Chapter Text
The soft beeping of the EKG is a comforting sound.
Any other repetitive beeping sound is usually enough to drive a body mad, but this one - with its steady rhythm and matching green line - steadies Clarke's breathing every time she hears it. Because this one doesn't warn of impending doom by equipment failure or that the battery pack on her neighbor's smoke detector needs to be replaced; this one measures the strong, steady beating of Lexa's heart beneath her ribs.
Leksa kom Trikru has been dead to the world - figuratively, in the most important sense, but literally in a number of others - for eight days now. The trauma caused by her gunshot wound and the following mad dash into the night, delaying her medical treatment for hours, meant that it was safest to put her in a medically induced coma. The bullet caught her just beneath her ribcage and managed to miss most of her vital organs, but the surgery to retrieve the bullet and repair the damaged tissue was still fraught with danger and took far longer than Clarke would have liked. By the end of it, the wound had taken such a toll on her body that Abby and her team deemed it necessary to shut it down. Only for a while, she'd promised. After blood transfusion after blood transfusion after blood transfusion, the Commander at last stabilized.
Not that she was the Commander of the Twelve Clans anymore. Or the Commander of anything, really. Word of the altercation that led to all this spread rapidly and, despite not having a body, Azgeda was quick to declare Leksa kom Trikru dead. That left Roan to ascend the throne, and he wasted no time in consolidating his power by turning the collected attention of the Coalition on his last remaining enemy. Though they have not managed to amass a force large enough to pose a threat, Arkadia's leadership knows that day may not be far off. And so the last week has been a mad scramble to shore up whatever support they could manage to find among the clans - which has been easier said than done, given that most of them believe Lexa is dead. Only two among them, Helena because of her proximity to Lexa and Indra because of her proximity to Arkadia, know the truth: that Lexa is now sleeping peacefully in the converted remains of the Ark, her coma having been brought to an end.
Which, taken together, explains why Clarke can't seem to keep her eyes open. She sits in a chair across the room from Lexa's bed, various apparatus which monitor her vital signs beeping and puffing away beside it. The steady rhythm of it all has the largely sleepless nights of the last week catching up with her, despite the anxious excitement brought on by the knowledge that Lexa could - should - wake up at any minute. Abby gave her the cocktail that would end the coma the night before, and as long as everything goes as planned she should open her eyes soon...but Clarke's exhaustion, her all-night vigil, and the stillness of the room has Clarke closing hers.
That is, until the beeping of the EKG stutters...spikes...and then flatlines.
Clarke's eyes go wide, her own heart all but stopped in her chest as she shoots up in her chair. Her eyes go straight to the screen of the EKG, realizing only a second afterwards the reason for the sudden change. Lexa's heart hasn't stopped. On the contrary - she's sitting up in bed, eyes open, and the EKG sensors in one hand.
It takes Clarke's brain a second to catch up, and in that time Lexa's eyes get a little wider. She begins to move frantically - she throws the sensors aside, paws at the tape holding the IV in the back of her hand, rips the needle out. Her eyes go wild and she begins to struggle to extricate herself from her bed linens in increasing amounts of panic.
“Lexa!” Clarke practically leaps to her side, adrenaline and euphoria and a surge of concern making her initially off kilter. It takes her a moment to get her bearings, in which time Lexa blessedly pauses - though she’s already attempted to stand up and is using the table next to her as a much needed support.
“Baby, it’s okay - you’re okay!” Clarke doesn’t touch her yet, stays about a foot away, but puts herself completely within Lexa’s line of sight. “I’m right here, you’re safe. Relax, please. You’re hurting yourself,” and she indicates the oozing dark blood that begins to stain the front of Lexa’s gown, indicating that she’s torn her stitches.
Lexa doesn't seem to recognize her, but her eyes drop to where Clarke is pointing. Only upon seeing the blooming blood does she seem to realize that she's hurt at all, and a pained cry escapes her as she falls back on the bed. She clutches at her side as she takes rapid breaths in through gritted teeth, panting against the pain.
The sound rips at Clarke’s heart and she’s at Lexa’s side in an instant. She knows the signs of panic, has seen and experienced it enough times to know - so still she doesn’t touch her, but stays well within arms reach. “Lexa, please relax. I’m here, it’s me.”
Lexa’s eyes are frantic, but eventually she meets Clarke’s. Despite the circumstances, and the way Clarke’s heart aches to see Lexa so scared and upset, she can’t help but feel an immense wave of relief at seeing her like this. Even wild and manic and in pain, she’s alive. Part of Clarke never really believed it would happen until right this second.
“Do you...remember anything?” As the question leaves her lips, a bit of the euphoria washes away. There was always a possibility that the blood loss and trauma injured more than they thought, and an induced coma can do any number of things to the brain. “Do you know who I am?”
Again, it seems to be only through pointing it out that Lexa's brain seems to catch up. Her eyes are so wide that Clarke can see the whites all around her iris - but upon asking the question, that wideness begins to shrink. Her eyes soften, the panic receding, and in a voice so dry and raspy it's almost unrecognizable, she stutters out, "Cl...Clarke?"
Relief again, even stronger this time. Too strong, perhaps - her legs were already wobbly with fatigue and shake a little even now.
"Clarke," Lexa says again, stronger this time, and just saying the name seems to calm her further. She doesn't relax, exactly, but when she looks around again it's with only mild panic. "Where am I?"
