It had been three days since her unexpected reconnection with Lexa in the forests. Since that time Anya had managed to convince the others with her to at least go along with plan long enough that they could get the answers they needed. It didn't hurt that Lexa had been the one to keep the hundred volunteers together for the first number of days that they had alone on the ground.

Truthfully, Anya had expected to find it much more difficult to convince the others of what Lexa had said, she could hardly believe it herself. So it had come as quite a surprise when she had told them everything only for her to be met with nods and cautious understanding. Perhaps it had helped that they hadn't been killed, butchered and torn to pieces like those from Mount Weather had warned them would happen.

But ever since Anya had spoken with Lexa she had been watching Carl and any of the others from Mount Weather who had ventured out to see them at any of the stations that had come down to Earth. Anya knew that knowledge and information was the single most important thing in keeping a people together in times of struggle. She knew being able to communicate with every person openly was the single most important thing that had kept the Ark safe over the years. If information had been allowed to be weaponised, filtered in any way those on the Ark would have revolted, risen up and torn the station apart if the reason for why something drastic needed to happen was kept from the populace.

There had been countless challenges on the Ark over its life, from power and food shortages, to the need for people to volunteer for particularly dangerous spacewalks to fix a looming problem. But all of those things had been accepted by those on the Ark because nothing was kept secret, everything was shared, everything was explained and decided upon openly. Their most recent challenge and its success being the discovery of the Ark's oxygen systems failing.

And so Anya sighed as she catalogued every little thing she knew about the ground, about Mount Weather, and about what Lexa had said.

And it made sense. Reapers were supposed to be the only other thing on the ground, they were supposed to be mindless. And yet those that had attacked them spoke english just as well as they seemingly spoke their native language. They had clearly planned and strategised, and they had been smart.

That alone was enough for Anya to almost all but believe Lexa. And now all she needed was proof. Or more proof of the horrors that Mount Weather was doing. That, she thought, would be enough for her to convince Kane that things needed to change.

"Do you think they suspect something?" Octavia asked quietly as she plopped down beside her, the younger woman's brow sweaty.

"No," Anya said and she looked out across the clearing to some from Mount Weather who were helping pack the last of their most sensitive equipment. "I don't think so," she shrugged as she considered what to say next. "But they're being cautious. I wouldn't be surprised if they're worried Trikru was trying to make contact, convince us to openly revolt."

"Yeah," Octavia said and she wiped the back of her hand across her face. "I spoke to Bellamy for a minute earlier today," she whispered and nudged Anya's shoulder in thanks. "I made sure no one was anywhere near to hear it," and Anya found herself smiling just a little at the way Octavia seemed lighter than she had days earlier. "Plus I'm pretty sure someone from Trikru has been watching me, I don't know why, but I swear I could feel their eyes on my back the entire time."

"Yeah," and Anya had felt it, too. And it was odd, before Lexa's revelation she had never felt like she was being so keenly watched, but ever since then she thought it more obvious in some way. She wasn't dumb enough to think that Trikru were slipping up, were unintentionally making themselves known. Perhaps it was as much a warning as it was a way to tell them they weren't alone, that they'd in some way be protected if their secret was out.

"Thanks," Octavia said. "I know it's risky and the more we use the radio the more chances we have of getting caught."

"Don't worry about it," Anya said and she continued to watch as Raven and Harper continued to pack a number of supplies in the distance. "We'll have to be even more careful now that we're heading to the Mountain, though."

"I know," Octavia said and she rose, held out her hand to help Anya to her feet.

"But with Maya on our side we'll have more on our side than anyone inside the Mountain realises," Anya continued as she came to her feet.

"So I guess we're really doing this?" Octavia said.

"We don't have a choice," Anya answered with a shrug as she began to make her way to the others. "There's a war coming whether we want it or not," Anya said, her voice even lower. "All we need to decide is which side we're on."

Lexa was covered in sweat, her heart beat ferociously in her chest and she felt the tingle of adrenaline that continued to rush through her veins. She fought to control her breathing, she fought to steady her heart. But she couldn't, she hadn't been able to for minutes.

