, this was just a girl, a young woman who had just been kicked and beaten like a dog, who was at her lowest point, who was slowly but surely freezing to death, both in body and soul.
Lexa saw the blonde's brow furrow like before, her eyes briefly flashing with anger as she glanced to the ground and clenched her hand harder against the porcelain bowl. Azure returned to look at Lexa again, her face softening with sympathy even as her mouth continued to grimace. For a strange moment, Lexa felt a wave of warmth spread through her trembling body as she continued to stare at the blonde, taking in the kindness in her eyes despite the hardened face she displayed. Then, as quickly as it came, the warmth disappeared. Before Lexa could register it, the blonde had exchanged the pots and had her back towards Lexa, her hand ready on the door as she made her exit.
"W-wait," Lexa breathed through quivering lips. The blonde froze but did not turn around.
"W-what is your n-name?" Lexa's voice was softer, higher than she anticipated. She had hoped to keep the yearning she felt out of her voice, but she was desperate for that warmth again. If she could only keep the blonde here longer, maybe she'd finally feel something other than the cold.
A short intake of breath came from the blonde before it was abruptly cut off, as if she were about to answer before she stopped herself from saying too much. Her head dipped forward, the blonde hair falling from her shoulders to obscure her face. Her body tensed with internal struggle. The seconds of silences felt like hours. With a heavy sigh, the blonde wrenched the metal door open, leaving briskly as if she could no longer stand to be in the same room as Lexa.
Lexa whimpered pitifully at the loss of warmth in the room. It was silly really, the visceral way Lexa reacted to the blonde. She didn't even know her name, and yet she yearned for her presence like she had scarcely yearned for anything before. Her posture showed the resilience of a fighter, and her presence could easily come equal to Lexa's own commanding energy. Yet her face showed all the nuances of a healer and failed to hide her habitual expressions of quite concern and infinite sympathy. There was a natural beauty to the blonde, with her wavy halo of hair the color of sun and her shining eyes the color of a clear sky. She was an escape from this clammy cold metal box into the outside world, and Lexa, in all her strength and fortitude, found herself weaker in her presence.
Lexa resigned herself to prior state, quivering and trembling as the cold assaulted her again with relentless force. The blonde probably wouldn't be back again until another shift, and Lexa cursed herself for counting the hours. She settled in, trying to remove her mind from reality to pass the monotonous time, curling in around herself as the chill settled around her. She was shocked out of her stupor by the clang of the door latch. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes since her last visit. Maybe the doctor wanted another session of treatment? Lexa looked up with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.
She was shocked to see the blonde again, her hand clutching a navy blanket. For a moment, all they could do was stare at each other. Then, with hesitant steps, the blonde approached Lexa, stepping closer and closer until the two girls weren't even a foot apart. Lexa looked up at her, eyes wide with surprise and awe. She had come back, and already the world felt warmer.
Clarke slowly crouched down, making herself almost level with Lexa. She could feel the vibrations of the girl's chattering teeth, the stuttering breaths that passed through full lips. Lexa was looking at her as if she'd never seen her before, with a sense of doe-eyed innocence and anticipation. Clarke's heart fluttered at the sight, her eyes staring into Lexa's as she swallowed audibly. Clarke grasped the ends of the blanket in each hand, gingerly reaching around Lexa to hover around her shoulders. She was careful not to touch Lexa, but her face had come within inches of Lexa's. Breaths halted and both girls shivered not entirely from the chilly air. Finally, Clarke's hands dropped the blanket around Lexa's shoulders and tightened it around her neck.
Lexa released a trembling sigh of relief, eyes closing in blissfulness as warmth enveloped her. Lexa's hands clutched at the blanket, pulling it in closer as her body relaxed with content. She was so full of gratification and bliss that by the time she opened her eyes, the blonde had already removed herself from her space. She was standing at the door, her lips lifted slightly in a smirk and eyes slightly crinkled around the corners. Lexa managed to curve the sides of her lips in a slight smile that felt more like a twitching grimace, but she noticed the blonde's eyes light up at her attempt of a grin.
A sudden faraway shout jerked the blonde's attention away from Lexa. She peered down the hall at the unseen source. A flash of panic passed through the blonde's face before turning back to Lexa. The blonde gave her a quick look of remorse before hastily leaving, the door latching behind her. Lexa, stunned at the sudden departure, tugged the blanket closer to her body, relishing the warmth that now no longer abandoned her.