“The Ark. Well, what’s left of it.” Clarke plants a hand on Lexa’s bed and leans her bodyweight forward onto it, hoping that will be enough to keep herself upright. Her exhaustion hasn’t let up in the week she’s been here, and she’s learned that the only way to not pass out is to not, under any circumstances, fall over or otherwise sit down. “There’s a lot to catch you up on, but first... can I help you? That IV - needle - you just pulled out of your arm was giving you painkillers. If you let me put it back in, that will hurt less. And we’ll have to fix the stitches.”
"No. No, I have to...go..." Lexa's face twists in pain again and she puts a hand to her forehead. "The Ark. I don't remember..." She looks at Clarke again. "How long have I been out?"
Clarke adjusts her hip so that she’s half leaning on the bed and grasps Lexa’s hand in both of her own. “It’s been over a week since we left Polis. Titus was waiting for me, when we went to my room. He...” Clarke can’t help but look down at Lexa’s side, at the still small but growing amount of blood seeping out of it, and swallows hard. “You were shot. With the gun I had hidden under my bed. We had to get you out, or you would’ve died. You almost died anyway.”
"A week," Lexa repeats, and the work of putting that emphasis on the word must send another ripple of pain through her. "Clarke, he'll have - Roan, Azgeda." She starts fighting her blankets again. "I have to go."
“No.”
Clarke grabs both of Lexa’s arms, tight. Normally it would be a pipe dream for Clarke to keep Lexa from moving, but she’s weak from the trauma and bedrest and Clarke is able to keep her down - if using the majority of her strength to do so. “Lexa, you can’t go back. Not like this.” Clarke takes a deep breath and waits until Lexa meets her eyes again. “Roan is Commander now. He declared you dead when they couldn’t find you, and he’s taken over Polis.”
Lexa's eyes go wide at that. She looks at Clarke, shock fading to misery fading to...white, hot rage. "That bastard! Take my city from me, my throne, my Coalition!"
“Lexa. Lexa!” Clarke holds Lexa’s face between both her hands, forcing her to look into her eyes. “Please, we’ll talk about all of this. I promise, just please let us help you. Let me help you. I...almost lost you. The worst is past, but you still need to heal. Please, my love.”
The extended eye contact seems to help, as the rage in her eyes gradually calms. Lexa sighs through her nose and closes her eyes, tipping her head into Clarke's hands. In a small voice she asks, "It was that bad?"
Images from that night flash behind Clarke’s eyes, as they have every few hours and every night since they returned to Arkadia. “Yes,” she whispers, and her eyes dip down, focused elsewhere on the pictures in her mind.
Lexa falling to the ground. Lexa practically lifeless in the back of the truck, Clarke’s blood flowing through her veins slower than she was losing her own. Lexa’s unconscious face, serene as ever, looking for the world like a breathing corpse in an induced coma.
“You were dying,” Clarke hears herself say. “You almost did, so many times. If you never woke up after the coma, if my mom hadn’t already had the surgical room set up, if we hadn’t gotten you here in time. If you’d reacted badly to my...” she blinks a few times, suddenly remembering the purpose of all this. Lexa is awake, with no painkillers, and she’s bleeding. Again. “Let me help you. Please.”
A moment passes before Lexa opens her eyes, and when she does she looks not at Clarke but at the IV bag hanging above her head. "I don't know that I trust it," she says lowly. Then she looks up at Clarke. "But I trust you."
The admission makes Clarke's chest ache. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. Resetting your stitches will take time, and it will be painful. This will help."
She goes about fixing the chaos that is the IV, hanging it back where it belongs and testing it for any air pockets or abnormalities before fetching a new syringe. Clarke never strays far from Lexa's side and keeps everything she's doing within her eyesight, aware that even if Lexa can't understand what she's doing, she'll still want to know what's happening.
"We can stop giving you this in a few days, if you want. But you need it for now, the pain is too intense." Clarke holds the new syringe between her fingers and holds a hand out for Lexa's arm. "May I?"
It's strange to see the wariness in Lexa's eyes - real wariness, not uncertainty about how Clarke is going to react to something she's said or some such thing, but actual fear. But her work in the last few minutes has helped to calm Lexa, it seems, and after a moment's hesitation she puts her hand in Clarke's.
Clarke gives her hand what she hopes is a reassuring squeeze. "I'll tell you what I'm doing, alright? I'm going to insert this needle into your wrist. You'll barely feel it, and once it's in you won't feel it at all. Then the painkillers - what's in this bag here - will be able to get into your bloodstream. All it does is help your muscles relax and dull the pain."
Clarke has had nervous patients before. As she explains, she pushes down gently on the upper part of Lexa's wrist for a vein. "You'll feel much better, I promise. And I won't leave your side," she pushes the needle in, quick and gentle, "until you wake up again."
Lexa winces, but doesn't make a sound. Compared to the hole in her side, a little needle is probably nothing. "You'll be here?" She repeats, and her voice is much calmer than it was. Clarke turns the valve on the IV and it begins to drip, just as Lexa lifts her other hand to cover Clarke's. "That's a promise?"
"I promise." Clarke quickly tapes the IV in place on Lexa's arm. It's an odd angle, but Clarke isn't deterred and leans forward, reaching out one hand to cup Lexa's jaw. She runs a thumb over her cheekbone and kisses her lips softly. "I'll be right here. Rest now, my love."
Lexa nods, and pushes her forehead against Clarke's. Whether it's Clarke's reassurance or the quick work of the drugs is hard to tell, but shortly after both the hands on Clarke's go limp again. Lexa's weight sinks back against the mattress, a small sigh through parted lips a welcome reminder that this is sleep, not death, that takes her.