And then she gasped as her legs were kicked out from under her and she slammed into the ground. Ontari stood over her, the other woman's chest barely rising, the furs she usually wore free, her torso covered in a light, breathable shirt that hugged her torso, wrapped around her chest and seemed more intricate than it ought to be.

"Again," Clarke's voice came from the far side of the room.

Lexa didn't want to get up, she didn't want to face Ontari only to be punched in the get, slapped in the face, choked almost to the point of unconsciousness. And yet she knew she didn't really have a choice.

She grimaced as she rose to her feet, her arms feeling heavy and drained. Ontari watched her the entire time, her gaze piercing, the sneer that never quite seemed to leave her lips enough to make Lexa think she enjoyed being a little too rough.

Lexa came to stand in front of Ontari, her fists raised, her legs spaced apart just like she had been shown. But the stance felt a little odd, a little unfamiliar to her. Perhaps it always would. Ontari's own stance came to shadow hers, but the other woman settled into it with ease, with such comfort that it seemed as if she could stand like that for hours without tiring.

Lexa had already tried kicking Ontari only for her leg to be caught and her other kicked out from under her. She had already tried punching her in more ways than she could imagine, only for her arms to be blocked, twisted behind a back or used as leverage as she was thrown over a shoulder. She had even tried to headbutt one particular time only for Ontari to drop her own head forward enough that whatever pain Lexa had meant to inflict on the other woman had somehow, and in someway been redirected squarely back into her own forehead and left her seeing stars.

But Lexa hadn't tried charging her, she hadn't tried rushing her with everything she had. It was the only thing she had left.

And so charge she did.

Lexa threw all caution to the wind as she charged, as she pushed off with her feet and thrust her body forward with as much strength as she could muster. She didn't mean to let out a roar of frustration when she did, but she didn't care as she felt the air whip around her, as she felt it catch her hair and send it into cascading waves of brown. Lexa's hands reached out for purchase, she reached out to grab a shoulder, an arm, some part of Ontari that she could use as leverage to get the woman on the ground, to submit her, cause her to feel even a fraction of the bumps and bruises she had been left with.

But Ontari had vanished.

Where once she stood, proud, ready, eager to cause more pain, was nothing but air.

And Lexa knew she had been read like an open book, she knew she had baited, tricked into throwing all caution the wind.

And then the next thing Lexa felt as her body sailing through the air, tumbling head over heels and before she knew it she crashed into something with a curse, a thud as more aches and bruises settled into her body.

Lexa was done, she was frustrated, angry, more upset at not even being allowed to to even hit Ontari once. It was childish, so very immature, but Lexa wanted to sulk, wanted to sit in a corner with her back to the other woman and not acknowledge anything that had happened.

"You telegraph your actions too much," Clarke's voice said quietly and Lexa winced as she looked up and found her crouching on her heels in front of where she lay on the ground, her hands resting on her knees, her head cocked to the side. "Even a novice second would have seen your decision to charge coming."

"I'm sorry to disappoint," Lexa said as she sat up, her legs kicked out in front of her as she slouched her shoulders and hung her head as she let her breathing settle.

"I was not disappointed," Ontari's voice said and Lexa glanced up through the hair that fell across her face to find Ontari loosening a knot in her shirt as she opened it to let herself air. "You were as capable as I expected."

"Do you always try to insult people?" Lexa asked.

"Only those worth insulting."

Lexa should have felt insulted, but she had long come to the conclusion that Ontari was a woman who didn't care for mincing words or avoiding insult when she could simply speak her mind.

"Ontari," Clarke said and Lexa looked up to find Clarke moving towards her, in her hand a vial of her blood. "For Maya," and she handed it to her.

"Yes, Heda," Ontari said as she bowed her head, took one last humoured sneer at Lexa before she shrugged on her furs and ducked out of the room.

Lexa waited long enough that she was sure Ontari was out of earshot before she looked back at Clarke, "I'm pretty sure she'd kill me if you hadn't ordered her not to," Lexa had found herself feeling a little more at ease in Clarke's company since their kiss, though she didn't entirely know why.

"You would be surprised by the number of people I have to command Ontari not to kill," Clarke answered as she slowly began to walk around the room, and Lexa couldn't quite tell if Clarke was joking or not.

