fragile | clexa

chapter forty seven

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Three weeks passed and Lexa mentioned their upcoming date as much as Clarke mentioned Lexa's anger about Octavia; not at all.

The pressure of her position as the Heda came crushing down on her more than ever, pushing and pulling her between two necessities; giving Clarke enough time and returning to Polis. She had quite overstepped the amount of time that would've been acceptable to be gone, and that only considered with the ethics of 'borrowing' her leadership to someone else temporarily. If it had gone after Titus, she shouldn't have been gone a day for private reasons.

Letters and paperwork stacked up and Lexa hated herself for giving up on her promise to herself that she wouldn't let Clarke be alone again so soon. 'Alone' never really, always with two guards and Berta or Lincoln, but she would have much rather come with the blonde to the cooking and baking lessons or at least been near when Clarke spent time with Artigas.

When Clarke was in the tent, she was mostly painting or watching Lexa do her work, but she didn't at all talk except for sometimes after dinner, when Lexa had made it a priority to spend time with Clarke no matter how much work was still left to do. She'd help the girl bathe while telling her stories, or she read her something, or they played chess, which Lexa discovered Clarke had a great talent for.

"Have you played before?" she'd ask and everytime got a little-saying answer between yes and no. They didn't have much more conversation than that, apart from when Clarke had a nightmare or was struggling with something and wanted to talk to Lexa about it. Which, too, was rather rare.

Clarke seemed to just like to listen. She liked being curled up in Lexa's lap, always a bit tired, and listening to whatever Lexa told her. Sometimes it was a fairytale or myth, sometimes stories she had made up herself and once in a while stories from her own childhood.

It went like that for those three weeks and Lexa was getting more and more stressed with the stress of being stressed while also having to have no stress at all for Clarke's sake.

Lexa didn't know Clarke's doing except for the evenings they spent together or the afternoons Clarke spent painting. She thought Clarke was maybe tired because of bad sleep or closing off from her, which was also why she never talked about the date. If Clarke decided that she didn't want to do it, Lexa would have never understood anything more and so she just tried to get Clarke engaged a bit into the one and other conversation, at least.

Lexa didn't know that everytime Clarke was with Artigas, she was standing or walking or lifting progressively heavier stuff; a thin notebook, a paperback book, a proper book, an empty bottle, a half full bottle, and so on. Lexa didn't know the sore muscles Clarke had at the end of most days, or how much the blonde made herself eat at Berta's place in combination with Yelena's medicine that helped to gain muscle and weight. Again progressively more, a thin slice of apple cake, a thicker one, half a slice of chocolate cake, then a full one, half a plate of noodles, two slices of bread, a whole small bowl of salad, and so on.

Clarke pushed herself to just one step, just one bite, just one sip of water more every day, aware she was only a stone on Lexa's foot holding the woman back. Letters over letters and stacks over stacks of paper were on Lexa's desk and it was really no secret anymore that the Heda, who should at best not take a day of a break, was urgently, urgently required back in Polis.

The only reason Lexa hadn't returned was because of Clarke, and the lack of progress she had managed to make in so many months. How had she taken so long anyway when she had known all along she was living at Lexa's expense?

After all Lexa had done for her, God, after all that time and effort and patience and the date and kisses Clarke still couldn't comprehend, she owed Lexa hurrying up, didn't she?