Chapter Text
Clarke had imagined killing Lexa more times than she wanted to admit. At first, the thoughts had been useful because they gave her somewhere to put all the anger she carried. On the nights when she couldn’t sleep, she pictured Lexa standing in front of her and imagined finally forcing her to understand what she had done. Sometimes Clarke screamed at her until there was nothing left to say. Other times she imagined leaving Lexa somewhere just as helpless as Clarke had felt when she walked away. No matter what she thought about, it almost always ended with a knife in Clarke’s hand.
The problem was that Mount Weather was not the only thing she remembered when she thought about Lexa. Sometimes the memories reached further back, bringing up moments Clarke had spent months trying not to think about.
She remembered the kiss.
She remembered Lexa standing close to her in the Commander’s tent, the slight hesitation before she leaned forward and kissed her. Clarke could still remember how soft her lips had been and the surprise of realizing that she was kissing Lexa back before grief and everything happening around them caught up with her. Finn had recently died, they were preparing for war with the Mountain Men, and Clarke had barely been given enough time to understand what she wanted since arriving on Earth. She had pulled away because she was not ready, not because she did not want Lexa.
“Not yet,” Clarke had told her, and she had meant every word. There had been something almost like a promise hidden inside those two words. Not no, and not never. Clarke had been asking for time because she genuinely believed there would eventually be a moment when their people were safe, when the war was finished, and when she could look at Lexa without everyone else’s survival sitting between them. She had believed there would be a later because some part of her had wanted one.
Clarke remembered TonDC too. Lexa had known the missile was coming and, out of everyone gathered there, she had made certain Clarke escaped. Clarke had hated the choice even then, hated how easily Lexa could accept sacrificing people for the larger plan, but she had never forgotten what it meant that Lexa had chosen to save her.
Maybe that was part of why Mount Weather had hurt as much as it did. TonDC had taught Clarke that when it came down to it, Lexa could choose her. Mount Weather had taught her exactly where that choice ended.
Lexa had left her.
Clarke could still remember the exact moment she understood what was happening. Everything they had built together the alliance, their plans, every risk they had taken suddenly meant nothing beside the offer Cage had made. Lexa could have her people back, and all she had to do was leave Clarke’s behind.
Lexa took the deal.
Clarke watched her walk away while her mother, Bellamy, Monty and everyone else remained trapped inside the mountain. Everyone who remained turned to Clarke, waiting for her to find another answer when there was not one. In the end, the only choice left had been the one that ended with Clarke’s hand on the lever.
Polis was completely unfamiliar to her. Clarke had never taken Lexa up on her offer to visit the capital, and after months of sleeping beneath trees and hiding wherever she could find shelter, the room she had been given felt almost wrong. The bed was too large and too soft, and the guards stationed outside the doors made the room feel much more like a cell than somewhere she was expected to rest.
She had been hunted through the woods, caught by Roan and delivered into Lexa’s tower because that was what the Commander wanted. Clarke had barely been given time to understand where she was before Lexa walked into the room as though she had the right to enter without asking.
Clarke already had the knife hidden in her sleeve.
She waited until Lexa came close enough before pulling it free and pressing the blade beneath her jaw. They were close enough that Clarke could see the smallest movement in Lexa’s throat whenever she swallowed, close enough that any attempt to reach for Clarke’s wrist or move away would be obvious before Lexa had the chance to finish it.
Lexa knew exactly what Clarke could do from that distance, yet she made no attempt to take the knife, call for her guards or put space between them. Her hands remained at her sides as she met Clarke’s eyes for the first time in months, and when she spoke, her voice was low and calm rather than afraid.
“If this is what you need, I won’t stop you.”
“Shut up,” Clarke said, and Lexa immediately obeyed.
The silence only made Clarke angrier because she had imagined a fight. She had prepared herself for one, and a fight would have been easier. Clarke knew how to hate the Commander. She knew how to hate the woman who could stand before armies and discuss sacrifice as though lives were numbers on a map. She knew how to hate the woman who had told her love was weakness and then proved how deeply she believed it by walking away from Clarke when she needed her most.
What Clarke did not know how to deal with was the person standing inches away from her now. Lexa was not acting like the Commander Clarke had spent months hating. She was simply standing there, watching Clarke and refusing to defend herself.
Clarke needed her to become the Commander again. She needed the cold certainty, the distance and the woman who could convince herself that every sacrifice was necessary because hating that version of Lexa had kept everything simple for months. Hating the woman standing in front of her now was harder when Clarke could still remember kissing her and wondering what might have happened if she had been ready.
