After placing the bucket of water near the table and tending to an unusually-mute Clarke. Lexa thought about their plans for the night. It was nearing dusk, which meant it should be when they began to light their candles. As she began to wrap up, rinsing the towel of blood, she began to move for the candles. However, nothing prepared her for Clarke's words.
''We should invite her in,'' was the first thing Clarke said, after forty minutes of silence.
Lexa's head whipped up from the drawer of candles to stare at Clarke, who was trying to leave her seat on the table. ''Excuse me?''
''We should invite her in, Lexa.'' Clarke repeated, more firmly this time, as she moved herself downwards from the table with her hands. At this, Lexa's eyes widened, and she quickly wheeled towards Clarke, abandoning her candles on the drawer.
''Stop, Clarke. You're hurting yourself.''
''I feel fine,'' Clarke said, before a small gasp escaped her when she shifted some of her weight onto her leg.
Lexa stared at Clarke incredulously, to which Clarke responded with a glare which ultimately spluttered and died under Lexa's stare. With the tactic of intimidation out of the window, Clarke admitted: ''Okay, I'm not fine. And that's the point I'm trying to make. We both aren't fine, Lexa. You're paralysed because of an incomplete spinal injury. I'm limping because my leg got stuck in a bear trap.''
''You'll heal, Clarke.'' Lexa interrupted, her voice tight, constrict. Gripping her hands in frustration, almost tersely at the dangerous waters Clarke was about to approach.
''But—'' Clarke said, bumbling through her words. ''—But what if it's not my leg next time? What if it's my arm? Or my head?''
''We'll figure it out.'' Lexa hissed. Gripping her fists tighter still. This was not a subject she wanted to approach today.
She had thought of the subject many times before, especially when they traversed from Becca's lab, and to Shallow Valley, a desert stretching seven days spanning in between them. Nothing she liked came out of the conversation with herself.
The desert made her feel helpless. That was a fact she knew, but she did not want to deal with the implications behind it then. It was only thanks to Clarke that she managed to get through it, and it was especially then when the feeling of being reliant on someone magnified, and reminded her why she disliked it even more. There was a reason why Commanders had to be capable and learned from birth to trust no-one, for if a Commander relied on somebody but themselves... what would happen when the person they relied on was gone?
Even now she was relying on Clarke for food, for supplies, for scavenging. If Clarke died, then... it was safe to say Lexa would perish as well, albeit with some fight, but the eventual end was still obvious.
Unless...
''We're not doing this, Clarke,'' Lexa said, a hint of anger befit of a Commander in her voice. Wheeling back towards the drawer, and furiously striking a match to light a candle, she said: ''We're done here.''
''We need her, Lexa.'' Clarke said from behind her, her voice impossibly soft—till the point where Lexa wondered if Clarke's words were meant to be heard by her, or not. ''We—''
''We don't,'' Lexa growled, cutting Clarke off. ''I can hunt. We don't need that Natblida helping us. We don't even know who she is, Clarke. By the Spirits, she broke your leg mere hours ago!''
''The bow's lost, Lexa,'' Clarke said in frustration. ''Unless my leg heals anytime soon, we are not going to survive.
Irritation arose within her. ''Split the rations, then.''
Clarke sighed. ''We're already splitting the rations. Look, we're not gonna do this without her. I'm not going hunting anytime soon, and neither will you be. We might be able to survive on rations this time, but what about the next? And the one after that?'' Clarke's voice was stricken. ''We're gonna run out of rations one way or another. Unless we figure out some long-term solution, a backup plan, we're gonna die when the next disaster strikes.''
''Stop, Clarke.'' Lexa said, almost too quickly.
Clarke blinked. ''... what?''
''You act like a pragmatist, but I know you well enough that you are not, Clarke.'' she began. Clarke's face almost seemed to freeze over. ''Your points are... pragmatic, well-founded, but you are an idealist at heart. You can try to justify it all you want, but tell me your true reason as for why you want her here.''
At Lexa's persistent stare, Clarke finally sighed. ''When I saw her—she was scared, Lexa. Afraid I was a Fleimkipa. When emotions run our head, we don't exactly make the best choices—ruling with impulse over rationale.''
Lexa's stare was still there. ''And?''
Clarke sighed. ''She's just a child, Lexa. A scared one. Almost like I was, once, when I acted with a heart rather than a head.'' Then, she gave a small chuckle. ''And though she might be the Natblida from hell, we should give her a choice. To either stay with us or go.''
And then, quieter, for Lexa's stare was still prominent— ''I don't think she has shelter, and with her stealing our rations, she's probably scarce on food, too. If we leave her out there any longer, she might die. And I can't let that happen.''
Seemed to be doing just fine on her bear-traps and rations, but she bit back the scathing remark.
Clarke almost seemed to read her mind, because she sighed once more. Bit back a rueful smile. ''You're acting like you're the one whose' gotten their leg broken, not me.'' And at Lexa's uncompromising stare, a layer of question mixed with a healthy dose of ''really?'' added to it, Clarke realised that the smile was getting harder to bite back.
''We should give her a second chance. Also, Lexa... the staring's getting kinda creepy.''
Taking a breath, eyes flittering from Clarke's face to the floor, the candle's fire flickering calmly in her hand, hoping she wouldn't regret this, Lexa said: ''... fine. But you have to rest, Clarke. Promise?''
A tiny, rueful smile spread across Clarke's face. ''Promise.''
