Author's Note: Turns out I'm semi-allergic to wine...made me rather depressed. Clarke will not move in with Lexa or vice versa. Its too soon. And things that I've said or what has been said to me gets put into my fics occasionally.

The totality of it was with so much weight she wondered if this was how Atlas felt in the great myths. She stopped resenting Lexa when it became too heavy to carry around. When caring too its place then retreated with the onslaught of anger then was pushed back to make room for a desire to connect. There was immediate anger how she could keep it a secret...but the craving to understand her shadows, her reluctance to be bare and her conscious holding back made Clarke stand and hold to the position she was in. It was about holding. Wanting to say "I can't hold onto you...but I want to" but not allowing the sentiment to hang between them.

As she stepped out into the chilled, open air she went about covering any trace of a fire. The embers had completely burned out, their ash appearing to meld with the snow. Arthur explored within seeing distance until he dashed over a hill, likely after hearing some small, peaceful creature. Clarke pushed down on the shovel, trying to make a large enough hole to bury the remains of the stag Lexa had brought. If she could stop the smell of death looming in the air she would certainly try. With each handful of soil she tuned out the world, focused and distracted. She didn't hear Lexa come to stand beside her, a shovel in her own hand, waiting to be told she could join of if Clarke wanted to do all the work. She also didn't hear two, still human men make their way to them, crunching leaves until Lexa held her wrist.

Two very human, real, unaffected men. Clarke couldn't tell their age. They looked dirty and there was even a sour smell exuding off them. Clarke narrowed her eyes as one took a step forward. She felt Lexa shift and stand to her side, not in front, but the defensive stance was screamed in her body language. It was slim to none but Clarke wanted to look at Lexa to see if somehow she recognized them. With her left foot forward and hand shifting over the knife she kept at her hip that was facing away from them that was a firm no.

"Look here, we're not the only ones," the one who stepped forward said in a tone that Clarke thought didn't seem shocked but also like they were laying claim. Clarke didn't respond. It didn't warrant a response when someone was pointing out the obvious. Their stances, their tones, their aggressive and ranking eyes made Clarke think they wanted them to bow to them.

"You know what this means? Two of them. Two of us. We can repopulate." The one a few steps back said. He tilted his head and appraised them. She glanced to the side and saw Lexa narrow her eyes. For a second a quote passed in her mind-no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

Lexa only shifted in the most subtle way that to Clarke made her seem regal again. She was incapable of bowing to another. Clarke in that second was thankful for her proud lineage as she quickly glanced and saw her demeanor shift again to one of resolution as her green eyes looked slightly polluted like the world around them.

"Are you idiots?" Clarke said without thinking. Though it was poised as a question it came out more as a statement. "Incest, too small of a gene pool, also repulsion." She stated factually and flatly.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because they both took a step closer. In that one leering movement and with closer proximity Clarke felt the threat of rape.

"Doesn't matter to me," the first one said redundantly and in those few words it seemed to give Lexa permission to fight. The second he stepped within an arms reach, hand out to clench her neck she brought her knife forward and slashed two fingers off in disturbing silence.

After the screams everything went in slow motion and also fast. Clarke gripped the shovel and used it as a shield as the taller man didn't pause. He was within two feet and although Clarke was tired of bringing harm and violence she brought the shovel up, prepared to swing. The second he took another step forward Arthur barreled into him, mouth at his arm, teeth clamped down and pulled him to the ground. Clarke stood in shock until she heard the pop of a socket being separated. The forced, unnatural and yet satisfaction she saw in green eyes when she looked back at Lexa was visceral. Quickly she looked at Arthur who was growling down at the man who was under him. Thick drool was falling onto the mans face but he didn't dare move as Arthur moved his massive head lower until his breath was making the mans unkempt bangs rustle.