Lexa struggled to her feet and as she did she brushed her hair out of her eyes only to find that she must have cut herself in her last encounter with Ontari. A small amount of blood had smeared across the back of her hand and she winced when she reached up and touched a subtle ache she could feel on her forehead.

Clarke took notice of that for she tutted, eyes the wound and pulled her into the nearest chair before she sat on the table's edge in front of her.

"You are wounded," Clarke said it quietly, the tone in her voice so oddly gentle considering the circumstances.

"It's just a scratch," Lexa said, and she honestly wasn't even trying to be brave or prideful, she had had far worse cuts and bruises in the few weeks she had spent on the ground.

But Clarke didn't seem to think it just a scratch for she tutted, clicked her tongue and her hand reached out and gripped her by the jaw.

"Ontari has a habit of breaking my things," Clarke said it quietly as she ran a finger across Lexa's wound, the action possessive but oddly calming.

It took Lexa a moment or two to realise just what Clarke had said though. Perhaps it was simply because she had grown use to Clarke's oddities and way or saying things, of the games she played, and of the way she actually did seem to think most of the things she was surrounded by were hers.

Lexa looked up into Clarke's eyes, the woman ever present on the edge of the table, the situation not so dissimilar to the one Lexa had had with her three days earlier. She swallowed, perhaps to make a decision about what to say, whether to let it slide, or protest the phrasing. Perhaps to simply clear the lump in her throat she felt building.

"Is this what I am to you, now?" Lexa asked.

Truthfully, she didn't really know what to make of the entire situation she had settled into. Ever since they had kissed each other Clarke had kept her close. Closer than she had before. And yet Clarke hadn't seemed to act any different at all. Lexa had been the one to feel pressured to make something of their interactions, she had been the one to feel responsible for broaching the topic.

But she hadn't really had a chance to do so until that moment.

And so Lexa swallowed once more.

"Is this what I am to you, now?" Lexa repeated quietly. "A possession of yours?"

Clarke's head tilted to the side slowly as her gaze narrowed a fraction, though Lexa could tell it not something borne through annoyance or frustration, but curiosity, intrigue.

"Do you wish to be a possession of mine?" Clarke asked.

"Not really, no," again Lexa didn't know why she felt so capable of speaking her mind openly. Clarke had never given her a reason to think she could, just as she had never given her a reason to think she couldn't.

"Then you are not a possession of mine," Clarke said with a shrug as she brought her finger up to Lexa's cut and ran it against its length before bringing it into the space between them.

Lexa winced at the pressure she felt against her forehead, the wound more small nuisance than anything serious. But her eyes remained trained on Clarke's finger as she held it up for them both to see, the pad of her pale grey finger covered in Lexa's blood, the red of it seemingly more vibrant, more intense than it should have looked.

"Does it hurt?" Clarke asked, her voice gentle as she smiled at her.

"Not really, no," Lexa said, her heart beginning to beat a little more rapidly in her chest for some reason. "It's more annoying than anything else, to be honest," she was glad her voice didn't sound as unsteady as her heart felt in that moment as Clarke continued to study her quietly.

Clarke hummed something curious before her hand slipped down to her thigh before she withdrew a wicked knife, its edge sharp, deadly, the blade polished enough that it danced light between them both.

Lexa didn't know why she never felt entirely threatened by Clarke whenever she produced a blade. She probably should have been. But Clarke had never given her a reason to fear for her life, never given her a reason to think she was in any immediate danger. And truthfully, honestly, secretly, Lexa thought it just a little bit of a thrill to be so close to her, in such shared proximity given the circumstances that it made her think things she probably shouldn't of someone who was by all intents and purposes the ruler of a kingdom and what was left of humankind.

And then Clarke brought the knife to the finger she had wiped Lexa's wound with, sliced into her own skin and Lexa's eyes widened.

Black blood pooled out immediately, it seemed to swallow Lexa's own red blood where it had remained on Clarke's finger and then something happened. Lexa couldn't quite describe it, but as Clarke's blood began to mix with Lexa's she was sure she saw her blood shimmer, seemingly shift as if it was being vibrated by something unseen and then it slowly, ever so carefully began to be absorbed by the black that had engulfed it.

