archenemy | clexa

twenty six

When Lexa wakes up, there's an arm thrown across her stomach, but she doesn't feel the instinct to fight it. After so many nights, she has grown accustomed to the presence of another so close to her.

Clarke is still sleeping. Her hair is messy all over the pillow, a few strands in Lexa's face that she carefully brushes off. Clarke moves that exact moment, her legs, which have been tucked close to her body, stretch out and find Lexa's. They search contact, intertwine in a way that Lexa has to move a little so Clarke's legs aren't too heavily on her injury. Then, Clarke's arms move, away from Lexa's stomach for a moment until both hold Lexa closer and Clarke buries her head in Lexa's chest. Still sleeping, she hums subconsciously and relaxes against Lexa entirely.

Lexa is a little stiff and her heart is beating unusually fast as she readjusts her own body so that Clarke can be comfortable. It's mildly cold in the bunker and Lexa relishes the source of warmth against her body.

She has no idea what time it is. If her inner clock works right, just about sunrise. Possibly though, she fell asleep earlier yesterday, and it's still night now.

Clarke isn't a way to tell for sure; Lexa isn't sure if Gods have an inner clock at all. She can go to sleep at the most random times and wake up at any given time (except very early, that doesn't appear to be her strength). On the Sundays where everyone is allowed a break, Clarke can sleep until noon.

On one hand, Lexa is endlessly worried about her people. Her camp. How many died? Did Azgeda already overtake them? Are they fighting back? How does war look now that Azgeda committed a war crime such as setting everything aflame?

On the other hand, she knows she can't move now. Her leg still hurts badly and needs rest, she lost one of two swords and isn't in a state to fight, and who knows how it looks up on the surface now. Maybe there are still embers of fire. Maybe everything is infested with Azgeda warriors looking for survivors to kill. For once, she actually doesn't have a choice. For once, she can't get up early to fight, to hold a meeting, to care for her people.

For once, she can pretend she's not the Heda at all, not fighting a war, not struggling to hold everything together. For once, she can pretend that this woman in her arms isn't a lethal Goddess that she hates and appreciate her touch entirely, let it get to her heart and head both.

-

It's bad.

Oh God, it's really bad.

Lexa may just be able to handle an affectionate sleeping Clarke, but an affectionate awake and sleepy Clarke?

When Clarke wakes up, she doesn't seem to be in a hurry to extract herself from Lexa at all. Instead, she lifts her head for a moment to survey the situation, notice that Lexa's awake, and then she drops it back on Lexa's chest to rest on with a sweet yawn. "Any nightmares?" she asks casually and Lexa manages a, "No."

"How's your leg?"

"Hurts a little but it's getting less. You did a good job at stitching it."

Clarke gives a non-saying hum and makes no effort at all to get up. She just rests her hand on the side of Lexa's chest her head isn't on and begins to draw random figures as though this level of touch were normal for enemies.

"What's the plan for today?"

"You're the doctor. Can I move my leg or not?"

"No! No, we're staying here. That's a given. I meant what do you want to do?"

Lexa knows that it's slightly embarrassing to be overwhelmed by such a simple question, but she has no idea of the answer. What does she want to do? She doesn't know the last time she heard that question. "Are there even any options?" she asks hesitantly.