Clarke lingers there for only a moment before the jamb on the door clicks open, and its glass pane slides back. Eric Jackson's gelled hair precedes the rest of his head as he pokes it into the room, and glances between Lexa and Clarke.
"Is she asleep again?" he asks.
Clarke raises an eyebrow. "Have you been there this whole time?"
"Uh - yeah. Well, sorta." The rest of him comes into the room then, a clipboard tucked under the arm of his lab coat. "We got an alert from her EKG, but. When I got here, it seemed like you had it handled."
With a snort, Clarke turns her attention back to Lexa even as she says over her shoulder, "You could have sedated her, you know. That would've made this a bit easier."
"See, that's the fun thing - we did." Eric comes to the other side of the bed and peers - without touching - at the splotch of blood that seems to have stopped expanding for the moment. "Not all patients react well to the drug though. We'll try something else before we fix these."
"I should've guessed she wouldn't react well to it." Clarke can't help a small, affectionate smile as she rearranges Lexa's blankets. "She can be a bit stubborn. I can fix her stitches myself, if you wouldn't mind just--"
"You absolutely cannot." Clarke hears Abby's voice before she sees her, but a second later the Chancellor and doctor is in the room.
"Oh, uh - and your mom is on the way," Eric tells Clarke with a grin. She promptly levels him with a 'thanks a bunch' look while Abby continues.
"You know as well as I do that treating her is a conflict of interest for you," she says, and stops beside Eric. Rather than looking at the wound, however, she levels a look across the bed at Clarke. "We'll take care of it."
Clarke has been known to go against her mother's orders when it comes to political decisions, and her instinct is to fight her now. But Abby is a trained doctor, far more talented than Clarke and the superior healer between the two of them. In this realm, Clarke can only defer to her authority. "You're right," she says, tasting only a little bitterness on her tongue at the word, "you should do it. But I told her I would be here when she wakes up."
"And you will be," Abby assures her. "I'll let you know as soon as we're done. You'll be back before she's any the wiser."
"As soon as you're done," Clarke repeats, and Abby nods.
Clarke gives one last look at Lexa and raises her free hand to her lips. She knows Lexa is just sleeping, but this past week has been full of goodbyes, all of which could've been the last. Holding Lexa's hand in her own, feeling her pulse in her wrist, is more reassuring than any words her friends and family could offer her. But she lets Lexa's hand go and turns to leave, and at the last moment pulls Abby into a quick hug. "Thank you, Mom. For saving her."
Abby is clearly shocked by the embrace, and it takes her a moment to respond. But she hugs Clarke back, holding her close for a beat before saying, "I'm just glad we could," she says ultimately, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Now go get some fresh air. We'll find you when we're done."
It takes Clarke several minutes to wind her way through the many halls that make up the remains of Alpha Station, now the backbone of the Sky People's central settlement. It's changed a great deal since last she saw it: eight months of work has brought some of the hydroponics systems back from Farm Station's remains to be set up in one quadrant of the remains of Alpha, while all that remains of their medical supplies and those salvaged from the Mountain make up the hospital that occupies another. Arkadia's government is housed in a third: the council chambers, records, and intelligence gathering spanning a few, massive rooms with what computer systems they've managed to salvage. Nearly all of the personal residences are here as well, on the converted upper levels, and every one of them now has running water and regular access to electricity. They are far from self-sufficient here the way they were in space, but they are on their way.
When Clarke steps out into the open air, it feels like the first time in days. It's late afternoon, meaning the sounds of various types of work still echo from all corners of the settlement - the spark of welder's torches from the repairs being made to the fence, the clang of wrenches and rolling machinery near the newly installed hydropumps, the roar of a truck engine hauling back neatly sectioned wood and scavenged metal to feed the construction of new, more comfortable residences. But there is noise coming from the bar as well - with its rough, outdoor tables and open air bartop tucked in the shadow of the looming Alpha Station - as some of the early shift workers blow off some steam. She sees Bellamy there with a few other members of the security forces, now out of uniform after a long watch, laughing about one thing or another. Everything seems...perfectly normal. As though all of the work being done now is just run-of-the-mill, rather than the preparations for a possible siege.
She turns her back on all of this, though, and instead heads to the ramshackle structure that serves as the city's garage and engineering lab. The clang of tools and spark of torches are here as well, but Clarke bypasses most of it to reach the back corner, where Raven has claimed a space for herself. Sure enough, as she weaves between work stations, she catches sight of a familiar red jacket and the flashing light of a soldering iron.
Clarke knows better than to surprise the engineer, particularly when she's wielding something dangerous. So she waits off to one side, easily within Raven's view whenever she happens to look up.
Raven isn't a fan of weapons, preferring to work on vehicles and technology that will enable a better life for everyone in the city, but the council has her working on retrofitting her buggies with some kind of rocket. It looks far more like a giant, malformed pipe to Clarke, but she's never had an eye for these things. Raven grumbles as she works and though Clarke can't hear her very well, she distinctly sees her mouth the words "council" and "orders" and, perhaps most telling and least surprising, "assholes."
She does eventually spot Clarke, at which point she continues to melt some wire onto another wire for several more seconds before sitting back. "She emerges!" she says, pulling her goggles off her eyes and setting them atop her forehead. She arches an eyebrow at Clarke, a smirk hanging from one corner of her lips. "Did you come outside to treat your looming vitamin D deficiency, or did you just miss me?"