When Clarke’s hand began to shake around the knife, she saw Lexa notice it and tightened her grip before Lexa could react.
“Don’t try anything.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You don’t get to decide what happens here. I’m the one in control.”
“You’re right, Clarke,” Lexa replied quietly. “I don’t get to decide.”
Somehow the easy acceptance frustrated Clarke even more. “You know Mount Weather fell. You know everyone died, but you have no idea what actually happened.”
Lexa kept her eyes on Clarke. “Then tell me.”
Clarke let out a small, humorless laugh. “You think you have any right to ask me that after what you did?”
“No. I don’t.” Regret moved across Lexa’s face, and for once she did not make much effort to hide it. “But if you want me to understand, I’m willing to listen.”
Clarke could already feel tears forming and hated the humiliation of Lexa seeing how badly she was affected. “I don’t want anything from you. You left me. You told me we were getting everyone out together, and then the second Cage offered you exactly what you wanted, you gave up the fight and walked away.”
“I did,” Lexa said. “And I’m sorry.”
Clarke tightened her grip around the knife. “Stop saying that. I don’t care about your apology.”
“What do you want me to say? It’s the truth.”
“The truth?” Clarke’s voice rose. “Now you suddenly want to be honest? Is that supposed to help you believe what you did was okay? Is admitting it supposed to make it easier?”
“It doesn’t make it easier, Clarke.”
“Then why aren’t you fighting me?”
The question came out louder than Clarke intended, loud enough that she did not hear the footsteps approaching behind her until the doors were thrown open. Two guards rushed into the room with their weapons drawn, and Clarke’s body immediately tensed, causing the knife to press more firmly against Lexa’s throat as one of the warriors stepped toward them.
Lexa moved before either guard could get any closer, but she did not reach for Clarke or attempt to remove the blade. Instead, she lifted one hand toward the men, and the softness that she had before vanished beneath the authority of the Commander.
“Hod op.” (Stop.)
Both guards obeyed immediately, although neither lowered his weapon. One of them started to speak when he saw the knife against Lexa’s throat, but Lexa cut him off before he could finish.
“Gon we.” (Leave.)
The closest guard stared openly at Clarke before answering rapidly in Trigedasleng. Clarke barely understood anything beyond Lexa’s title, but his objection was obvious from the tone in his voice and the way his grip tightened around his weapon.
Lexa’s expression hardened. “Hod op. Gon we.” (Stop. Leave.)
When the guard looked toward Clarke instead of obeying, Lexa caught the movement immediately.
“Gonot kom Klark roum. Nou.” (Out of Clarke’s room. Now.)
The warrior tried to answer again, but Lexa spoke over him with a command that allowed no further argument.
“Nou komba kom taim Klark teik yu in.” (Do not return until Clarke allows you in.)
Neither guard seemed willing to leave while Clarke still held a weapon against their Commander. Lexa did not raise her voice, but the authority behind her next words sharpened enough to make both warriors straighten.
“Nou meika ai tel yu dis agen.” (Do not make me tell you this again.)
Their weapons lowered slowly, and both men answered, “Yes, Heda,” before beginning to back toward the doorway. Lexa waited until they reached the door before giving them one final instruction.
“Nou taim na yu min op Klark roum bilaik yu nou ask em fos.” (Under no circumstances will you enter Clarke’s room again without asking her first.)
The guards bowed their heads and retreated into the corridor, closing the heavy doors behind them.
When Lexa turned back to Clarke, the change was immediate. The authority that had hardened her expression while she spoke to the guards disappeared, and her features softened as though the Commander had been left on the other side of the door with them. Her shoulders eased, and every bit of her attention returned to Clarke.
Clarke watched her for several seconds before asking, “What did you tell them?”
“That they are not to enter this room again unless you allow it,” Lexa answered softly.
Clarke looked toward the closed doors and then back at her. “Even now? Do you know what I could do to you before they managed to get back in here?”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like everything is fine.”
“This isn’t fine,” Lexa said gently, and something about that gentleness only made Clarke more upset. “But this matters to you. I know you are angry enough to want me dead, and I also saw what happened when they came through that door. You were scared.”
“You have no idea how I felt.”
“No,” Lexa said. “But I saw you.”
Clarke tightened her jaw. “You don’t get to assume things about me now. You had Roan hunt me down, bring me here against my will and put me in a tower surrounded by people who only answer to you. You don’t get to call this my room because you decide I should feel safe.”
