Chapter Text
She loves Clarke with her whole. Sometimes it is soft and easy, a passing glance in a crowd, the brush of fingertips over the smooth skin of her palm; but more often it is fire, consuming her, running beneath her skin and searing her from the inside out, leaving her raw and open and weak.
They love this way, entirely captured by one another.
She always thought it would be enough.
----
When Clarke tells her she wants a baby, everything stands still.
She is stood at the shore of a fresh water lake, where some of her people come to collect drinking water, bathe and frolic in the safe, shallow waters. Lexa watches them with a slight smile, but doesn’t allow herself to follow them into the glistening pool, not even with the scorch of the midday sun battering down on her lithe body, draped in ceremonial black and red as always. She remembers the squish of silt between her toes, the cool of the water lapping at her feet and the splash and roars of laughter that followed her dives, long before she was ever chosen for this life. It is long in the past now, distant and hazy. Now she has people to protect, they are her priority.
She feels Clarke before she sees her, senses her presence from the edge of the woods and doesn’t turn at her approach, letting small, able fingers brush against hers, tangling together for a moment before pulling away. It is brief, but it is enough and when she finally allows her eyes to slip to the side she finds soft, sky blue watching her.
“Good afternoon, Heda.”
Something about the way that Clarke’s lips wrap around that word sends tingles through her, settling deep in her stomach no matter how many times she has heard it before. Even after four long years together, Clarke still uses her title from time to time, a silent acknowledgement of her duties.
“Good afternoon, Clarke kom Skaikru.”
Clarke of the Sky People. But really, Lexa wonders how true that title is now. Clarke, though always clinging on to some position of power within her people, has never taken on the role of Chancellor, instead leaving that position to those who would more willingly bear the weight such a name carries, a weight that Lexa understands well. Instead Clarke chose to heal, helping in both her mother’s medical bay and the ones she finds in the villages of Lexa’s people. Such an occupation keeps her close, which Lexa can’t pretend to dislike, and so she shares Lexa’s tent most nights, a steady presence to pull her down from the hype of debate, clean her wounds after a battle and hold her close in times of mourning.
“You’re not swimming.” Clarke observes, but she can hear the question wrapped through the words.
“No.” She tips her chin up just a little, eyes scanning across the water, lighting on her sentries, posted around the edges of the lake. “You know I cannot.”
“I know.” Clarke needs no explanation, but she slips a little closer to Lexa, so that their hands can press together, hidden behind the folds of their clothing.
Lexa allows it. After so much time together their union is no real secret, but even so Lexa has been trained to see enemies everywhere and love is weakness.
“They’re sweet.” Clarke speaks against, voice softer and Lexa’s eyes flicker to her, creasing inquisitively until she can follow the girl’s gaze to where three infants play at the water’s edge, one no more than a babe.
“Indeed.” The word is tight and clipped, a sure sign of her discomfort and Clarke’s fingers tighten, just a little, her voice slightly uncertain when she says, tentatively.
“You don’t think so?”
“I have a duty to protect and nurture all of my people, Clarke.” She feels the girl’s deflation against her shoulder, as if she can see the hopes slip from her and be carried away along the water and so finally admits, a hint of tenderness to her words. “I suppose the children need more of my care than the others, though, until they are fully grown.”
She doesn’t need to look; she can imagine the curve of Clarke’s lips, a gentle slope against her cheeks.
“Yeah,” her chin presses against Lexa’s shoulder. The heavy armour stops her from feeling the outline, but the weight is there, firm and warm and steady. Lips brush against her neck, in the ghost of a kiss and her hand tightens on the hilt of her sword to stop herself from reaching out; they’re bordering on the line of impropriety when Clarke whispers, softly. “I want one.”
And time stands still.
----
Clarke is too good for her.
She gives her time, tells her not to worry about it. She presses a kiss to Lexa’s frozen, fearful face and moves away into the woods.