Clarke rolls her eyes, but grins at her best friend. It would be annoying how easily Raven makes fun of her, if Clarke didn't love her so much. "I came for that iconic Raven, can't-find-anywhere-else smell of melting metal. That, and I can't seem to find the communicator anywhere. I wonder who could have taken it...?"
"I don't have it stashed in my underwear drawer, if that's what you're asking," Raven answers. She puts down her tool and slaps off one glove, using that hand to reach for a shelf above her. The communicator in question, the counterpart to the one Clarke had with her in Polis, sits there, and she takes it down and tosses it to Clarke. "There's been no news, though. Helena's fleet is keeping up their scouting, but Nia's warriors haven't moved from their camp yet. They probably know she's watching them."
"Well I don't imagine you use it much for news," Clarke suggests with a wink.
"No, but don't worry - I deleted all the sexts." Raven says that with such a straight face that Clarke briefly wonders if that was actually a joke. "What d'you need it for, anyway?"
"Lexa's awake." The words come out in a rush of relief. Clarke still almost can't believe it. She leans against what appears to be only half of a truck next to her. "Er, she was awake. She was a little disoriented and ripped her stitches, but. She's out of the woods. Helena should know." Clarke holds the communicator back out to Raven. "You should tell her. You keep better track of the thing anyway, and I'd rather not run into a sext you've forgotten to delete."
"You should know by now to have more faith in me than that," Raven smirks. She looks down at the communicator though and the expression fades. "Are you sure you don't want to be the one to tell her? You're the one who's done all the work, and she's closer to you."
Clarke inclines her head, watches Raven's face shift from her usual confidence to one of uncertainty. It's unlike her friend to doubt herself, but the reason is a good one. As odd as Raven and Helena's new...whatever it is, can sometimes seem, Clarke considers them both family. They deserve happiness, and all the better if they find it with each other.
"We're close, but so are the two of you." Clarke puts the communicator on top of the pipe Raven was previously working on, directly in her way but not in any immediate danger. "If she wants to talk to me, she can always ask. But I think she was far more ecstatic to find you on the other end of that thing than me. I'd find the cuteness gross if it wasn't so, you know. Cute."
"It isn't cute," Raven answers, now eying the communicator in front of her nose. She eventually does shake the other work glove off her hand and set it down in favor of the communicator, though. "It's torrid, and...I dunno, exciting. But sure, I'll send the message along." Cradling the device between both hands, she looks up at Clarke. "I'm glad she's awake."
"Torrid, huh? A wordsmith and an engineer, what can't you do?" Clarke's grin doesn't disappear, but turns more into a soft smile. "I'm glad she is too. I know what my mother said, but I couldn't stop thinking that something would happen. While she was asleep, or that she wouldn't wake up...but she's fine, and herself. Her usual, difficult self."
Raven snorts, and turns her attention to the communicator's screen. "Yeah. Good luck with that."
Clarke leaves her to it and heads back out into the sunshine. She makes her way back the way she came, past Alpha and the bar again. It's tempting to stop and have a drink with Bellamy, but she wants to let Indra know that Lexa is awake as soon as possible and the Trikru chieftain can usually be found in their makeshift, combination training yard and shooting range.
Sure enough, as Clarke makes the annoyingly long trek - of course the garage would have to be on the exact opposite end of the city to the training yard - she can see forms sparring in the distance. When she gets closer she identifies Indra and several other Trikru warriors lounging around the outskirts of the fenced yard as Octavia and Lincoln spar in the center.
"You've gotten lazy, Linkon!" Indra calls in Trigedasleng as Octavia scores a point by thwapping him in the upper arm. The Trikru warriors chuckle, but there's an edge that makes it not altogether kind. "That's three times you've let this Sky Girl hit you, move your feet."
The chieftain is leaning against a stack of heavy steel crates, each one latched closed with a pair of buckles half the size of Clarke's face, that she has surmised is the Skaikru equivalent to Polis' equipment pile. She has her arms folded over her chest, and her accompanying warriors are arrayed on top of or otherwise nearby the crates; all turn to look at Clarke as she approaches.
"Speaking of Sky Girls," Indra mutters, loud enough for Clarke to hear. She doesn't move, just turns her head to look at Clarke. "Need something?"
“Yes.” Clarke nods in the warriors’ direction, a silent acknowledgement. “Can I have a word? It’ll just be a minute.”
The warriors, different genders and skin tones and degrees of roughness, all look at each other and then at Indra. She eyes Clarke for a long moment - more to establish some kind of dominance, Clarke suspects, than out of any real suspicion - and then shrugs away from the crates.
"If he screws up again, remind him what it is to fight a real warrior," she tells the warriors lowly, then joins Clarke. "Lead on, then."
Clarke leads them only about fifty feet or so away - far enough not to be overheard, but not so far as to raise alarm. She waits until she's facing away from the other warriors before raising an eyebrow at Indra. "You don't think Octavia is a real warrior? I wouldn't say that to her face."
"She's learning," Indra answers. "She fights like a caged animal, but that doesn't make up for training and skill. What do you want?"
"Lexa is awake," Clarke says, rather more bluntly than she had with Raven. "She's sedated now, but there's little doubt of her recovery."
Indra's surprise - and sudden interest - is clear on her face. "She's awake?" she repeats, her eyes wide. It takes her all of a second to then attempt to step around Clarke. "I would speak with her."