Clarke made a curious sound at what she saw before she let the edge of her knife cut into her palm, the wound she opened deep, large enough that more blood began to flow more freely and Lexa should by all accounts have felt grossed out, repulsed by whatever thing it was that Clarke did. But she didn't have time to consider any of that when Clarke quickly tucked the knife back into its sheath, gripped her by the jaw again with her unwounded hand and then smeared her blood across her forehead, across the wound that had continued to throb.

Lexa winced, she gasped and she tried to pull away as Clarke's black blood smeared across her forehead. She didn't know what to think as one of her eyes closed in an attempt to not get any of Clarke's blood in her eye as she felt it begin to drip down into her eyebrow, she tried not to do something more physical to escape lest she push a little too far in whatever freedoms Clarke had afforded her. But still, she didn't think she could be blamed for feeling even slightly ill-put at what Clarke had just done to her.

"What the fu—" it was probably a good thing that Clarke silenced her with a finger against her lips.

"Wait," Clarke whispered before she slowly let her finger slide down her lip. "Do you feel it?" Clarke asked gently.

Lexa blinked her still open eye in confusion as she tried to understand what it was Clarke wanted her to feel, but then it slowly dawned on her. That ache that had throbbed against her forehead, the slight stinging of the fresh cut had subsided, it had been replaced by the barest hints of a burning sensation before completely fading away to nothing. And then it clicked.

Lexa didn't even think to consider that Clarke's blood could be used for more than just stopping the effects of radiation on the human body. But if it could do that, then why couldn't it also help stitch back other wounds? It could do that for Clarke's own body, so why not another's?

Lexa brought her hand up to her forehead, to where she had felt that first initial cut, and as she ran her fingers across where the cut should have been she felt nothing.

"I—" Lexa didn't know what to say as she brought her hand away, as she looked down at it to find no trace of her own red blood, but rather the remnants of Clarke's black blood, the blood that healed, that flowed through veins and coloured her flesh a deathly grey.

Clarke made another quiet noise as she pulled a beaker of water from somewhere, wet a small cloth and then began to slow rub it across Lexa's face. She didn't know what to do in that moment as Clarke began to clean her forehead and her face of the blood she had smeared across her skin. She didn't know what to make of the way Clarke's motions were gentle, something she'd almost call kind. And she didn't know what to think as she felt Clarke slowly begin to run an errant thumb against her cheek.

Lexa found herself leaning into the pressure against her face, perhaps subconsciously, maybe because whatever games Clarke had been playing with her had slowly worn down whatever defences she had until she was more than willing to simply go with it, embrace it and let it take her where it desired.

But it ended eventually.

Lexa didn't realise she had closed her eyes until she blinked them open to find Clarke looking at her with such curiosity that it made her seem less like the deity that she seemingly was, and more like a woman, not that much older than Lexa, perhaps even younger than she was.

"What are we?" Lexa asked quietly and she realised her hand had closed around Clarke's wrist, she realised she had taken hold of the other woman in some way that was far too familiar to be mistaken for something different.

"What do you want us to be?" Clarke challenged, and though there was something deeper in her eyes, Lexa was sure Clarke was toying with her in some way, just as she always did.

"I—" again Lexa found herself unsure of what to say. She wasn't so much of a fool to not understand the political ramifications of embracing whatever it was that existed between herself and Clarke. Nor did she honestly think it was anything at all.

And yet Clarke had done a lot to make her think there was something.

But that something was something Lexa didn't know how to describe.

There was a physical attraction, of sorts. Clarke was attractive. Her eyes were piercing, so vibrant at times that Lexa could get lost in them. The blonde of her hair often times seemed to come alive in the candle light, make it seem as though it was molten gold and existed on some other kind of plane of existence. Or perhaps it was simply because it contrasted so terribly with her skin, with how pale grey she was, with how at times her skin seemed almost blue, and always a deathly shade that should have made her retract, retreat from whatever it was that connected them.

And then there were Clarke's actions, ones that were so clear, so intentional that Lexa couldn't think to read them any other way.