The topic is not brought up again and Lexa spends two weeks skirting around the subject, around Clarke, around everything because she can’t quite figure out how to process this idea.
Clarke says nothing, but now that Lexa is looking for them she can see the long, wanting gazes that Clarke throws to the children running around the camp and her heart burns, but not as it used to.
----
The accident comes, quite coincidentally, two weeks after Clarke’s soft words had ripped through her life.
She is on a hunting trip. In the Skaikru’s culture it is not normal that a leader should be part of such routine exercise, but Lexa’s people are not of the sky and it is important that she shows them that she is still strong, still agile, still ready to work for her right to live as they all do. They hunt through the forest, away from the permanent gathering they have constructed near to the Ark, the gathering that is slowly becoming a village, the two sets of people spilling over their preconceived boundaries and merging together. While her people build mud huts below, Lexa remains in her tent, high on the hill where she can look down at them all. It suits her, this life of a warrior filled with movement and activity; she has never been someone who settled, not in battle or in life.
Their path takes them through the lands of her people and they pass villages as they go. There are more gatherings closer to Lexa’s base than there were four years ago, just huts and tents at the moment, but Lexa is sure they will strive in this time of peace and turn to villages. They congregate because it is safer for people to be close to their Commander and when she passes, high on her steed, they call out the mantra that has followed her for years. Heda, Heda, Heda.
“Your fans are scaring off all the prey.” Octavia comments dryly from beside her, shifting easily above her horse and Lexa glances over at her, smiling slightly.
“They are pleased to see their commander, that is all.”
They spot a small group of deer, a mother and two fawns, and the hunt begins. Octavia shoots a glance at her, the twinkle in her eyes bright, and shoots forward on her horse to make the first shot at the creatures. A smile twitches at Lexa’s lips again and she urges her own mount forwards, following in the sky girl’s trail as they race towards the kill. It’s at times like this that she is grateful for her people; the people who will respect and honour her while still expecting all they can from their Heda. She owes it to them to fulfil their hopes.
The deer are fast, fleeting glances of them visible through the trees as they catch sight of the hunt- loud and fast, made up of plenty of her people- and bolt through the woodland. Alone, the mother would do well, but the fawns hold her back, stumbling over tree roots and they are soon within an arrow shot of the animals. Lexa reaches over her back for an arrow, notching it in her bow and pulling back, her horse easily guiding her through the trees. She easily outstretches the rest of the hunt and she can see that behind her, her warriors are notching their own arrows, drawing back to fire. It’s at that moment, however, that keen eyes spot the two small figures, running through the forest, between the hunt and their prey. Before her eyes, one falls and the other pauses, reaching back to help them up and through the dim light of the forest, she sees the whites of their eyes staring at the hunt, small mouths open in fear. She pulls her horse in a sharp circle, curving around just in front of the startled children. One moment more and she would have trampled them and she turns in her saddle to hold out a hand to the upcoming hunt.
“Hod op!”
Many of them pull backwards, alarmed at the sight of their commander stood before their prey, but it is too late for some and she is unable to dodge the arrow that pierces her just below her ribcage, splitting through harsh leather and impacting deeply into her flesh. She grunts, jerking backwards involuntarily and her horse spooks, bolting forwards and sending her sprawling off the back of her mount, hitting the forest floor with a thump that leaves her dazed.
Shouts come from her warriors, but Lexa’s eyes are drawn upwards towards the children, staring down at their fallen commander in amazement. She struggles to her knees, gasping for breath even as she hears people dismounting, the disorder and confusion from behind her and pain lances through her ribs.
“Hei,” she speaks softly, so as not to alarm them and they blink at her for a moment, the smallest of the pair- a little girl in a tattered tunic- slipping behind her brothers legs as they murmur their own greetings. “Yu laik sath?” They nod tiny heads, barely able to speak in her presence and she hears a shout from behind her, drawing her around.