Clarke is just as quick to grab her arm. Indra stops moving, but looks with a dangerous glint in her eye from Clarke's hand on her arm and back up to her eyes. "You can't, not yet." Despite the intensity of Indra's glare, Clarke doesn't loosen her grip. "She's asleep, and when she wakes up she'll be disoriented and...not her usual self, not right away. She needs time to heal."
"There is a usurper in Polis," Indra says through her teeth. "How much time do you want to give him?"
"No more than I have to. But I won't risk Lexa's life, not after we've only just saved it." Clarke releases Indra, sure that the chieftain will rip out of her grasp given a few more seconds either way. "Her wound needs time to heal. She can't fight Roan like this, she wouldn't stand a chance."
Though clearly still unhappy with the idea, Indra doesn't push back. Even she knows, firsthand, the necessity of letting a wound heal. "Fine," she grumbles, "but I want to be told the second that I can see her. The second."
"Of course. I'll bring you to her myself."
"Good." Indra steps forward and stoops just a little, putting her face directly in Clarke's. "You're lucky she woke up, Sky Girl. Means you can still make good on your promise." There is a threat in her eyes as she adds, "Maybe do a better job this time."
Though Clarke's face, she thinks, doesn't betray any of her thoughts, her heart hammers in her chest. As much as she doesn't need Indra to remind her of the part she had to play in Lexa's near-death, she's still right. Clarke swore to keep Lexa safe, even if it meant losing her own life. She tried to make good on that promise, even that night - there have been many times since that she wished she had, before she knew Lexa would survive.
Clarke says none of this out loud, only meets Indra's eyes, a slight clench to her jaw as she says, "I will do whatever I have to, to keep her safe. As long as I'm alive. Which is why I will tell you as soon as she is ready to see visitors."
The implication in that promise - that she would do anything, including forcing Indra, who is both stronger and more capable of violence, to stay away in whatever way possible - hits home. Rather than be upset by this however, Indra looks mildly impressed.
"Good," she says - and with little more than that, turns on her heel and returns to her warriors.
As soon as Indra is out of earshot, Clarke lets out a slow breath. As much as she likes her and as solid an ally as Trikru has become, dealing with Indra has never been a particularly easy task. She's glad she didn't have to do much more than reason her out of going straight to Lexa's side - if Indra had chosen to fight her, Clarke isn't sure she could stop her.
Clarke makes her way back to the fence, careful to keep a distance between herself and Indra. Lincoln appears to have picked up the pace, but Octavia is still matching him blow for blow. Though she would never admit it, Clarke has been increasingly impressed with Octavia over the past week. She's been a surprisingly calm and reassuring presence, seeming to understand when Clarke needed quiet and space in a way that Bellamy and Raven couldn't quite grasp.
Not that she's particularly calm now. Clarke is certain she's made improvements in her technique since that nerve-racking duel with Lexa, but to her eyes Octavia still fights like a woman possessed. Lincoln is clearly accustomed to this, however, and makes use of a number of techniques to keep her at bay - and, in the end, scores the next point. That point proves to be the last, as after that Indra sweeps her arm towards the field, summoning her warriors to their feet. As they move onto the field Octavia and Lincoln, evidently uninterested in sharing the space with the rest of them, head in the opposite direction. Spotting Clarke, they both make their way towards her.
"That looked...tiring," Clarke shouts. As they draw nearer she can see the sweat shining on both of their smiling faces. "Who won?" she asks, at a more controlled volume now that they're closer.
"I did," they say in unison. Rather than look annoyed about the other one making the same claim at the exact same time, they both look at each other and grin.
"Either way, I'm over Indra's verbal abuse," Octavia says. "We were gonna meet Bellamy at the bar - wanna come?"
"You took the words right out of my mouth. I have some news for the three of you anyway."
Neither of them press her about her news until they reach the bar, for which Clarke is grateful. She'd rather not have to say this more than - what has it been, three times so far today? As much as she'd like to sing from the rooftops that Lexa is finally, blessedly alright, she's also exhausted. The events of the day and her near-constant lack of sleep combine to make even sharing good news feel burdensome. That, and the fact that the council has encouraged Clarke not to share Lexa’s identity with any more Arkadians than necessary. Crowing about her health from the top of Alpha would probably be on the list of things they’d tell her not to do.
The bar isn't packed when they get there, as the sun is only just setting and most of the inhabitants of Arkadia won't be retiring from their work until it's too dark to continue. And yet, still it's rowdy. Bellamy and the rest of the security force - warriors, soldiers, guards, there's so many names Clarke can't keep track - are loud enough to make it feel as full as it will truly be in an hour or two.
"Princess!" Bellamy calls when he sees her, raising his cup with a big ol' grin on his lips. "There you are. I was starting to think they'd locked you up in there!"
"No cage can keep me, Bellamy, you must know that by now." Despite the ache of fatigue in every muscle of her body, Clarke can't help but smile back. The three of them take a seat at Bellamy's table, two of his fellow security guards immediately vacating the seats around him. It seems ever since Clarke returned, people have decided to give her a wide berth. It doesn't bother her much - or at least, she hasn't had time to consider it long enough to let it bother her.
"What's on tap tonight?" Clarke grabs the cup closest to her without someone's fist around it and sniffs - and then recoils. "Fuck, that is foul. What is that?"
"Alcohol," Bellamy laughs. "You've let that fancy tower make you soft, Griffin. We don't have any fancy wines and whiskeys here."
"I heard Monty's planning to try his hand at making gin with the next batch though," Lincoln says from next to Clarke. "Guess he got a recipe from one of the Yujleda traders that came by on their way to First Thaw."
