Lexa didn't want to talk about her and Emerson's fight.
It was too close. Too, dangerously close. If he had fought her during then, when they had him captured and she still had the use of her legs, she would've killed him in a heartbeat. There wouldn't've even been a fight, and no one would've batted an eye.
But now? A two-minute-long fight, an embarrassingly long time for a Commander, and he had come close to killing her than any assassin the Clans issued could've had. And before a time where he wouldn't've even come close to touching her, now there were wounds to tend to, injuries that throbbed left and right, and a thousand ants, prickling, burning in her legs, which she prayed wouldn't intensify.
She had enough wounds to lick already.
She could've saved Madi. She could've killed him, his face an inch away from her boots when she forced his fall, a crack to his neck and it would be done. If only her legs weren't broken.
If only.
Sucking in a breath, she wheeled over to the counter and winced from the pain it caused. Forget it, Lexa, her mind told her. You have other things to do.
Spirits, she thought. ''Other things.'' When will ''other things'' ever stop cropping up?
As long as I don't let them stop.
There was a breath, as with a groan, she pulled out the medical drawer under the counter. From it she pulled a strip of gauze from the bag, and gingerly began to wrap the worse of her wounds with it. They were loose; barely fitting, but she was too in pain to make it tighter, to make it firmer, yet.
Emerson, she made herself think, amid the swirl of pain that wouldn't leave. Carl Emerson. Spirits, his survival. We were so sure that—that he was dead. That he would be. There was no way he could've survived.
You underestimate the human will, Lexa, and the words were soft, nearly melodic even, underneath a harsh guise. She grimaced and pulled the gauze tighter. Anya.
That was when she had spoken to her after the bullet had broken her spine, in her tent when she recuperated from the aftermath, registered her injuries, bitter from the shooting. Said her words, even as resentful as Lexa were; told her, believed, not in her then, but in her will—that was there for survival.
And why, she thought, and she would've chuckled, if not for the blood that was metal bile in her throat, should the same not apply to Emerson?
There was an involuntary sigh, as she did the final bind; and keeping a hold of one end and the other hold outstretching the other end, with a pull, she had ripped the gauze away. And with that, she gritted her teeth and pushed back the sore cry in her throat—for it was not the time now.
It was not the time now. Neither was it for the burning—Spirits, the burning at the worst times. She needed to ignore it, and continue on. Why was it so hard?
Spirits, Lexa. When will you ever address it?
She knew the answer. Yet she didn't want to admit it; as she took another bandage from the drawer, and began to bind another wound. Other things. Other things came first.
Is engrossing myself in ''other things'' really how I should face my demons? In coming to terms with my disability?
She growled; wrenched her thoughts away from that. She couldn't think that now. Not when there was so much else to consider. Lexa took a low breath— focused on her bandaging. Her legs could wait. Other things came first.
Other things. That was what was important. Other things included saving Madi. Other things included murdering Emerson. Other things were more important than what was on her mind now. Other things included so much more than the plagued expanse in her brain.
But when will the next ''other thing'' arise—when will you keep time to herself?
Another heaved breath. Tore her eyes away from the gauze; her fingers fiddled with it, slightly.
After this is over, she promised herself and looked at the counter staring back at her. After this is over, then I'll give myself all the time I need.
...
''Carl!'' Madi yelled as she banged her fists against the boulder blocking the cave's entrance. ''Carl, get me out of here! Somebody—somebody help me!'' she screamed, but the only thing that heard it was the cave itself, echoing her shouts like a taunting laugh.
It's all my fault. All 'cause I opened my big mouth and didn't think about the words before I said them.
All my fault.
And as the blame swirled in her mind, Madi threw herself at the boulder, banged her fists and shouted until her voice was hoarse for god-knows how long, until finally, when all the fight was sapped from her and she sat on the cave grounds, panting for breath, a shred of light shone from a crack in the boulder. And then more, until the boulder was rolled away and all that was left was Carl.
Madi spent a second on the silhouette before she made a bolt for it. But then Carl's arm caught her chest, and she was dragged back kicking and screaming.
When she was thrust back inside, Carl shut the boulder halfway, himself blocking the other half. And that was when Madi caught a good look at Carl. He was panting, almost as hard as she'd been. Sweat coursed down his neck. His left hand was gone, the loosely-bound stump that was left was dripping with blood, and she had to stifle a scream. Oh Spirits. Ohspiritsohspiritsohspirits.
But when Madi gazed at him, her terrified eyes flickering from Carl's stump to his face to the halfway-shut boulder, the only question she asked was: ''why?''
Carl didn't respond, but pushed the boulder entirely, until it was just the light and Carl's shadow she saw. ''Go, Madi,'' he said, his voice tight. ''Don't go—to Clarke or Lexa until at least three hours have passed. Go inside the forests for now—hunt, scavenge, pick berries, do anything. Just—just don't come back,'' he said hoarsely, desperately, as if it was his last request and he'd do anything to make it happen. Like a plea. Voice still hoarse, if not hoarser than before— ''Just do it for me.''
''No.'' And at Carl's bewildered glance, Madi said, with even more conviction, her eyes meeting his in determination: ''No, they're coming, aren't they? Clarke n' Lexa?'' Then, when Carl refused to meet her eyes, Madi looked at his stump and then focused on his face: ''Y-you want to die to solve this?'' And then, angrier: ''You're gonna kill yourself— an', an' I'm not gonna let that happen.''
''Damnit, Madi!'' Carl yelled in ferocity, and fear crossed Madi's eyes. She backed away at the sudden change, but to no avail. Carl stumbled forward, a few steps, and Madi knew she should go, knew she should leave, but couldn't take her eyes off him. He neared her, swaying, his right arm behind him as if to take something from his belt— and she took the first step forward, nearly, as if she was gonna bolt—
And then she felt cold metal press against her head.