"What do you want us to be?" Clarke repeated as if she thought she needed another prompting. "Lovers?" Clarke whispered. "Friends?" her hand had somehow found its place above Lexa's heart, the pressure oddly comforting. "Partners? Rulers?" she leant a little closer, her gaze never wavering.

"I'm your prisoner," Lexa said, and she made sure her voice was as confident as it could be. And despite everything that had happened between them, despite how much room Clarke had given her in the days since her capture, the simply truth of the matter was that Lexa was a prisoner. She had been captured and forced into some kind of confinement, no matter the circumstances.

"Is being my prisoner such a bad thing?" Clarke asked and Lexa swallowed hard as Clarke's hand moved from atop her heart before slowly tracing her fingertips down the centre of her chest, to her stomach before stopping just above the waistband of her pants.

Lexa didn't entirely know what to think of whatever it was Clarke was doing. For some reason she didn't think Clarke would force her to do anything, and for another reason she wasn't entirely sure it would even be forced. Was whatever happening something she wanted? She got her own answer when Clarke's hand retreated from her body, and she felt the hints of disappointment fill her before alarm took hold as Clarke pulled out her knife, shoved it into the palm of her hand and press it forward, blade tip pointed directly at her own heart.

"What are you doing?" Lexa hissed as she tried to pull her hand away, Clarke's own hand clasped around hers as she forced her to hold the knife to the heart that beat black throughout her veins.

"Kill me," Clarke said quietly, and Lexa didn't know what to do in that very moment as Clarke's grip turned to iron around her hand, as she kept the knife locked in her grip and made it impossible for her to drop it or pull it away or aim it in any other direction.

"No," Lexa said and she grit her teeth and tried to twist her wrist out of Clarke's iron grip.

"Why?" Clarke asked.

"Why?" Lexa snapped. "This isn't a joke, Clarke."

"Do I appear to be joking?" Clarke's voice was as calm as ever, her tone contrasting so much compared to the danger her life was in.

Lexa ignored Clarke's words as she continued to try and wrestle her hand out of Clarke's control. But whatever she did, whatever she tried it didn't seem to work. Clarke's grip was as strong as anything, she didn't even seem to be tiring despite the exertion Lexa was feeling in her own muscles. Her body had begun to sweat, too, the thought in the back of her head screaming out to her the dangers of what could happen to her if she somehow accidentally stabbed Clarke in that moment, if she somehow killed the Commander.

Sure, she'd seen Clarke's body heal itself from cuts. Her blood had even just healed her own wound. But Lexa was almost certain that it she was stabbed in the heart that she'd die. How could she not?

"Are you my prisoner?" Clarke's voice cut into her thoughts and Lexa's eyes snapped back to her face to find her looking with more intensity than she had been before. "If you were my prisoner would I allow you to threaten to take my life?" Clarke continued, and Lexa gasped in shock as rather than simply holding her hand in place, she began to pull it towards her own chest, towards her own heart.

"Clarke," Lexa hissed, her voice raising in panic, her heart beating adrenaline through her veins as she tried something, anything to get out of the situation she was in. "Clarke," this time Lexa spat her name as anger began to take hold at the situation Clarke was putting her in.

Lexa could feel her muscles beginning to give out, she could feel her strength beginning to wane as she tried and tried and tried to stop Clarke from pulling her hand and knife closer to her chest.

Lexa didn't have many options left. She could feel her arm beginning to shake, beginning to weaken as each second ticked by. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know what to think as her mind raced back and forth as she tried to think of a way to get out of the situation.

"Clarke, please," Lexa hissed and she realised tears had begun to well in her eyes as Clarke's strength began to overpower her, as it began to overtake whatever strength Lexa still had in her arm. "Please, stop."

Clarke didn't answer as her eyes ironed and as whatever gentleness had once existed in them vanished and was replaced by something cruel, something sinister, something unkind and terrifying.

"You will kill me," Clarke snarled and Lexa's eyes widened, she felt the blood drain from her face and her heart come to a scream halt.