Again she looked at Lexa, though she knew she didn't need to, she was certain he would never be able to hurt her, but as she watched she saw Lexa had a slash on her arm. She defended without any regard for her well being, without a word being uttered, each movement telling she didn't fear death, every swing and pivot expressing she put everything she had into protecting them. For a second Clarke wondered if she fought with the desperate abandon because she dreamed she could have done this for Costia.

The first time Lexa briefly discussed her ex she didn't need to elucidate. She didn't have to read all the books in their bunkers to know history did not often treat girls and women with kindness.

"Heda." She says strongly, undertone screaming stop. Lexa stilled from pressing further into the man's chest, blade above his heart. Clarke didn't want them to know their names. They didn't deserve to know her name. But she couldn't let her beat him to death as she projected her hatred onto him as she tried to bury the past, pulverize him into an unrecognizable thing-stand ins to faceless murders that no doubt haunted her. And that hopeful part of her wanted to say-don't let them change you. Instead she took a step closer and looked down at the man. "You will not seek us out ever. You will leave. Your choices are that or death. Do you understand?" She demanded, all too aware that with a nod she could instruct Lexa to simply push down. When he nodded, eyes swollen, cuts on his forehead and hand still, no longer reaching for the gun that was too far and swiftly she picked it up and held it firmly, telling it was her possession now. Then she looked at the other man and said, "do you understand?" With a pause and eyes shifting from the hound to Clarke he nodded his head. Smoothly she walked over to him, aimed the gun at his head then moved it to the side at his temple as she leaned over and searched his body for any weapons. Surprisingly he only had a knife. It explained why the man who was the aggressor seemed more certain, chose to be at the head and take the first imposing steps. She didn't bother to look in his eyes. She didn't want to remember them.

With a snap of her fingers Arthur moved back, paws no longer on the mans shoulder and stomach. The man stood after Clarke took created distance between them.

"Leave or we will hunt you and kill you," she added for good measure. Slowly Lexa rose and allowed for the man to stand. Quickly they looked between them, in shock and anger they hadn't been allowed their intentions. When they still stood, weary to move as they glanced at Arthur then Lexa who took a step closer like she would gladly kill them regardless of the deal Clarke stated they stepped back.

"Go." Clarke said with finality that she wouldn't say anything more and with an edge that implied she wasn't about to instruct either of her companions to restrict themselves again. Both men dropped their gazes and turned. When they were beyond a hill and out of sight both women moved from their statuesque positions. On autopilot she made her way back into the bunker, unaware she snapped her fingers again to get Arthur to come follow and a fixed gaze at Lexa that said 'we will talk in the bunker or so help me...'

"You have nothing to say?" Clarke nearly yelled but didn't dare raise her voice to the level she wanted once Lexa locked the latches in place. The other woman looked conflicted and for a second as though she had been slapped. "Lexa. I had to ask you to not kill him." She said, chest rising with anger like she had sprinted a mile. "I don't want that much power ever again." She shook her head. "Are you going to say anything?" Finally she raised her voice, anger at the situation, for what life had become, for finding the one person in all the world who was like a stone wall, a bunker personified.

Lexa took a step forward and for a fraction of a second Clarke instinctually wanted to take a step back but remained rooted. The taller woman drew into herself, arms confined to her sides as she stood at her full height, as though she didn't want to intimidate Clarke but wasn't about to apologize for her character either. Slowly she lifted her hands and pinched the material of her scarf in nervous hesitation. With a deep sigh she lifted the thick material away and held her breath.

It took Clarke seconds that felt like minutes to realize what she was looking at. Her eyes had to fall from her eyes to her thin neck that had healed, small lacerations about the same distance apart around...

And she blinks and frowns, unsure what she's seeing until Lexa isn't infront of her anymore. Then she hears her breathing, the rhythmic effort like it was tedious and took more effort than fighting for their lives. When she turns back around with a piece of paper in her hand Clarke thinks Lexa's eyes look like how own must look when she's standing before someone naked. She feels the paper press into the apex of her diagram and finally takes it. Lexa stepped back but braced herself like she couldn't take her actions back.