“Commander!” It is Octavia, falling to her knees beside her to brush cautious hands close to her wound, where Lexa can now see her leathers are beginning to soak in blood.
“I am well, Octavia.” She shrugs away her concern impatiently, gesturing to the two children. “They say they are fine, but we would do well to get them back to their village.”
“Of course,” Octavia rises smoothly, watching as Lexa struggles for a moment, heaving herself to her feet and reaching out against her will to grab Octavia’s shoulder to support her weight. “But you’re our priority, commander. You’re hurt.”
Lexa presses her lips together, eyes flickering over to the children for a moment, before nodding. “Very well. But be sure to take those children back where they came from.”
“I’ll make sure of it.” Octavia promises, solemnly.
----
Later, lying on her cot with Clarke pressed up into her side, tracing ever so gentle fingers over the newly bandaged wound in her chest, she is drifting, almost asleep when Clarke says.
“Octavia told me you saved those children.”
“Hmm?” Her mind fogged by sleep, she nods slowly. “I guess. They would have been trampled.”
Clarke hums softly in agreement, fingers counting the scars up Lexa’s chest, coasting the rises and falls of her marred skin. She watches Clarke’s fingers, following them with tired eyes as the girl seems to count every ridge, every ripped nerve and torn tendon, every slice and slash and stitch. She remembers the first time Clarke saw her this way, many nights after she saw the smooth expanse of Clarke’s skin. She remembers being tempted out of her clothes, until she finally stood in only her undergarments and her vest, clinging to the bottom of it. With her face bare of kohl, her red sash and armour lying in a corner and her braids slowly unravelling, she had felt so very vulnerable all of a sudden, staring at the golden haired angel beside her with wide eyes. Gently, Clarke had tugged away the material and then unwound the bindings wrapped around Lexa’s chest, as tentative and tender as if she was unwrapping a new born babe from its swaddling. She had lain Lexa down in her furs and taken hour upon hour to map Lexa’s skin, following the constellations of her scars and reading the story that they etched into her body, chasing each one with her lips as if they may escape her.
“You are beautiful,” she had murmured into Lexa’s ear and for the first time, Lexa had believed her.
“I kind of thought you didn’t care,” Clarke’s careful words from beside her now jerk her from her reverie, confused brows pulling together to stare at the girl until she expands. “I thought you hated children.”
“No,” Lexa runs her fingers through Clarke’s hair, teasing gently at the tangles as she stares up at the rough material of her tent. “They are my people and they, above all others, need protection.”
“Then... why, Lexa?” She stiffens at the words and Clarke obviously feels it, pushing herself up on one elbow to stare down at her, blue eyes hard and soft at the same time, an impossible contradiction. “Why can’t we have a baby?”
“Well,” she tries for a small smile, weak and shaky as it may be. “Anatomy is an issue.”
“We can work around that,” Clarke insists, eyes wide and Lexa feels a flood of guilt rush through her, like the breaking of a dam, when she sees the twinge of hope in the back of her gaze. “But if you don’t want children with me... I understand.”
“I do,” her brows crease again, the words escaping her before she can stop them. “Of course I do Clarke, I just...”
“You just what?” The ocean stares down at her and a gentle hand touches her face, pads of her fingers brushing against her skin. “Please help me understand, Lexa.”
She struggles for the words, grasping like a child in the dark for anything she could possibly say and finally, when it seems like the silence will envelope them both forever, she musters, “hodness laik kwelness.”
She thinks she sees Clarke’s heart break before her eyes.”Lexa,” her voice is soft, pitying and Lexa can’t bear to look at her, turning her eyes back to the tent and tightening her jaw, immediately regretting her words. “You know that isn’t true,” Clarke implores, quietly. “You know.”