"Gin, huh? Have we ever had gin?" Clarke deliberately ignores Bellamy and pours herself a glass of whatever version of moonshine Monty's made this time. It smells extremely vaguely of blackberries. She sniffs it again and decides, as she always does, that quicker is better - and downs it. "Every time I drink that," she chokes out, a little breathless from the burn of it down her throat, "it reminds me how important peace is. We need some variety in here."
"Here here," Bellamy laughs, and tosses back the rest of his. Tapping his cup on the table he stands up.
"Big brother," Octavia says, picking up Clarke's empty cup and waggling it at Bellamy. "How about enough for the table?"
"I was already on it," he says, in the sort of put upon tone that only a parent - or an older sibling, perhaps - could manage. Turning away from the table, he wanders over to the bar and grabs an empty liter bottle. He sticks it under a spigot that spews forth clear liquid and returns with a stack of shot glasses, one for everyone.
"So," he says, passing them out and promptly splashing moonshine into each. Once all are filled, he sets the bottle down with a thump. "What are we drinking to?"
“Well, I can suggest something,” Clarke suggests casually. She grabs one of the shots and raises it - a familiar and, surprisingly, comforting gesture. “Lexa woke up. She’s officially not going to die. Which seems like a low bar now that I've said it out loud, but feels very much like a win.”
Bellamy's, Octavia's, and Lincoln's faces all register surprise and joy at the same time, a small cheer going up from them in response. Bellamy - already a few drinks in - stands up and lifts his glass.
"To Lexa...Come...tree--"
"Leksa kom Trikru," Lincoln corrects with a grin.
"Yeah, that," Bellamy grins in return, pointing at him. "To Lexa, being too stubborn to die."
"Here here," Octavia says, and they all shoot their shot.
Clarke recovers faster from this one, already used to the bite of alcohol. “I know I had almost nothing to do with it. Mom treated her. Lexa, as Bellamy pointed out, is too stubborn to die.” She shrugs, a little embarrassed already at what she’s about to say. “But I’ve needed you all, more than usual, since the...since we got back. I couldn’t ask for better friends. For a better family. Let’s do one more. To all of you, for helping me survive this.”
In this time, Lincoln has put one hand on Clarke's shoulder, and Bellamy has covered her free hand with his. That leaves Octavia to lean across Bellamy to pick up the bottle and start pouring again.
"I mean, if you're drinking to me," she says as she does. Once done she picks up her glass and finishes, "I'll drink all night."
“You know, I knew I could count on you,” Clarke teases. In reality she’s supremely grateful Octavia has, once again, gotten her out of whatever mess her feelings have gotten her into. “What do you say, boys? One more, to commemorate the day before I become a very confused and angry Commander’s keeper?”
"To Leksa kom Trikru, the first Commander of the Twelve Clans," Octavia says, "And her very tried, very tired keeper."
"Leksa kom Trikru, and Klark kom Skaikru," Lincoln agrees.
"...Sure." Bellamy shrugs, "That." And he takes his shot.
“Don’t worry, Bell,” Clarke settles back into her seat, for the moment focused entirely on this experience. Her friends, her family. The people she can always rely on, no matter what, being carefree and happy together. “I’m still just Clarke.”
"That's my favorite type of Clarke," he says, and his smile is fond and brilliant. It's the kind of expression - and sentiment - that he never would have expressed a year ago.
The others manage to find more reasons to drink, but the longer they talk the antsier Clarke grows. She sits out of the next round - then two - of shots, and as the sun sets and the bar fills, she starts to wonder if her mother has forgotten her promise. It's just as she's decided to get up and go find out for herself that one of the medical staff, now off duty, taps her on the shoulder. Lexa's stitches have been fixed, and the anesthetic is set to wear off soon.
Clarke wastes no time, in fact she runs back to Alpha and Lexa’s room. She says a quick goodbye to her friends, who both understand and only half register what she says, before practically sprinting off into the darkness.
By the time she quite literally stumbles into Lexa’s room, it’s only five or so minutes later. Lexa is still asleep, looking more at peace than Clarke has seen her in...well, it would be ever, except that she’s incredibly familiar with unconscious Lexa at this point.
She pauses in the doorway, holding her breath despite the burn in her lungs from having half run all the way here. When it becomes clear that Lexa is not imminently in the process of waking up, she lets it out.
Processing that, her excitement aside, it might be some time before Lexa wakes up again, she finds the book and blanket she's been using the last few days and draws her chair up beside Lexa's bed. She sets the back up so it faces the foot of the bed and positions herself so that she's well within Lexa's eyesight. Then she props her feet up on the edge of the bed frame, props her book open on her thigh, and settles in to wait.
The next thing she knows, there's a hand tugging at hers and pulling her out of what must have been a light - and brief, all too brief - snooze. She blinks blearily and lifts her head to see Lexa smiling at her.
“Lexa.” It comes out far more desperate than Clarke intends, but she doesn’t adjust her tone. She’s beyond embarrassment at this point - but not beyond leaping to her feet and immediately checking Lexa’s vitals and expression for any abnormalities. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”
"Fine," Lexa answers, shaking her head lazily. It's only then that Clarke notices her smile is a little...goofy. "Good. Good is better than fine, and I feel better than fine. So, good."
A small laugh bubbles up in Clarke’s throat, but she does her best to force it down. “I see Eric might’ve gone a little overboard on the sedatives...can’t quite blame him. Do you feel any pain? On a scale of one to ten, do you...”