Drawing of barbed wire. Her hand shook. With thick enough leather gloves...someone could hold barbed wire...and...use it...she processed slowly. Or someone who didn't feel pain...nerve receptors dead and dulled wouldn't care and could have...

Her mind didn't want to come to the conclusion that someone had strangled Lexa with make-shift, grotesque weapons. Lexa who was more fragile than people realized because she was expected to be strong. And then it hit her Lexa had the drawing at her disposal and was prepared to show her. Saliva building, throat muscles twitching. She thought she was going to be sick. Now Clarke understood why Lexa drank tea constantly, why she ate very soft food or soups. Eating would hurt, would in fact be excruciating. And it was amazing the area had healed and avoided any infections she would later think.

In shock she watched as Lexa lifted her chin, raised her hand and gently touched her neck with her fingertips at her neck in nearly the exact way that made Clarke have a flashback to her childhood. Of asking her father if mermaids were down on earth because of the half fish, half human movie. She barely touched the scar that was near her voice box. Her neck rippled as she swallowed like she was tolerating pain as she clenched her jaw. But Clarke caught the wince Lexa tried to cover by narrowing her eyes like she was preparing for Clarke's next move and reaction.

Without thinking she moved closer, closing the distance, ending barriers and held Lexa, a hand cupping her jaw, an arm around her waist trying to convey what words couldn't.

"I hate that you've had to be strong," she started and felt selfish for starting with an I statement but continued. "I'm glad you are. I'm glad you're here."

She could feel Lexa tense in shock. Then slowly, like ice melting, relax and sink down to sit on the bed as though honesty was that draining. Once Lexa's breathing settled into its norm Clarke kneeled before her. "Can I check?" She asked, eyes going from her eyes to her neck. With a pause and another barely visible nod is given which Clarke thinks is becoming a signature gesture of Lexa's she raised her hands and moves her thumbs along the sides of Lexa's neck to feel the damage. She feels scar tissue build up and takes in her own shuddering breath. With a pull of air as if to contain her emotions she dropped her hands and said, "thank you."

A perplexed look crossed Lexa's features as though asking-why are you thanking me?

"For letting me...care." She finally admits after searching for the word.

Unfortunately she knows instantly that was the wrong thing to say because she feels Lexa recoil in an acute way. Back going tense as though she couldn't accept the sentiment. Like she was bracing for the brutality that sometimes came with sincerity. She shifted away and looked back with remorse, practically screaming louder than Clarke had minutes ago-I wish you would care less. I need you to care less.

Because they were doomed, because it was another hardship she had to endure in a long list that aged them, because those hardships made them hard, because accepting being cared for was one of her most difficult endeavors and because it was even more difficult to trust that Clarke accepted her damaged.

But Clarke was not the type to abandon. It would be against her nature to-to not fight regardless of the odds.

Lexa breathed heavily and Clarke watched with skittering focus as her chest rose and fell, deep, deep breaths that implied strong lungs.

"I don't want to love you." She said in resigned defeat that held an edge like she was trying to fight gravity. Her tone boldly conveying this is all I have to offer even with self-sabotaging coldness.

It took Clarke minutes to realize what Lexa had said with all her layers and that Lexa spoke. She had to swallow her own shock and began to feel stiff from how long she had been kneeling. Finally, after consideration and internal debates she got up and sat at the end of the bed to face Lexa who kept her breathing to a controlled minimum. An act that made Clarke think You're breathing is already best suited to bass chords. And wished she could play an instrument that could resemble Lexa's sharp edges and aura that sort of vibrated with unused, contained energy that was bigger than her.

"Why?" She asked softly, seeking that understanding.

"Everyone." Her voice turned beyond low, dropped further than raspy and paused to grimace through her voicing. "Everyone I love dies."

Author's Note: "I can't hold onto you" is from The Danish Girl. Practically seamless film. "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent" is of course Eleanor Roosevelt. The Little Mermaid is also referenced. Alright then. Last chapter next.