“The only thing I know,” her voice is harsh, rough with fear and anger that quivers just below the surface, “is that I lost someone once, because I loved them and I run that risk with you every day. I can’t put a child through that. I can’t add them to that list.” She feels as if her very soul is trembling at the idea, shaking her out of her bones and she curls her fingers into the furs below them, anchoring herself.
Clarke is silent for a moment, considering her words and Lexa’s eyes flicker back to her, watching the worry distort her beautiful face. “The war is over,” she says finally, voice quiet. “We’ve been at peace for four years, your people have prospered.”
“The war is never over.” Her response, though murmured, is icy. “Costia taught me that.”
Clarke’s eyes stay fixed to her, she can feel them burning into her skin as she stares upwards, consciously ignoring the girl beside her. Finally, the blonde lets out a soft sigh and places her head back on Lexa’s chest, curling her arms in close to her body as if she is holding herself together.
“I didn’t realise it was that important to you.”
Clarke shifts a little, as if uncomfortable, “After all the death we’ve seen, it would be nice to bring new life into the world. And I love you, Lexa. I want to share this with you.”
“But it would not be my child.” She insists, softly and Clarke hoists herself up again, eyes soft.
“It would be in every way that mattered.” She promises and her words are said like a prayer, reverent and heavy.
“Clarke,” it pains her to see the agony that rips apart the girl beside her, “... the danger. It is too much.”
“It won’t be,” Clarke leans down to press tender lips to her cheeks, her jaw, her nose. “I promise. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that,” she argues, but her body reacts without her consent when Clarke dips her head to kiss at her neck, a slight gasp escaping her.
“Do you trust me?” The blonde lifts her head, meets her eyes and suddenly it’s four years ago and she is in this very tent, rifling through war papers in an attempt to not get lost in Clarke’s gaze and her heart is beating so hard that she feels like it might be trying to escape her chest. They’re going backwards.
“Of course,” she breathes and Clarke nods, once.
“Then please, at least think about this. For me.”
She’s close, oh so close and Lexa can read her eyes, as blue and as deep as the ocean, can read every line and crack, the light and the dark that linger there and the bright light of hope makes her stomach churn.
“For you,” she echoes and Clarke’s smile is wider than it should be as she reaches down to kiss Lexa.
----
They speak with Abby, in a secretive meeting in the medical bay of the Ark. Despite her connection to Clarke and many of the other original 100, Lexa has never really been that comfortable in the Ark. The Skaikru watch her uncertainly as she goes, eyes sharp as they take in her clothes, the sword at her hip and the braids woven through her hair, still so foreign to so many of them. She leaves her guard at the entrance and feels her throat tighten as she steps through into the cold, metal tunnels. She is used to light and the forest underfoot, this place feels strange and alien to her, but even worse is the pressure she can feel building in her chest, the panic and worry settling heavily over her lungs. Her chin remains up, high and regal, but Clarke seems to see her face pale beneath her kohl, because she reaches out to take her hand and urge her onwards. Lexa wonders if Clarke knows she would follow her anywhere.
Abby explains how it works to them. She tells them how, before the war, women would use a donor to become pregnant, there would be millions of sperm donations but obviously that option is not open to them. The equipment, however, is relatively simple and they can replicate the procedure, despite the risks, as long as they can find a willing sperm donator. She glances between them, from Lexa’s stoic expression to the worry she can see in Clarke’s and trails off.
“It's really your only option.”
The words stick with her for the next few days, spinning around her head. She thinks maybe it wouldn’t be so hard if she didn’t know exactly whom Clarke would go to, where Clarke would turn; but after all of this time she knows the blonde well and when she sees her talking to Bellamy, across the training ground from her, she feels her jaw tighten.
She barks orders in Trigadeslang and the fighters obediently switch out, allowing her to step into the arena. She fights all fifteen men and is beaten by none. Only when Indra steps into the ring does she meet her match, fatigue from her earlier battles wearing her down until she trips, stumbling on her own feet and sending herself sprawling to the dry, trodden down dirt. Indra reaches out a hand, helps her up and wraps an arm around her waist.
