LoveIsLove

Anonymous asked:

Clexa + 16.

16. things you said with no space between us

(Whew boy, this one ran away with me too. I really can’t do short drabbles.)

Outside the rain beats against the top of the tent, creating a relentless patter that fills Clarke’s ears. Even after more than a year on the ground, she still sometimes gets lost in it, in that wild tempo of pit pit pit pat-pat pit pit pich-ch-ch-ch of heavy raindrops connecting with a hard surface. Unrelenting but soothing, so much more so than the mechanical whirs of the Ark she grew up with. Even with damp socks and the grit of mud between her teeth from a long march, she would choose the rain over space every second of every day.

There’s grunting along with the rain, and shouting. The kinds of noises that go hand-in-hand with any large group of people trying to set up a make-shift camp, even a group as efficient as the Commander’s army. The rain - and the tent - nearly drown all the other noises out, enough that Clarke could forget there was anyone else around.

Except for one person, of course.

She and Lexa are alone in the tent. They weren’t, up until a mere few minutes ago. The war table was one of the first things set up when the army stopped, right in the middle of the tent, and Lexa and her generals had gathered around it, spinning out their strategy for the battle to come. Azgeda - Nia - began acting up again a month ago, and when a traveling ambassador for the Louwoda was reported as missing and then kidnapped and murdered by the Ice Nation warriors, the Commander had finally had enough. Nia had been granted enough lenience - too much, according to every general around the Commander’s table - and Lexa finally declared war on the nation who simply refused to bend to her word and its queen who refused to bow before her rule.

Clarke knows this is a fight that is long overdue but was always going to happen, but knowing that doesn’t quiet the flutter in her chest or dismiss that tiny chill of fear she can feel creeping down her spine. She’s pretending to stare down at the map still rolled out across the table, acting as though she’s familiarizing herself with this strange piece of land she’s found herself in, but in reality she’s watching the Commander through her eyelashes.

She isn’t in her war gear. Not yet. Her pauldron and sash are hanging neatly on hooks secured to one of the posts holding the tent up. There’s a knife strapped to her side, just as there’s one strapped to Clarke’s, but the Commander’s sword is sheathed, leaning against the big chair one of her warriors set up on the other side of the table. It isn’t the same throne the brunette was sitting in the first time the two young leaders laid eyes on each other, but it’s nearly as formidable. The war paint hasn’t been spread around her eyes yet, but in the flickering candlelight Clarke thinks she doesn’t need it; Lexa’s eyes themselves are dark, dangerous even, and another shiver shoots down Clarke’s spine.

There are many sides to the woman in front of her, and right now she’s pretending not to stare at the calculating warrior intent on destroying her enemies. And Clarke knows.

She will. Within days, the Ice Nation will fall. Nia will fall.

It won’t be easy; the Ice Nation is a fearless, ruthless opponent, and each and every warrior on that battlefield will understand that there will be no mercy. No surrender, no laying down their swords and spears and begging for their lives. The Commander will not grant them such liberties after their queen’s defiance. So they will fight, each one of them, until the blood seeps from their bodies and stains the mud they fall in. And they will fall, no matter how hard they fight - that much Clarke knows, with every fiber of her being.

Some of the Commander’s generals insist on more than just the warriors’ deaths, insist on the annihilation of the entire Azgeda population after all Nia has done. Clarke has tried - delicately - to steer everyone away from that. Tried to remind them all that there are people under Nia’s rule who are in fact innocent, who have no part in their queen’s defiance against the Commander and want nothing more than to live peacefully under Lexa’s coalition. She remembers all too well the heart-stopping fear of standing and facing the Commander’s army with the knowledge they have no hope of winning, that good, innocent people are about to die if she doesn’t do something to stop it. The people are different this time, not the ones she should feel any responsibility for, but still she has spent the past couple of weeks fighting for them. Not the warriors or their queen, but the innocents, the common people, children and mothers and fathers who have never even touched a weapon. She has insisted that the generals think of them, remember them while they’re getting their Commander’s justice. They’ve listened, she thinks, and though they aren’t happy about it, so far it seems like everyone will be content with just the fall of the Ice Queen and her army.

Or so Clarke hopes, at least.

“You must have that memorized by now.”

Lexa’s voice - quiet beneath the patter of the rain - breaks through the blonde’s thoughts and Clarke nearly jumps. She’s still watching the Commander through her eyelashes and sees the other woman shift, her head tilting up as she flashes Clarke a small smile. It’s just a twitch of her lips really, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make it clear to Clarke that she’s been caught, that the Commander is fully aware at what she’s actually looking at.

