[It's like a bad dream, the kind of nightmare you have in the two hours sleep you get before a battle.
There are no words to be said when she looks down at the black stain of her blood leaking out of her, the gun in Titus' hand... and Clarke. She must have thought of dying a million times before. Heda's came and went like the summer birds, she had been an exception, but even those don't last forever.
But she didn't think it would end like this, with the sharp, suddenness of it all, the taste of Clarke still lingering on her lips, the hope that she could get her to stay still sticking to the back of her throat with all the words she was sure she would never, now, get to say.
The world seems to swim beneath her, and then she's grabbed, picked up by arms she would know in any lifetime... arms she could never have conceived of betraying her. Titus.
It doesn't matter anymore, her head is light, her body trembles as she tries to focus on Clarke, on her sweet face that had been smiling not ten minutes before, on the worry that now creases her brow as she tries to staunch the blood flow, tries to find something to fix Lexa's wound.
She had never been one to let things be.]
Clarke. [her voice doesn't feel right, the pain too sharp for her to completely mask that she feels it but she presses on.] Clarke do not be afraid. [Death is not the end, she almost adds, but, it would be, for Clarke. She has never given Lexa anything but disbelieving looks when that comes up. It is not in the Skaikru nature to accept death.
At least, it was not in Clarke's so Lexa makes no noise of protest when Clarke starts to dig around inside the wound, seeking the traitorous bullet that had ruined a day that had barely been salvaged, to begin with.
She ignores the way her eyes water and her vision spins as each stitch pulls her unwilling flesh back together, she even manages to smile a little when Clarke is done and tells her to rest.]
If you do not go, you will never get past the blockade. You wish to be with your people, you still can. [She tries for reassuring as her fingers squeeze Clarkes, but her grip is as fuzzy as her vision is right now, and she's not sure she's helping her case.
Not that it's a case she wants to make... but Clarke was clearly no safer in Polis. Titus had been the one the commanders in her dream had warned her about. Of all the people it could've been.]
no subject
There are no words to be said when she looks down at the black stain of her blood leaking out of her, the gun in Titus' hand... and Clarke. She must have thought of dying a million times before. Heda's came and went like the summer birds, she had been an exception, but even those don't last forever.
But she didn't think it would end like this, with the sharp, suddenness of it all, the taste of Clarke still lingering on her lips, the hope that she could get her to stay still sticking to the back of her throat with all the words she was sure she would never, now, get to say.
The world seems to swim beneath her, and then she's grabbed, picked up by arms she would know in any lifetime... arms she could never have conceived of betraying her. Titus.
It doesn't matter anymore, her head is light, her body trembles as she tries to focus on Clarke, on her sweet face that had been smiling not ten minutes before, on the worry that now creases her brow as she tries to staunch the blood flow, tries to find something to fix Lexa's wound.
She had never been one to let things be.]
Clarke. [her voice doesn't feel right, the pain too sharp for her to completely mask that she feels it but she presses on.] Clarke do not be afraid. [Death is not the end, she almost adds, but, it would be, for Clarke. She has never given Lexa anything but disbelieving looks when that comes up. It is not in the Skaikru nature to accept death.
At least, it was not in Clarke's so Lexa makes no noise of protest when Clarke starts to dig around inside the wound, seeking the traitorous bullet that had ruined a day that had barely been salvaged, to begin with.
She ignores the way her eyes water and her vision spins as each stitch pulls her unwilling flesh back together, she even manages to smile a little when Clarke is done and tells her to rest.]
If you do not go, you will never get past the blockade. You wish to be with your people, you still can. [She tries for reassuring as her fingers squeeze Clarkes, but her grip is as fuzzy as her vision is right now, and she's not sure she's helping her case.
Not that it's a case she wants to make... but Clarke was clearly no safer in Polis. Titus had been the one the commanders in her dream had warned her about. Of all the people it could've been.]