“Heda, we must get you to the healer.”
It is only then that she notices the blood dripping from the nasty gashes she has suffered, the pounding of her head and the ache in her bones and a rush of shame runs through her. She has been rash, irresponsible in her jealousy.
When Clarke returns to the tent, Lexa twists in the furs and pretends to sleep, even as Clarke slips in behind her, running a hand over her waist and cuddling close.
The pit that forms in her stomach seems to be there to stay.
----
She agrees to it eventually.
Clarke wants a baby and Clarke makes her weak.
The conception process is maybe the worst. Clarke talks about her ovulation and insists that they have to time her loun jus. Lexa helps, because what more can she do now? Clarke has her heart set on a baby and Lexa is used to giving Clarke what she wants.
So she sits and plans Clarke's insemination. Her only condition is this: she cannot be there. She cannot trust herself to be there.
She and Clarke are together the night before. Clarke tries to lie her down and track her body, the way she did when they were first intimate, but something takes over and Lexa pushes her backwards so hard that the cot rocks beneath them at her impact. She claims Clarke, consumes her until the girl is crying out, strangled sighs and breathy words, with hands tugging at her braids. After, when she crawls up to lie beside her, Clarke reaches a shaking hand over to touch her hip softly, wide eyes questioning.
“Do you want me to...?”
“No.” She is curt and Clarke jerks, brows furrowing for a moment before Lexa softens her voice and says, “you are tired. This was for you.”
Clarke seems satisfied, nodding once and turning to burrow her head into the crook of Lexa’s neck, holding her close.
Lexa watches her sleep in the darkness, eyes wide open for long enough to see the bruises blossom over her girl’s neck and collarbones.
She hopes Bellamy knows what they mean.
----
The next day, Lexa hunts. She is vicious and ruthless and stoic; her travelling companions understand what this means and allow her to work out her frustrations until the sun has slipped behind the ruins of Mount Weather and they are cast into darkness. She returns to camp reluctantly, with two boars, a deer and a black bear, all of which she deposits without so much of a glance at the smoke houses.
Clarke sits in her tent. She is on the floor when Lexa enters, on a woven grass mat and before her she has a selection of herbs, which she is calmly sorting, one from the other, into separate piles.
“Hi,” she greets her with a brief smile, before her eyes fall back to her herbs, busy hands working tirelessly at the large pile of greenery beside her.
Lexa feels frozen in the entrance, watching Clarke carefully for a moment, waiting for something, anything to show that something has changed, that Clarke feels as she does. Nothing comes.
“Will you make tea?” Clarke asks, without raising her head and Lexa is able to give one stiff nod, striding across the tent with all of the purpose in the world to fill a bronze pot with water and place it over the carefully constructed fire just outside of their tent. She stands there, just by the entrance, eyes staring out over the camp they have constructed together and for some strange, vindictive reason her gaze seeks out Bellamy, setting out on an impossible hunt for the boy between the lines of tents and huts. He is nowhere to be seen and she thinks that maybe that is a good thing.
“Lexa?” Clarke’s voice startles her and she leans down to scoop up the whistling bronze pot, pacing back into the room to fill two clay cups with the hot water, stirring a pinch of herbs to each before passing it over to the blonde on the floor. “Thank you,” the cup is laid beside her and she keeps her eyes down as she works, nevertheless asking. “How was your day?”
She considers her words carefully, taking the time to shrug her heavy armour off her shoulders and reach for her long, fur-lined coat, leaving it hanging open as she says. “Productive, our hunt was fruitful.”
“Good,” Clarke’s eyes dart up to hers, a momentary flash of blue again as Lexa slowly lowers herself to the floor beside her, playing with her cup between her fingers.