“I am not asking you to feel safe because I say you should.” Regret settled more visibly across Lexa’s face. “You are right. You were brought here because of me, and none of this was your choice. I cannot change that, but I can make sure there is at least one place inside this tower where you have a say in what happens.”
Clarke looked toward the doors again. “Not even you?”
“Not even me.”
“Yet you came in without asking.”
“I did, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Once again, Lexa did not argue with her. Clarke looked back at her and suddenly became aware of just how close they still were. She could feel the warmth coming from Lexa’s body and the faint brush of her breath against her skin. For a fraction of a second, Clarke’s eyes dropped to Lexa’s lips, and the memory came immediately.
Lexa hesitating before leaning in months ago. Clarke kissing her back before pulling away. The quiet promise buried inside not yet because, at the time, Clarke had truly believed there would be something more.
Clarke forced herself to look back into Lexa’s eyes before the memory could make her forget why they were standing there.
“You were willing to fight beside me until someone offered you a better deal.”
The words affected Lexa hard enough that Clarke saw it before she had time to hide it. “My people were going to die. When Cage offered me their lives, I chose them. I believed it was my duty as Commander, but I’m not going to ask you to pretend that choice did not cost you everything.”
“You chose them anyway.”
“Yes.”
Clarke’s voice began to shake as the confrontation she had replayed in her head for months finally became real. “You knew Bellamy was inside. You knew my mother was there, Jasper and Monty were there. Every person I cared about was inside that mountain. You knew exactly what would happen. You knew I wasn’t going to leave without them.”
“I knew they were inside,” Lexa said quietly. “I knew I was leaving you without the army I promised you, and I chose my people anyway.”
Clarke had imagined that hearing Lexa say the words out loud would satisfy something in her, but it only made the ache in her chest worse. Months ago, she had stood in front of Lexa and asked for time because she believed there would be a later. She had meant not yet because some part of her had genuinely wanted whatever might have come after, and now she was standing with a knife against Lexa’s throat because Mount Weather had destroyed any certainty that later had ever existed.
She looked down at the blade still pressed beneath Lexa’s jaw and, for the first time, wondered why she was holding it there at all. Clarke had wanted Lexa to fight back. She had wanted some cold explanation about duty and survival so she could keep hating her without complication. Instead, Lexa stood in front of her accepting everything Clarke had to say.
“You left me there to do it alone.” Clarke could feel the anger that had carried her this far beginning to give way beneath something far more painful. “Everyone was looking at me after you left. Raven was hurt, Monty was trying to find another way, and they were drilling into people for bone marrow while everyone kept waiting for me to tell them what they were supposed to do.”
Lexa stayed silent, allowing Clarke to continue, but Clarke could see her eyes beginning to shine with tears.
“I didn’t know what to do. I kept thinking there had to be another way because there were innocent people inside too. There were families, Lexa. Children who had nothing to do with Cage, and I knew exactly what would happen to them if I irradiated Level Five.”
“You were trying to save your people, Clarke.”
“You say that like it was noble.” Clarke’s voice cracked, but she forced herself to keep speaking. “I pulled the lever.”
“You weren’t given many choices.”
Clarke held back another wave of tears as she looked at her. “That’s what you tell yourself? You think I had an impossible choice because then you can live with yourself?”
Lexa took a moment to collect herself before answering. “Sometimes I do. Other times I know that calling it impossible doesn’t change the fact that I still made that choice.”
Clarke’s hand shook harder around the knife. “I hate you. I hate you for leaving me there, and I hate you because every time I close my eyes I still see those people dying. Everyone looks at what happened and calls me Wanheda like it’s something to be proud of, like killing hundreds of people means they should worship me.”
Lexa was trying to hold herself together, but seeing Clarke like this was beginning to break through whatever control she had left. Her eyes were wet now, and her voice had lost some of its steadiness when she answered.
“I heard them call you Wanheda. I heard people speak about Mount Weather as though destroying it made you powerful. I think I let myself believe that you surviving all of it meant you were okay.”
Clarke swallowed against the pressure building in her throat. “I’m not okay, Lexa.”
“I know that now.”
“You don’t know anything about me anymore.”
“Maybe I don’t,” Lexa admitted. “But I remember the woman who stood across from me and kept insisting there had to be another way. I remember you challenging me because you believed people deserved better than just surviving.”
“That girl is gone.”
Pain crossed Lexa’s face so openly that Clarke wished she had not noticed it. When Clarke accused her of feeling sorry for her, Lexa shook her head almost immediately.
