archenemy | clexa

thirty seven

Abby's fingertips are dug into the taut skin over her temples, head supported on her elbows. "So you do have a problem with the Heda then?"

"What?" Clarke asks, looking up from her little makeshift bed in her mother's tent. The tent is considerably smaller than the Heda's tent, there's only a one-person bed, a table and a rug. There's also, as everywhere now, a small fireplace that primitively leads the smoke out to a hole in the ceiling.

Clarke made herself a place to cuddle up in front of said fireplace on the rug, with several spare furs and a warm blanket. There has been a silence in the tent for an hour or so, and Clarke is surprised that her mother breaks it like this.

"It's past sundown. You're expected back at the Heda's tent, yet you're not leaving."

"Well, I broke quarantine with you anyway."

"I'm not just talking about quarantine- there's a curfew, and an alliance contract. You're required to stay with the Heda."

"Well, if she minds, then she can send a guard to call me. I complied to that rule every night until now. They surrendered to us, that means I have a say too."

Abby hums, mildly agreeing. Then she asks, "What's going on with you two? Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about. She sucks."

Abby turns to look at Clarke properly and her tired, worn-out expression (being the only proper Skaikru doctor in times of an unknown sickness is far too demanding) softens. "Why on Earth do you like her?"

"I just told you she sucks."

"Yeah, and I know that face. You've been my daughter for nearly two decades, Clarke, I can tell. Also, you kissed her, so that has to mean something. But why her?"

"I don't know," Clarke admits quietly, sunk deeply into the cloud that's her blanket. "It's stupid anyway. She doesn't care. She thinks everything that isn't stoic denial of every emotion is weakness."

"You'll find someone else if that's what you want, honey, the Heda- well, you and I know how the Grounders are and how their leader must be."

That's true, Clarke thinks, she knows exactly how Lexa has to be. But that doesn't mean she doesn't yearn for those moments where Lexa takes off one layer of her invisible all-time armor and tells Clarke about her non-existent family, or kisses her to comfort her, or admits that she's glad that Clarke is alive. She yearns for Lexa's arm around her protectively like when they watched a movie, although she knows that at times, Lexa would rather use that arm to strangle her.

"Whatever. I'll just go back to hating her full-time."

-

On Wednesday, three days after Clarke has temporarily moved into Abby's tent, the doctors make notable progress on a cure. That means, one of the hard parts is worked through, and Abby can finally get some time off.

For the first time, there's the prospect of a full night of sleep. She grabs dinner for Clarke and herself and takes a bath after eating. Freshly washed, full, with combed hair and washed clothes for bed, she goes to bed early and has absolutely no intention of getting up before she has gotten 14 hours of sleep. (Yes, sleeping long runs in the family)

Now, Abby already dislikes the Heda enough. She hates her as a person, she hates the fact that she tried to kill Clarke from the second she landed and then the whole of the Arkers, she hates that she messed around with Clarke and hurt her at least remotely.

And of course, of course, the Heda has to ruin that one single night Abby has to really catch up on sleep.

Abby wakes up somewhen in the middle of the night due to thirst, grabs her bottle of water, takes a sip- and almost spits it out again when she sees a third person in the tent. She's up in a matter of seconds, gun in her hands. It's off safety, pointed at the intruder, and Abby switches on the battery-run lamp Raven built for her.