"Love you?" Lexa asks giddily. She doesn't seem to notice that everything she says is in Trigedasleng. Or that she's even saying everything she's saying, for that matter; the words just keep spilling forth as Lexa giggles. "On a scale of one to ten...more. More than the moon loves the sea and the grass loves the sun. More than the stars light the night and flowers color the plains. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day..."
“I’m going to take that as a one on the pain scale,” Clarke chuckles. She double checks the EKG and IV, and then moves on to examining Lexa’s side. “Looks like you’re all patched up. But be careful moving, alright? You can’t get up from this bed, not yet. Not for a few more days.”
"Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling bugs...bugs." Lexa begins giggling again. "Buds. Buds of May. Mays and days, days, days - how many days?"
Clarke turns away from the EKG to find Lexa's eyes surprisingly focused on her - and somewhat narrowed in the process, as though she did actually catch on the possibility of being confined to this bed. Before Clarke can answer, however, there's a knock on the wall by the door.
"Uh...hey," Raven says. The look on her face says she was present for all of that, and despite not knowing Trigedasleng she can tell that something's up. "The others said I would find you here. Is she okay?"
“She’s...” Clarke looks from Lexa to Raven, back to Lexa and back to Raven again before lamely coming up with, “out of it. Eric sedated her before she first woke up, but she was the opposite of sedated. It must not work as well on her, or her adrenaline was too high...either way, he clearly overcompensated.” Clarke takes a seat at Lexa’s side. “Anyway, she’s fine. As fine as she can be. And I am in fact here. What’s up?”
"Helena responded," Raven says, and tosses the communicator to Clarke. For someone so protective of her fragile devices, she's awfully certain that Clarke is regularly ready to catch them.
"Helena!" Lexa says, and the Floukru chieftain's name is familiar enough in both languages that Raven turns her arched eyebrows on her. "Is she here? I miss her." She reaches a clumsy hand out to paw at Clarke. "I am so glad that you are friends with her, Klark, she is so wonderful..."
"What is she saying?" Raven asks.
“Oh,” Clarke twines her fingers with Lexa’s, half to feel her skin against her own and half to keep Lexa from swatting randomly at her arm and face, “just that she misses Helena. And that she hopes Helena took it easy on you the first time.”
Raven sputters. "She knows about that??"
Lexa seems only capable of speaking Trigedasleng in her current state, but it's clear she understands English; she turns her narrowed eyes on Raven. "What?"
Clarke laughs, a shit-eating grin stretched across her face. “She does now. Don’t worry, there’s a fifty percent chance she’ll forget all of this by tomorrow.”
"I will not forget this," Lexa answers, mustering a surprising amount of coherence and indignation. "What is she talking about?"
Helena's message finally loads and scrolls across the screen:
Praise the ancestors, thank the Flame, and anyone else who might be listening. Tell her I send my love, and that I say she needs to take it easy. On herself and all of you. Don't forget to give her the puzzle box I sent.
Clarke hands the communicator over to Lexa, assuming she’ll be able to read English as well as she’s apparently able to understand it. “I’ll explain it later, babe.” She turns her attention back to Raven with a raised eyebrow. “Puzzle box?”
Lexa holds the communicator between both hands - squints at it, blinks a few times, holds it further from her, and then closer - and mutters, "This...paper is moving..."
"Yeah, I had the same question." Raven puts her hands in the pockets of her jacket and shrugs. "She sent something along with the shipment from Floukru two days ago, including something with your name on it. I didn't open it; just sent it up to your room."
“I guess it must be a puzzle box, whatever that is.” Clarke watches Lexa as she struggles with the communicator, eyes squinted in thought as if it’s a complicated math problem instead of four rotating sentences. “Hopefully we’ll be able to move to my room soon. She’s going to go crazy in here, and no one is going to enjoy that.”
Clarke wrests the communicator from Lexa’s grip with not too much effort and holds it back out to Raven, not quite as confident in her throwing abilities as the engineer is in her own. “Thanks for bringing it. I’m surprised you didn’t come to the bar earlier, I expected to see you.”
"Yeah, well. That's what happens when you've got an actual job." Raven eyes Lexa as she steps forward to take the communicator, as though she's worried the injured woman might lash out. There's no reason for concern, however, as Lexa is now busy just smiling blearily up at Clarke. "Buuuuut that was what I was on my way to do when they said you came here. Wanna come? Bellamy is sloshed, but Monty is supposed to come around with Miller soon."
“Yeah, I’d love to, but...”
Clarke looks back at Lexa and meets her eyes - bright, sparkling forest green. Shining with a smile that may be drug induced, but Clarke has been dreaming about seeing again every night for over a week. She almost can’t imagine standing up from this bed, let alone leaving the room. Not when she can spend every second that Lexa is awake reminding herself that she’s alive. “Maybe tomorrow? I don’t want to leave her, it’s just been...”
"...a lot. Yeah, I get it." Raven looks at Lexa. "Don't get too kooky on her, okay?"
Lexa takes absolutely no mind of Raven, but as though she's prompted by the request she gives Clarke's hand a squeeze. "You're beautiful."
"I'll take that as a yes," the engineer says with a shrug. She pockets the communicator. "Get some sleep, Clarke. Okay? Don't stay up all night with Ms. Over the Rainbow here."
“I’ll do my best,” Clarke says, more out of habit than actual sincerity. It’s been a long time since she did more than nap. “I’m sure she’ll pass out again soon.”