“I don’t feel sorry for you, Clarke. I feel responsible.” Lexa’s voice softened further as she continued. “I knew betraying you would hurt you, and I knew you would hate me. I knew there was a chance you would die. What I never thought about was what surviving would do to you. I thought about whether you would live or die, but I didn’t think about who you would have to become to save everyone.”
Clarke could barely breathe as tears ran freely down her face, and she no longer had the strength to care that Lexa could see them.
“I’m so sorry, Clarke,” Lexa said as her own eyes began to fill. “I never meant to turn you into this.”
The knife slipped from Clarke’s fingers and struck the hard floor between them. Without it in her hand, there was nothing left holding Clarke back from everything she had spent months trying not to feel, and the grief rose so quickly that she barely understood what she was doing before she shoved both hands against Lexa’s chest.
Lexa took a small step backward but did not defend herself. Clarke hit her again with the side of her fist, not hard enough to injure her but enough to force Lexa back another step.
“I hate you. I hate you so much, and I hate that you stand there saying you’re sorry like that changes what you did.”
“It doesn’t,” Lexa told her as Clarke hit her again. She made no attempt to restrain Clarke or move away. “I know it doesn’t.”
“You left me there. You walked away and I had to do it. I had to kill them because there was no one else left to make the decision.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” Clarke struck her chest again, though the strength behind it had already begun to fade. “You weren’t there afterward. You don’t know what it was like waking up every day and remembering hundreds of people were dead because of something I did. You weren’t there when I couldn’t stay with my own people anymore because every time I looked at them I remembered what I did to bring them home.”
“You’re right,” Lexa said quietly, trying to reach Clarke through the anger. “I wasn’t there. I should have been.”
Clarke tried to hit her again, but the blow barely landed. Instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of Lexa’s shirt while her breathing finally broke apart.
“You should have stayed. You should have fought with me. You should have helped me instead of leaving me there to do everything alone.”
“I should have.”
“I needed you,” Clarke whispered.
The admission came out before she had time to stop it, and Clarke hated how exposed it made her feel. She had spent months telling herself that Mount Weather hurt because Lexa had abandoned their alliance and taken away the army Clarke had depended on. Saying those three words aloud stripped away that explanation and left something much harder to hide. Clarke had not only needed the Commander and her army that day. She had needed Lexa.
Lexa’s eyes closed for a moment, and when she looked at Clarke again, the regret in them was impossible to miss. Clarke almost wished she had never said the words aloud because now Lexa knew exactly how deeply leaving had hurt her.
“I know,” Lexa whispered. “And I wasn’t there.”
Clarke tried to move her hand for another hit, but the motion never came. A sob escaped instead, and she turned her face away from Lexa, humiliated by how completely she was falling apart. Her knees began to weaken beneath her, and Lexa caught her by the arm before she could fall, holding her only firmly enough to keep her upright.
“Don’t,” Clarke managed softly.
Lexa loosened her grip immediately. “Tell me to let go and I will.”
Clarke should have done exactly that. Instead, both of her hands remained tangled in Lexa’s shirt, and another wave of sobs went through her as she leaned into Lexa’s chest because she could no longer keep herself standing alone.
Lexa waited until she was certain Clarke was not pulling away before lowering both of them to the floor beside the bed. She leaned back against it, and when Clarke’s legs finally gave out beneath her, Lexa guided her down until Clarke was fully in her lap.
Clarke tensed for a moment, but another sob escaped before she had time to think about where she was. She melted into Lexa instead, pressing her face against her chest and tightening her grip on the fabric of her shirt. Lexa wrapped her arms around Clarke gently, leaving enough room for her to pull away if she changed her mind.
Clarke did not.
She moved closer, leaving almost no space between them while the emotions she had held onto for months finally escaped. She could not stop shaking or control her breathing, and the fact that she was falling apart in Lexa’s arms made everything more confusing. Clarke had spent months hating her, and being held by her should have felt unbearable. Instead, some exhausted part of Clarke was simply relieved that she no longer had to hold everything inside.
“I hate you,” Clarke said against Lexa’s chest, tightening her fingers in the fabric of her shirt. “I hate you for making me need this from you after everything you did.”
Lexa held her a little closer and rubbed her back gently. “You can hate me. I won’t ask you not to.”
“You ruined everything.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
“You left me alone when I needed you the most,” Clarke managed between sobs.
Clarke could feel Lexa’s breath near her temple, and when Lexa answered, the break in her voice was impossible to miss.
“I know, Clarke. I am so sorry.”