As if out of nowhere Clarke's grip doubled, tripled in strength and Lexa found herself shouting out in fear and anger and fury as Clarke's hand forced her's forward, as she forced her to plunge the knife so deep into her chest that it pierced the fabrics she wore, as it pierced her flesh, her muscle and then her heart.

Clarke let out a choked sound that didn't quite leave her throat as the knife embedded itself deep into her chest and Lexa all but shattered into pieces as she felt the exact moment the blade pierced Clarke's heart. She felt it hit the barest hints of resistance before slicing through anything in its path until it was lodged to the hilt in her chest.

Lexa's body shook, it quivered and fear and panic and anger fuelled her thoughts.

She didn't know what to do, what to say as she stared in horror as Clarke's grip slackened around her wrist, as her face turned even more pale than it always was.

Lexa couldn't take her eyes away from the knife that protruded from Clarke's chest. She watched in horror as it shifted once, twice, a third time as Clarke's heart beat its last beats before it stilled, before it settled, before it stopped moving all together.

And then there was silence.

Lexa blinked as if to clear the image that had settled in front of her. She blinked in the hopes that it was all a cruel game, something Clarke had somehow conjured up out of thin air in some twisted test of loyalty.

But it wasn't so.

Lexa stared at Clarke's lifeless body that sat slumped over where it sat perched up atop the table's edge. She stared at the blood that began to seep through the fibres of her shirt, and she stared at the black blood that coated her own hand, that had spilled from the wound and covered her in the evidence of a crime she didn't want to commit.

"What the fuck," Lexa came to her feet, her hands held to her head as panic began to take hold, as it began to settle into every single fibre of her body. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," she began to pace back and forth, she looked at the door expecting someone to burst in at any second, she looked back to Clarke's body to find nothing had changed, she looked throughout the room in an attempt to see another way out, a back way, a hidden door recessed somewhere in the shadows she could use to escape.

And Lexa's body was shaking, her mind screaming out at her. Tears that had welled in her eyes now began to fall, began to flow freely down her face. Lexa wiped the back of her hand across her face in an attempt to clear her vision, in an attempt to give her time to think clearly.

"What the fuck did you make me do," Lexa managed to choke out to the emptiness as she turned to Clarke, the woman's body still slumped over. "Why, Clarke? Why?" Lexa tried to keep her voice down lest she bring attention to herself.

Fuck

Lexa rushed over to Clarke's side, perhaps she wasn't dead, perhaps she was still alive, perhaps the wound wasn't as serious as she thought. Lexa held her fingers up to Clarke's neck in search of a pulse but she found none. She reached for her wrist, pulled up her sleeve and tried to feel for a pulse there only to find no pulse, no sign of life save for the raised scars that etched themselves across her skin, that she had caught glimpsed over the days that spoke of a life of conflict and violence.

Fuck

Lexa wanted to scream, wanted to pull her hair out as she let go of Clarke's arm only for her body to fall back and lay atop the table, her arms sprawled outwards, the knife ever present stuck in her chest. Clarke's head rolled to the side, her eyes stared out lifelessly and Lexa hated it, hated how if it wasn't for the lack of breath, for the knife stuck in her chest or the way her eyes weren't blinking, Clarke could be mistaken for alive.

Lexa turned to the door as if expecting someone to have realised something was wrong, but still, the door remained closed. But it wouldn't for long, it couldn't. Ontari would come back soon, she'd return after having given Maya the vial and Lexa knew she'd need something to defend herself with, no matter how fruitless it was, no matter how quickly Ontari would disarm her and have her killed. But Lexa wouldn't go down without a fight, without at least trying to explain.

She cursed Clarke and whatever stupid, stupid, stupid thing she had been playing at and she reached back, took hold of the knife in Clarke's chest and she pulled it free with a grimace.

She didn't want to look in Clarke's eyes, she couldn't bare to, not after everything that had happened, not after everything that she thought was happening. Not after—

Lexa didn't think she heard it correctly. How could she?

There was a ragged gasp of breath that came from behind her, that seemed so grotesque, so cruel, so unkind.

It came again, and this time it was more sure, more confident, more alive.

Lexa turned back to Clarke to find the woman gasping for breath, and as she rose from the table, as she sat upright, a bloodied hand was held to her chest.