Prompt: After 307 Clarke is injured, and whilst they're trying to save her she sees Lexa in the city of light and has to make a decision whether to stay or go back to her friends? (filled by @cosima-phdhaus)
Clarke’s fever had been climbing for days. Her forehead was slick with sweat and her eyes, glassy and unfocused, were still bright with indignance. “Don’t touch me.”
Four people stood crowded around her bed in the clinic of Arkadia, all ignoring the quarantine warning posted outside her room. Abby’s frustration was just as evident as her daughter’s stubbornness, though she’d given up pleading two days before. Kane stood several feet behind her, his arms clasped uselessly behind his back. Octavia was holding Raven’s shoulders, using her weight to keep Raven sitting in the one uncomfortable chair the room was equipped with. She had been pacing for so long that they were worried about her leg, though she protested. She still felt no pain.
“I don’t give my consent to treatment,” Clarke repeated, a firm declaration she would announce every hour or so, as if Abby would forget the seven words. Even in her near delirious state, she was firm.
She had returned from Polis a week ago, with only a complaint of muscle soreness; she’d attributed it to a certain commander’s last night on earth, while Abby just as quickly cited the long horse ride back to Arkadia. While she was needed desperately in both places, Clarke couldn’t fathom remaining in her chambers, close to Titus, after Lexa’s light had been extinguished from the world. She mourned as properly as she could manage, and set off in the middle of the night so she wouldn’t have to cope with any formal announcement of her voyage.
Two days later, she developed a sore throat. A day after that, the fever set in. Three more days, and she’d passed out walking to breakfast, and she hadn’t seen light outside of the four walls she was yet again confined by since. A perpetual prisoner.
She missed Lexa.
Clarke’s body seized and Raven jumped up. Octavia’s hands moved from Raven’s shoulders to Clarke’s legs, holding her thrashing body as still as they could manage. Kane shifted uncomfortably in the corner as he watched Abby, body flush with adrenaline, limbs shaking, try to siphon the necessary medication into a syringe.
Clarke flat lined.
The syringe dropped to the metallic floor, rolling until it hit a far wall. Kane tracked its movements, unable to watch as Abby pushed her weight into Clarke’s chest. She gasped each time she pressed down, tears rolling over her cheeks. She whispered her daughter’s name like the prayers she’d forgotten before they touched the ground.
“Lexa?” Clarke’s legs gave way beneath her, unable to support her suddenly heavy chest. There, as if a day hadn’t passed, when Clarke herself had counted the hours and minutes, stood Lexa. No bullet holes or blood stains. She was just as perfect, just as whole, as she had been when she’d whispered words in Trigedasleng. Words of their future. Of peace. Of a world in which her death was unimportant. She’d crafted beautiful stories of children and laughter and love. She’d traced Clarke’s scars and explained the symbolism of each mark on her own spine. It was as if nothing had happened to mar those moments - to ruin their importance or blemish them with reality.
“Clarke.” There it was. As soft as ever. She broke, her chest wracked with sobs as Lexa held her close, and she could feel it. Her heartbeat. Lexa was just as perfect and just as real.
“I miss you so much.” Her voice cracked halfway through the admission, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. It wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t ever weakness.
“You have to go back. Yu gonplei nou ste odon.”
Your fight is not over.
Clarke had never believed in fate. She didn’t believe in soulmates or true love or any of the fairytales she’d heard pieces of on the Ark. She had never subscribed to the idea that you were meant to spend your life with just one person, because she had never imagined that one person would challenge her view of the world. She hadn’t thought that someone could both terrify her to the core as well as make her feel safe, even in the midst of war. She hadn’t considered the possibility of Lexa.
But when she saw Lexa, against all odds, in a world that she hadn’t believed existed, the last thing she had expected was to be sent back toward earth a second time.
“Clarke, it is not your time yet to join me in the City of Light. You have much more to give to your people. Only you can bring them peace.” The words were honest, but crafted carefully around dampened eyelashes and hands clasping Clarke’s cheeks. “Do for them what I could not. I will wait.”
Her movements were slow and deliberate. She was precise in her motion, waiting, as always for the moment Clarke would revoke consent, and yet again, not finding it. Their lips touched, and Clarke gasped on instinct. Her eyes fluttered shut, focusing her attention on the warmth of Lexa’s mouth and the hand sliding into her hair and the quiet breaths. She wanted to memorize every minutiae in a way that she hadn’t with their last, because she knew this time. She knew she wouldn’t have another chance to gather the feeling of this love, to hold it close, any moment soon.
When she woke up, an IV in her arm and a steady beeping in her ears, a single tear tracked down the side of her face. Clarke coughed, alerting her mother to her consciousness, and as Abby’s arms wrapped around her, she imagined the warmth was still Lexa. The warmth that stayed with her for the next fifty years, no matter its original source, was Lexa. When those years were used up, and she felt herself drifting away from the dozens surrounding her bed, she woke up in the same forest, this time with steady legs and a mended heart. She walked silently through the grass, slipping her hand into Lexa’s without a word.
“Hello again, Clarke.” She gripped the fingers laced between her own more tightly. “Your father has been waiting.”
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