Hearing Lexa sound like that only made Clarke cry harder. Lexa stayed with her through it without telling her to calm down, promising everything would be all right or offering another explanation for Mount Weather. She simply held Clarke and listened while she finally said everything she had needed to say for months.
“You should have stayed with me,” Clarke whispered once she could speak again. “Even if we still lost. Even if everyone died anyway, you should have stayed. You shouldn’t have made me do all of it alone.”
“I should have,” Lexa said softly. “I should never have left you alone to do that.”
Clarke’s grip on Lexa’s shirt gradually began to loosen as exhaustion replaced some of the grief that had torn through her. Nothing Lexa said changed what happened, and nothing about being held by her erased the anger Clarke still felt. It only meant that, for the first time in months, Clarke was not carrying every piece of it by herself.
“I don’t know how to stop being angry with you.”
Lexa did not hesitate. “I’m not asking you to stop. You have every right to be angry with me.”
“What if I never stop?”
Lexa was quiet for a moment before answering. Clarke searched her face for the argument she expected, some reassurance that eventually she would understand, forgive or see things differently. It never came. The possibility clearly hurt Lexa, but she did not try to take it away from her.
“Then I will live with that,” Lexa said. “Forgiveness is not something I have the right to ask from you.”
Clarke lifted her head enough to look at her. The tears Lexa had been fighting earlier had finally escaped, leaving tracks down her cheeks. Clarke had seen Lexa injured, furious and grieving before, but seeing her like this was something Clarke had never thought was possible.
After some time, Clarke finally managed to calm down. She rested her head against Lexa’s chest with her eyes closed, allowing the silence to settle between them while her breathing gradually returned to normal.
“You brought me here,” Clarke eventually said, her voice hoarse from crying. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing, Clarke. You don’t owe me anything.”
Clarke frowned slightly. “You make it sound too simple.”
“I don’t think any of this is simple.” Lexa kept her voice soft and gentle. “I wanted you in Polis because Azgeda was hunting you, and I believed this was the only place I could keep you safe.”
Lexa paused before continuing, and Clarke felt the slight hesitation before the rest of the truth came.
“I also wanted to see you and make sure you were okay.”
Clarke lifted her head, searching Lexa’s face for something she could not quite name. “You wanted to see me after Mount Weather?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Lexa did not hesitate. “Since the moment I walked away from you.”
Clarke looked at her for several seconds before finally turning her face away. She had spent months believing that leaving Mount Weather had been easy for Lexa, that she had taken her people and continued with her life while Clarke remained behind to deal with everything that came after. It had been easier to hate Lexa when Clarke could imagine that she had never looked back.
Knowing Lexa had wanted to almost from the moment she left did nothing to make those months hurt less. If anything, it left Clarke wondering why wanting to see her had never been enough to make Lexa come back.
Lexa seemed to understand that Clarke had no answer for her and did not push. The silence that followed no longer felt as suffocating as the ones that had come before, and Clarke’s breathing had finally settled enough that the exhaustion she had been fighting since arriving in Polis began to take over.
Eventually Clarke spoke again. “I really did want to kill you.”
“I believed you did.”
“I thought about it for months.”
Lexa went quiet for a few moments before answering. “I thought about you.”
Clarke’s eyes had begun to grow heavy, and at first she fought the urge to close them. She had spent months imagining Lexa forgetting her, moving on as though Clarke had been nothing more than another temporary alliance in a long line of decisions made by the Commander. Learning that Lexa had thought about her too did nothing to give Clarke those months back or make any of them easier to survive.
“I still hate you,” Clarke murmured.
“I know,” Lexa said softly.
This time Clarke did not tell her to stop saying it. Lexa’s answer no longer sounded like she was waiting for Clarke to understand her or forgive what she had done. It sounded like acceptance, and for reasons Clarke could not explain, that hurt less.
The exhaustion became impossible to fight after that. Clarke’s breathing slowed, and the hand that still held a loose grip on Lexa’s shirt gradually relaxed as sleep finally pulled her under. Lexa stayed quiet while Clarke drifted deeper, unwilling to disturb her now that she had stopped fighting long enough to rest.
Once Lexa was certain Clarke was fully asleep, she gently moved a strand of hair away from Clarke’s face and allowed herself a moment to look at her. She lowered her cheek against Clarke’s head and closed her eyes, holding her a little closer now that there was no chance Clarke would mistake the movement for something being asked of her.
“I won’t leave you, Clarke,” Lexa whispered.
Clarke never heard the promise, only held on to the woman who had already broken it once before.