archenemy | clexa

twenty seven

"Oh my dear, we believed you were dead, they appointed a date for your funeral. Oh Clarke," Abby still sobs, sitting in Lexa's and Clarke's tent still after the rest of the friendgroup had left.

"I'm okay. It's okay mom, I'm perfectly alive."

"And you stayed in a bunker with the Heda?"

"Yeah."

Abby throws a glance at Lexa, who is leaned over the wartable, distracted by Clarke's mother's wails. "Did you help her, Heda?"

To Clarke's surprise, Lexa does not even attempt to lie. "No, ma'am. Clarke saved my life. The minor injuries she has are on my accord."

Abby seems to have entirely forgotten that Lexa is the enemy, but considering her emotional state, Clarke supposes it's understandable that her motherly instincts overpower even to the Heda. "Oh, did she? Well, okay, okay. Where's your mother? Why isn't she here to celebrate your survival?"

A pink blush creeps on Clarke's cheeks on part of her mother and she looks over to Lexa apologetically, but Lexa doesn't catch her eye. "I don't have a mother," Lexa states calmly. "It doesn't matter, though," she adds, seeing Abby's borderline sympathetic expression. "It's easier that way, I do not need celebration for my survival and I do not want mourning for my death."

"Easier!" Abby exclaims with a high-pitched voice, and what she says and does then brings the pink on Clarke's cheeks to a solid red. "My dear, it's not easier! Who on Earth is supposed to- to comfort you?"

And on that note, Lexa does glance Clarke, but she immediately looks away when she notices that Clarke has been looking all along. "It's okay, ma'am."

"Can I give you a hug? I can celebrate your survival!"

"Ma'am-" Lexa's cheeks are beginning to redden as well. "It's not-"

But Abby's arms are already thrown around a stiff Lexa, who blushes to the tips of her ears.

"But don't forget, you're still my enemy, I still hate you, don't mess with my people and most importantly, don't put a finger on my daughter!" Abby chimes on her way out, leaving a long and heavy silence in the tent.

"I'm so sorry," Clarke manages. "She can grow quite emotional."

"That's okay," Lexa gets out.

"So uh- how is the war now? Did many die?"

"Not as much as I feared, and not as much as Azgeda hoped. But a lot are injured. We will stay here until the end of the week, then we'll move north to where Azgeda fled. They're probably trying to use their last advantage of known terrain if it's snowy."

"Okay," Clarke says simply. She's tired after the walk from the bunker and the many people coming to see her and hug her, so she leaves to get dressed for the night and curls up in bed.

She's surprised that Lexa follows suit soon after. Clarke expected her to pore over maps and plans all night, as opposed to joining Clarke to retire just after sunset.

She makes a point out of turning her back to Clarke, exposing parts of the tattoo along the length of her spine that Clarke has never truly gotten the time to explore. Clarke doesn't know if Lexa is pretending to sleep, or if she's just stubbornly facing away from Clarke, avoiding speaking.

Technically, Clarke is sick of asking Lexa first. On the other hand, she can't stand this either.

"Lexa?" she asks softly.

"What?" a raspy answer.

"Would you like to sleep in my arms?"

They'd done this every night in the bunker before frustration and anger overtook. This used to be unspoken, and Clarke isn't sure if it was only because they were beneath the surface, away from everything else, that Lexa accepted her like that.