Of Regrets And Second Chances

Lexa could sense her own heart pounding in her chest. Clarke had asked to talk to her and that was the reason why she was walking through the long corridor that lead to the blonde's room. Her mind was racing, too many memories resurfacing all of a sudden. She and Clarke meeting for the first time, they raising a glasse, the blonde saving her from the pauna, their kiss in the tent. And then, the betrayal. She would have never been able to forget Clarke's gaze, so full of disappointment, fear, confusion. So full of sense of abandonment. Yes, she had abandoned her, as if she was pure nothing. She would have never been able to forgive herself for that. She had had no choice, she knew that, but that awareness didn't ease the grief, nor her remorse.

"Here we are, Heda." the guard who was with her announced, bringing her back from her thoughts. She nodded, a lump in her throat. She stepped towards the door separating her and Clarke and was about to knock on it, when she retreated her hand. She wanted to vomit.

"Heda?" the guard asked, concerned.

"It's okay. Open the door.". The man nodded and did as told. Clarke was standing still, turning her back on the door. Lexa had to appeal to all her own forces to not freak out. She nodded her guard to leave, in order to be alone with Clarke. She heard the door close and she felt her legs weaken. She wasn't sure she was ready to talk to the blonde. She had never been so anxious in her whole life.

"You wanted to see me?" she began. "I'm here.". No answer. She could see Clarke trembling, as she wanted to speak or do something she didn't know she had the strength to do.

"Clarke?". It was a matter of a second. Lexa found herself against the wall, a knife to her throat and two deep blue eyes peering at her, so full of rage, threat, disappointment and sadness. Lexa could have easily deflected Clarke, she knew that. She had been raised to face situations like that. She thought about her conclave. She was just thirteen years old when the Heda died. Of course she and the other nightbloods knew what the conclave would have been, but they were just kids, they weren't really ready to fully imagine what a senseless massacre that would have been. His name was Iowa, he had trapped her against the wall, the exact way Clarke was trapping her now. She could remember his grey gaze and his ferocious grin while he was pointing his knife against her throat. She had managed to trip him and make him fall on the ground. She didn't want to kill him, they had always been good friends. But she had to. She had had to hurt him, to abandon him, the exact way she had had to abandon Clarke. She was so tired. To be commander is to be alone, Titus did nothing but keep telling her that stupid motto. She knew that wasn't the truth. And maybe that was the reason why she did nothing to stop Clarke. She didn't react, at all. She just stood there, her green eyes chained to Clarke's. They were facing each other, in utter silence, the blonde's blue irises digging into Lexa's soul. It was almost painful, yet so needed. Yes, she needed Clarke to see her, to see in her. She wondered if the blonde could sense her pain, her regrets, her sadness. She wondered if she could see all her sins, all the horrible things she had done in her life. She wondered if she could see Iowa's death. She could still smell the blood on her own hands, even if it had been almost ten years since she had been forced to kill him. She felt the stingy coldness of the blade grazing her throat and, for a second, she hoped for Clarke to thrust the knife in her trachea and wash her sins away.

"I'm sorry." she muttered, almost imperceptibly. Clarke's breath was more and more erratic, the knife still pressed against the brunette's throat. It happened all of a sudden. They barely heard the door opening and the sound of tiny footsteps entering the room. And when they realized they weren't alone anymore it was too late. They both froze. Clarke let the knife fall on the floor, her hand trembling for the shock. In front of them there was a small child with dark hair, tied in a long braid, and two big blue eyes, staring at them in absolute horror. She was no more than two years old and had a cute teddy bear between her hands and what Clarke thought to be a sort of dummy in her mouth.