Lexa hadn't done much the past few days.
For one, there wasn't much to do—only to watch cautiously on whenever Luna had interacted with Madi within the abode, or to help Clarke out occasionally with the resources they've collected from Becca's Laboratory. The heat was blistering outside, higher degrees due to the mix of Praimfaya and summer, which resulted in the entirety of Shallow Valley that felt to be stuck in a perpetual heat-stroke. And the fact that her wheelchair was of metal, and burned despite her gloves; she certainly wasn't going outside.
Watching Clarke and Madi and Luna interact outside did nothing to alleviate her mood.
When she wasn't thinking of the pain in her legs, or the narcotics hidden carefully in the drawer of their room; the shadows were on her mind. More often now than ever; when she thought about it, of the days that had gone by. It had lounged on her mind, caved in a small cosy hole itself to fester; for her to ponder upon. And usually, her thoughts would lead to nowhere but a cascade of reasons and excuses and speculation—and the hole would remain in her head.
She did not talk to Luna, not much. Save for perhaps one formal training session they had with one another, that had taken place during the night, which was laced with awkwardness than actual skill that caused a standstill between the both of them. Luna would've won, certainly—Luna was better than Lexa while they were Natblidas training for a Conclave; it was logical that it would be the same, if not better now that she did not have her legs—but the only reason Lexa even managed to stalemate her was because of the uncertainty, the awkwardness in the duel.
It was not a true victory, nor it was a loss. She did not know which would've been worse.
The trap. There were more thoughts than she could answer to herself about it—and though a part of her was mad, as it usually were—Lexa knew it would be unsightly to hold a grudge. And the fact that Luna did it for survival—despite her life and their survival and it all—made it excusable. Understandable, even.
There was also Emerson. Carl Emerson, whom they had killed because he had attacked them—who attacked on the basis of thinking that they were the ones that jeopardized his survival. And of it all; none of them knew who was the actual monster behind the mask.
But could she call Luna a monster; when all she did was just that—for survival?
Survival. They all had done things for their own survival. First, there was fighting the Skaikru, because they had killed so much of their own. Or the bunker, and sacrificing so many lives for the sake of the few. They did their things for survival.
Clarke killed the Maunon, so Skaikru would survive. Lexa herself killed the Azgeda to found a negotiation; went to wars and did massacres and so many more all so her people would live—would not only live but for the better.
And if they wanted a better future; if they wanted to live and make it so that no one more needed to die—not like Emerson had—then they would have to leave their pasts behind. Accept the present and what it was now. And that meant accepting Luna, despite what she had done.
Forgetting about all that happened. Even if it was hard; even if they could not truly forgive Luna for her actions.
But they had to. For Madi's sake; for the sake of all their lives.
Was this how they could do it?
For their future. Lexa would do it for their future, their survival, and a promise for a better life.
And she would ignore her own mind—her instincts, the animal instinct to preserve herself—for that.
...