Clarke doesn’t let go of Lexa’s hand and doesn’t get up, but she moves for a moment as though she will. As though she’d prefer to be near both of them simultaneously. “Thank you, for finding me. And for being here for me all week, despite having an actual job. I can’t imagine I’m the easiest best friend to have, but I’m glad you put up with me.”
"It is a chore," Raven sighs, so put upon that it must be artificial, "but we've gotta stick together out here. Or so they tell me. Anyway. Let me know if you need anything. I can bring booze, food, specialized restraints so that even that one can't fight her way out of bed, whatever."
Clarke can feel her eyebrows rise decidedly above her hairline. "Specialized restraints, huh? I'll have to get back to you on that..." and despite herself, several uses for such things fly through her mind at once. "But in the meantime, actually food would be great. I...may have forgotten to eat. Most of the day. Just don't let Mom catch you - you know how she is about food in here."
"I don't, actually - but I can imagine." Raven nods at Lexa. "I assume she's good?"
"Good," Lexa parrots in Trigedasleng. "Good, good, good good good good..."
"She's good, she says," Clarke chuckles. "Very good, sounds like. We're both alright. Thanks, Rae."
"Sure thing." Raven turns to the door with a wave, and only once she's out of sight calls back, "Make sure neither of you die!"
Clarke feels the impulse to roll her eyes, but then purses her lips - a silent acknowledgement of how that might not be such a far-fetched request.
"Hey," Clarke says gently, and waits until Lexa's eyes are once again focused on her own. "Tell me how you feel. Does anything hurt?"
"No - nothing hurts." Lexa looks down at her side, undoubtedly at the wound that's hidden by the hospital gown she wears. "Something itches. And feels..." She runs her fingers over the spot. "Like ridges. Or scales! Like a snake’s."
“They’re stitches.” Clarke adjusts her position to better face Lexa. One leg is curled up on the bed next to her and one hangs down by the side, but she’s much better able to reach and touch her this way. “They’re like pieces of thread. Well, literally pieces of thread, keeping your skin together. They only have to be there long enough for your skin to heal itself, to...knit itself back together. Then we’ll take them out.”
Lexa bunches her gown up in one hand, as if intending to pull it up for better access to the bandage around her torso. “Please,” Clarke says, a hand instantly moving to cover Lexa’s and still its movement, “don’t touch it. You’ll only hurt yourself.”
"I have string in me," Lexa answers, a little drunkenly. Clarke can't believe for a minute this is the first time Lexa's had stitches. "That seems like it'll hurt me."
"It won't hurt you, I promise. Nothing will hurt you, not here." Clarke rubs at her eyes, a useless effort at wiping away her exhaustion. "You trust me, don't you?"
"I do." Nothing Lexa has said since waking up has been more earnest, and as she turns her eyes on Clarke, they haven't been more clear. "Always."
Clarke’s expression instantly softens and she holds both Lexa’s hands, gently, in hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe now.” Her voice breaks a little on that last word, as if she’s surprised to hear herself say it. “As long as you’re in Arkadia, you’re safe.”
Lexa levels those same, clear eyes on her, and nods. She then tightens her grip on Clarke's hands, and gives a few tugs. "Can you come here?" She looks around at these foreign surroundings - the metal walls, the beeping machines, the utter lack of widows and sky - and adds, "Is that allowed?"
“I doubt it,” Clarke grins, “but I don’t care.”
The bed is small and fits just one person easily, but Clarke and Lexa have never slept exactly side by side. Clarke is slow and purposeful in her movements, avoiding Lexa’s right side with the IV and adjusting the blankets on the left. It doesn’t make sense for Lexa to cuddle in against Clarke’s side, as she often does - it might hurt her stitches, and in any case would pull at the muscles in her abdomen. So Clarke curls against Lexa’s left side instead, one arm laid gently over her torso and a leg entwined with Lexa’s.
“How’s this work?” Clarke asks, even as she nuzzles into the side of Lexa’s neck. “Alright?”
"More than alright," Lexa hums, and her right hand finds Clarke's, curling into her fingers despite her IV. In another moment of clarity she adds, "Better than I've been in eight days, apparently."
Clarke sighs, and enjoys the press of Lexa’s pulse against her nose - a definitive sign that she’s breathing and finally, definitively alive - before answering. “You’ve been asleep. We had to make sure you stayed sleeping, so that your body could recover. Guns aren’t like swords or knives, the wounds they create are...different.”
She inhales deeply, as surprised as she is desperately pleased that Lexa still smells like herself. Like forest and flame, and Lexa. “I’ll explain more later, but a bullet wound hurts your body in more ways than just the parts that it hits. We’re lucky my mother was here to help. I couldn’t have healed you on my own.”
"You're healing me right now," Lexa mutters, and tucks her face against the top of Clarke's head. She presses a kiss there and says, "But I'm...so tired, Clarke. If I sleep now, will you be here when I wake up?"
“I know, my love. You need rest.” Clarke kisses the underside of Lexa’s jaw before nuzzling back into her neck. “I’ll be here, the moment you wake up. I promise.”
"Good. Good. Because I'm..." Lexa wiggles a little, settles in a little better beneath Clarke. A yawn lifts the whole of her torso in one big puff of air. "Tired...again..."
A handful more mutterings of barely related words escape Lexa, and Clarke responds to a few before it becomes evident that Lexa is no longer there. As she grows quiet, the room does too; though work may continue outside, though her friends gather at what must be an increasingly rowdy bar, the hospital room deep in Alpha Station shields them from all of it. As Lexa's breathing grows as steady and regular as her EKG, Clarke is lulled into the first deep sleep she's had in days.