Her cheeks heat up, but she’s pretty sure they at least don’t flush, or that if they do it isn’t visible in the dim lighting.

“Well there’s a lot to memorize,” she replies simply, one shoulder shrugging, and otherwise doesn’t move.

Because it’s true. There is a lot to memorize. Like the way Lexa’s hands are resting against the table, holding her own map out in front of her so that the corners don’t curl in. How even though she’s leaning a little over the table, somehow her posture is still perfect, spine almost perfectly straight. As always her hair is pulled back in little braids, but a bit has managed to find its way over her shoulder, as though it’s trying to hide Lexa’s jawline from Clarke’s sight. Even with an army just outside and a battle looming on the horizon, her shoulders are relaxed in that way the blonde only sees when they are alone. Every detail stores itself away in her mind and in her chest, and Clarke has to bite the inside of her cheek as she silently files it all away.

Because even though she knows in a way she can’t explain that they are going to win, there’s always the possibility that they won’t. Or that they will win, but will also lose the Commander along the way. After all, unlike Clarke Lexa is going to be right at the front line, charging into battle with the rest of the warriors. The Commander does not wait out a battle or let others fight it for her; the Commander leads the charge, her sword in hand and a war cry on her lips. So it is entirely possible that this will be the last time Clarke will ever see this hurricane of a woman, and just that thought makes it difficult for her to catch her breath.

Maybe Lexa notices - Clarke’s pretty sure after a year of knowing her that she somehow manages to notice everything - because she looks up more fully from her own map, staring at the blonde straight on. Her expression softens, the darkness that had been pooling in her eyes only moments ago fazing away until Clarke’s staring into a green deeper than the deepest part of the forest. There’s an openness now in her expression, the same one Clarke has been afraid of for months now, and it tugs at something in the blonde’s chest.

“We have a plan, Clarke, a good one. In two days we will meet Nia’s army on the battlefield and we will be ready.” One corner of her mouth tugs up just a hair, and she nods toward the map in front of the younger leader. “You have a gift for strategy, as you must know by now.”

She knows. It is, after all, why she is here. She may not be a warrior, will never be a great fighter like Lexa or Octavia or Lincoln, but she quickly learned how to plan and strategize after the delinquents’ crash landing on the ground. Not that she could take all of the credit for their plan to take down the Ice Queen, but she likes to think that even the most stubborn of Lexa’s generals now has at least a grudging respect for the Skaikru ambassador.

She doesn’t say as much though.

“I know I’m just…” She stares back down at the map in front of her and rubs at her forehead. She can feel a tension headache coming on, and knows it probably won’t go away until the fight is over and their war is won. “Just trying to make sure we’ve planned for everything.”

There’s a smaller table at the side of the tent, and Lexa moves over to it now, shaking her head. There she grabs the pitcher that is set out on it, as well as two of the cups.

“You can never prepare for everything in battle, Clarke,” she informs her, setting one cup down on the war table and then pouring some watered down wine into the second. She hands it to Clarke who accepts it with a nod of thanks. “All you can do is prepare for what you know, what you suspect, and steal yourself for the inevitable surprises.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Clarke mutters, glancing back down at the map before taking a sip of the wine. From the corner of her vision she sees Lexa’s lips twitch even as she pours her own cup.

“No, you do not. I know, and neither do I, but they are part of life and a part of battle.”

It’s said so matter-of-factly, so simply, that it makes Clarke pause and her eyes flicker up again. She finds Lexa staring down at her map now, the coming battle likely playing out in her mind, even as she takes a slow sip from her own cup. Clarke knows that only part of her is here now, in this room and part of this conversation. Another part of her is split, thinking of the war to come and the surprises they’ve already faced.

It’s been almost a year since they were in a tent so much like this one. Almost a year since that one kiss that still sends a rush of confusion and heat through Clarke’s chest every time she thinks about it. A year since the mountain, and Lexa walking away. It’s been a painful journey every day since to get them to this place, this spot where Clarke can actually stand to be in the same room with the brunette again, alone or otherwise. Where instead of betrayal and anguish, of fury and hatred, instead she feels understanding, acceptance, even peace. And something more, something she hasn’t wanted to think about, hasn’t let herself think about except for those quiet moments in the middle of the night, surrounded by darkness with Lexa’s image dancing behind Clarke’s eyelids.

