Clexa One Shots

Springs of Change

"Where are we going?" Clarke blinks, because she's fairly sure that her thoughts are strange for post-battle mind, but this is still a concern; she may want to forget about leading her people, just for a few more hours, but Clarke recognizes that there are things to be done before she can crawl into her tent for sleep, and it's important that she find out where she's headed so that she can figure out how long she has to stay there.

Fair enough, Clarke decides.

"The springs," Lexa answers, casting dark green eyes side-long in Clarke's direction.

Clarke's glad that the horse is walking for her, because she's pretty positive she would've stumbled at Lexa's words, and that probably would've been intensely mortifying. Because, seriously, what the hell happened to the Trigedasleng words and the illusion of misinterpretation?

The clarity of English sort of isn't working in her favor this time around, Clarke determines.

"Why?" Clarke frowns, head lofting to the side with her demand.

"It is tradition amongst my people that the Commander be tended to after battle by those she has protected," Lexa explains, though her eyes will not meet Clarke's, and Clarke wonders if it is by awkward design or if Lexa is truly unconcerned by the nature of this custom.

Clarke hesitates, but her brain to mouth filter is not as cautious as she'd like.

In fairness, it's been, like, months since she's claimed any significant measure of sleep, so it's not even her fault. Not really.

"Like, bathed?" Clarke blurts out. "I mean," she flushes crimson and bows her head in effort to hide it, but Clarke can't ever hide anything from Lexa, and it's deeply infuriating, and the reminder only colors Clarke's cheeks further, "we're going to the springs for a bath?"

... Together?

And, alright, so maybe it's not the most significant part - because maybe Clarke should feel honored or flattered or startled or something by the notion that Lexa's people evidently consider Clarke to be a Commander they must care for, too - but all Clarke can think of is the kiss before the battle and Lexa's strong fingers so tenderly brushing beneath her ear, and, like... Clarke can't just bathe with her.

That's a damn disaster waiting to happen.

Lexa's lips quirk at the edges, and this might normally sink warmth into the pits of Clarke's stomach, but now she is only eager to learn where the amusement stems from.

"It is our way," Lexa remarks temperately.

But her eyes shimmer in this enormously confusing manner that makes Clarke think that maybe she understands Clarke's reluctance, but only thinks it's funny. Which Clarke doesn't exactly think is altogether fair, but whatever.

"That's not- I mean, Lexa, I need a little more information, here," Clarke finally manages to put together.

Lexa chuckles - and it's the first time that Clarke has really heard her laugh, but, freaking stars, it's like she's heard it a thousand times, because it is husky and familiar, like a secret shared just between them, and it is soft and low, and it makes Clarke itch.

"We will bathe together, and will have our injuries seen to by women of the village," Lexa tells her gently. "It brings them comfort. We have lead our people to battle and have provided them a service, Clarke; we have offered them sanctuary, and my people are not unappreciative. Caring for us in the wake of war is how they choose to settle the debt. The Bas," Lexa announces, like it is somehow a proper event and not only a humble presentation put forth by Lexa's people, "is a ceremonial custom, Clarke. It is important to my people, particularly in your case, as this day marks your first victory in battle. It would be... unwise to deny this gift; my people will not take to such refusal kindly. It is an offering of respect, and gratitude; our alliance could build well upon such a foundation."