A short silence stretches between them, heavy and still, like the warm air before a storm and Lexa struggles for a moment. Her heart thumps in her chest, her cheeks hot with something between embarrassment and anger and she stares down, hoping that Clarke won’t notice. When she speaks, the words are dragged from her, stilted and unnatural. “How was your day?”
“Fine.” Something jerks, clicking inside her head and she looks up, peering at Clarke as her fingers continue to sort through herbs, “I had to go and help a woman at the Ark who had broken her leg. Some cart had fallen onto her, it was a pretty bad injury actually but my mom was there so we worked pretty fast and-” Clarke’s fingers are trembling. The words spill from her as if from a waterfall and Lexa feels her heart drop suddenly, falling into her stomach as she reaches out to grasp Clarke’s fingers, stilling their frantic movements.
“Clarke,” by contrast, her voice is now steady and even. “What happened with the insemination?”
Clarke is silent for a long moment, but her breathing becomes more ragged and when Lexa gently tilts her chin up to meet her gaze, she sees that the sky is glistening in her eyes.
“Did they hurt you?” She prompts and barely concealed rage rushes through her, pooling in her stomach as her jaw twitches. “I will kill that branwada.” She goes to stand, pushing herself up but Clarke grabs at her hand, pulling her down to sit again.
“No! No, Lexa they didn’t do anything, stop it.”
“Then... what?” She falls back into place. “Clarke, please tell me.”
“It was just...” she breaks off for a minute, shaking her head as she gathers her voice. “So much. So strange.” Her eyes flicker up to Lexa, meeting hers with a sincerity that is so very Clarke. “I wished you were there.”
“With you?” Her eyebrows shoot up and she shifts, uncertain.
“Well... yes.” Clarke shakes her head, shrugging as she shuffles a little closer across the mat. “To have you near would have been... comforting. A reminder of why I’m doing this.”
Lexa’s hand reaches out of its own accord, touching the small of Clarke’s back for a moment. Her mind is jumbled, her thoughts buzzing against her skull like bees against their hive, but when she speaks she is as steady as the forest pines, stretching high in the air. “If that is what you need.”
“No,” Clarke shakes her head, laughing a little self confidently. “No, it’s fine. I know you aren't comfortable with it, I would never force you.” Her eyes flicker up to look at Lexa from beneath her eyelashes and her voice drops, turning slightly husky. “I think you make Bellamy nervous. He saw what you did to my neck.”
“Good.” She bites out, jaw clenching a little, “you are your own person Clarke, I would never presume to say otherwise; but as much as you are someone else’s, you are mine.”
“I know it,” Clarke’s words are soft, reassuring and when a gentle hand runs against her cheek she leans into the touch. “Remind me why we’re doing this?” The question is gentle, loving, “make love to me.”
“Always.” Lexa promises and leans forward to catch her lips.
----
They continue, caught in a strange tension, trapped between hope and fear for what feels like the longest time.
It’s an adjustment, but she adapts. She has to, she’s the Heda. After a few months things shift and settle, like the sand after a wave pulls back into the ocean, slotting back into place, finding spaces between the cracks that widen in her heart every time Clarke leaves in the evening without her. She stuffs these spaces, fills them with duties and responsibilities. Her desire for peace increases, sending scouts out further and further into the forest to seek out new villages. There are colonies to the north, she has heard people speak of a city made of light, somewhere across the dead zone and she spends hours pouring over maps and charts, trying to find a way to get across the desert. Her scouts also report sightings of new colonies to the south, over the water where the land is hotter, the forests denser and more like the tales of jungles she has heard. She plans improvements to their villages, the kind now available with the expertise brought by the Ark, sits through long, tedious meetings with both Ark leaders and the leaders of the twelve villages.
One night, when she is sat late into the night, listening to Raven explain her plans for fresh water supply directly to the camp, she is jerked from her thoughts by Raven’s sharp voice.
“Commander?”
“Sorry,” she blinks for a second, eyes focussing on the plans in front of her, following the abundance of lines traced across it. “What did you say?”