Now there is light that washes out the darkness, even though it is dim. Lexa’s image is not hidden behind her eyelids but painted out in the vivid detail of reality in front of her, and though a part of her wants to push it back again, those thoughts squirm to the forefront of Clarke’s mind and she lets them. Her heart - which was already beating more rapidly than normal - quickens further, and Clarke feels a tingling in her fingertips. Her mouth feels dry even after another gulp of the wine, and then she’s tipping her head back and emptying the rest of the cup, hoping for just a hint of relief. She looks back at Lexa and gets none; she catches Lexa looking at her again, those green eyes soft in a way Clarke’s sure she isn’t aware of, and in that moment she makes a decision.

Clarke closes her eyes for a split second, needing to steal herself, and then places the cup on the table. Before it’s even settled she’s moving, the voice in her head silently encouraging her even as her heart feels like it’s about to explode from her chest.

You want this. You want her. You’ve wanted her almost as long as you’ve known her. Tell her, while you still have the chance.

“I don’t,” she begins, stumbling a little as she tries to figure out what to say. “I don’t like them. Surprises, I mean. And yeah, I know you don’t either. But… Sometimes. Sometimes surprises are good. Sometimes something you didn’t expect can be… what you need. Want. What makes you…”

She trails off, because honestly she doesn’t know how to say all of the hundreds of things she’s feeling, that she’s been feeling ever since she met the woman in front of her. It’s as though the storm outside their tent is only half as wild as the storm whirling in her chest, and Clarke just doesn’t know how to take a hold of it and root through it to find the words that can describe this maddening ache in her chest.

A flash of panic sparks in Lexa’s eyes, and honestly Clarke finds it a little comforting. At least she isn’t the only one searching here. At least she isn’t the only one feeling like she’s standing in a boat getting rocked by this storm. Because alongside that panic she can see in Lexa’s eyes is a little catch of breath. She hears it, sees it in the way Lexa’s lips part, and when her eyes trail back up to the other woman’s she realizes that the brunette is staring at her lips too. They’re close now, nearly chest-to-chest, and Clarke hadn’t realized she’d moved this close to Lexa but she’s glad of it. Because now, in this suspended moment, she can scan Lexa’s face, read everything that flashes across that usually closed off expression. Hope. Fear. Longing. Pain.

“Clarke…”

It comes out as a whisper. A warning. A plea.

Don’t do this.

Please do this.

I’ve hurt you.

You’ve hurt me. You can hurt me.

Please. Please don’t hurt me. Don’t let me hurt you.

“Lexa,” Clarke whispers back. There’s more she wants to say. More she can feel bubbling up, racing to the tip of her tongue. It’s there, there in the way she reaches out, brushes a finger against the brunette’s cheek. There’s a response in the way Lexa nearly flinches but sinks into the touch at the same time. A whole litany of words dances between them but aren’t said, aren’t even muttered, because neither of them know how to make their mouths work around them. Clarke wants to say it all, wants to express it all so completely and fully that there can’t be any questions left between them, but instead only a single word comes out.

“Now.”

Again Lexa tries to catch her breath, but this time Clarke doesn’t let her. The words won’t form but her body is more than willing to fill in the spaces, and without hesitation the blonde leans forward. Her fingers gently cup Lexa’s cheek and then her lips slide against the brunette’s, and now it’s her that can’t breathe.

Because Lexa doesn’t hesitate either. The moment their lips touch her hand comes up, lightly grasping the back of Clarke’s head and pulling her closer, closer, as close as she possibly can and Clarke allows herself to be moved. There’s a dull thud that barely registers in the blonde’s mind, and if she were paying attention to anything but the feeling of Lexa’s body pressed against hers she’d realize the brunette dropped her cup, just let it fall to the ground before pulling her close.

It’s a kiss that begins with one meaning, the simple indication that they are each ready, each willing to bare their souls to the other and to trust the other, and then it turns into a kiss of something else. Of a promise. Of apologies and forgiveness. Of “You’re you and I’m me, and I never thought we’d actually make it to this.” Of I’m sorry, and thank you, and I love you, have loved you, will love you, words that they may not know how to articulate yet but each can so easily and completely feel that it doesn’t even begin to matter.

Outside warriors shout and the rain falls. In two days the Commander will lead her army against her greatest enemy and fight until Nia is defeated, and then Commander and Ambassador will return to Polis, to the lives and daily struggles that won’t change solely because of this stolen moment alone in the Commander’s tent.

But right now.

Right now the moment is here, and it is enough. Enough for them to let go of their fears. To accept that this is who they are. They are Ambassador and Commander, but they are also Clarke and Lexa.

And even though the word has yet to be spoken, they love each other.

Now. And forever.

LoveIsLove

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.