“I said you’re not really concentrating.” Raven leans against the table, raising an eyebrow as she watches Lexa struggle for words.
“I apologise, I was distracted for a moment.”
“Try for twenty minutes,” Raven rolls her eyes, reaching out to gather up her plans from the table. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” she runs her hands over her eyes for a moment, allowing herself a quick second of weakness and Raven pauses, stopping to look at her. Conflict slashes through her features, irritation warring with concern until she finally speaks.
“You know I’m not your biggest fan,” a smile tweaks Lexa’s lips upwards. Raven is refreshingly blunt, always has been and secretly Lexa rather enjoys her company. “But you and Clarke are... serious I guess. And if this baby thing is really bothering you, you should tell her.”
The smile slips from her face immediately, replaced instead by a harsh scowl as she paces around the table, closer to the sky girl. “I am very happy that Clarke and I will soon have a child.”
“Sure,” Raven scoffs, shaking her head so that her high ponytail whips at her neck. “But you’re definitely not happy that it's Bellamy's.”
Lexa fumbles, mouth opening but no words emerging as she gapes at the girl. Raven just arches a fine eyebrow in her direction, tucking the maps under her arm.
“I think that pretty much tells you everything you need to know, Lexa. Tell Clarke or it’ll only cause more pain later on.”
----
When Clarke returns that night, Lexa wraps her in her embrace, tugs her close to her body as she sleeps and presses soft kisses to her neck and back.
Clarke, however, does not wake.
It seems holding her is all Lexa can offer now.
----
Lexa is the first person Clarke tells, as it should be really. She doesn’t know why she’s surprised, but she is nonetheless.
They sit together, out in the early afternoon sun on the grass outside their tent; Lexa is involved in the methodical process of sharpening her blade, while she half watches Clarke sketch on a pad beside her, dark charcoal forming lines to make something as of yet undistinguishable. Guards stand watch, but they are far enough away that the illusion of privacy is strong and Lexa shifts, so that one foot is flat on the ground and she can rest her chin on her knee and stare out at her village, the familiar feeling of pride slipping into her stomach as she observes the peace that envelopes her lands.
“So, I um, I wanted to tell you something.” Clarke is stumbling over her words, a tell-tale sign that she is nervous and Lexa’s eyes flicker to her, frowning slightly.
“Should I be worried?”
“No,” Clarke answers quickly, but her eyes stay stuck to the page in front of her and Lexa realises with a start that Clarke is drawing her war paint, as she has many times before. “I just... I think I could be pregnant.”
Her breath catches in her throat and for a minute everything is still, her eyes drawn automatically down to Clarke’s stomach, as if the evidence of a baby, the protruding, extended stomach, will already be visible. Her hands reach out, as if of their own accord, and hover, inches away from Clarke’s skin. She is precious, a fragile being now that Lexa knows she is carrying new life inside of her.
Periwinkle blue meets rich forest green and she sees tears in the blonde’s eyes, a smile stretching her lips up.
“I wasn’t sure when to tell you,” Clarke’s whisper is soft, barely a breath. “But I’ve missed two periods and I thought... it was probably a good sign.”
“A baby.” Lexa mutters, eyes flicking back to her flat stomach again. “You think you have been blessed with life.”
“I do,” the choked sound of Clarke’s words betray her tears and Lexa reaches out automatically, allowing Clarke to burrow into her, propriety be damned. Clarke’s fingers wrap into the cloth of her shirt, knuckles pressing against her back harshly as rivulets of joy run down her cheeks and soak the skin of Lexa’s neck. “We’re going to be a family.”
Lexa says nothing, instead just resting her chin on the crown of Clarke’s head and pressing her lips together, clinging tightly as if hoping that some of Clarke’s joy will force its way through her skin and into Lexa’s heart.
A family.
She’s never had such a thing before.
How can she ever hope to provide one?
----