Chapter 1: That Awful Sound

A/N: Hello all! This is a new branch of fanfiction writing for me, and I'm very excited to take this journey with all of you! The last episode of The 100 broke my heart...although having been an extra for this season I did know it was coming. However, I felt that it would have served the storyline better if Lexa had lived, so here is my version. Just so you know this is Clexa so if you don't like that pairing this isn't the fic for you. For the rest of you, enjoy!

I don't own The 100, sadly.

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Clarke felt a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach as understanding dawned upon her. Titus was going to kill her. Dread settled in her gut as the Grounder slowly took aim, weighing the unfamiliar weapon in his hand as he stared down the barrel of it into Clarke's eyes. Just in time, she dropped to the floor and scrambled behind the sofa as Titus' shots followed her like a hungry animal. She felt such disappointment that after all she had worked so hard to accomplish, after having finally acknowledged her love for the Commander, she would die here, shot down by a diplomat on the eve of the peace she had worked to create.

In a last bid, Clarke's eyes travelled to the heavy glass doors, only five meters away. If she could just make it there, she could scream, find a weapon, anything to stop her seemingly inevitable demise. Taking a breath, she shot up from behind the sofa, heart pounding like it wanted to burst from her chest. That was, if she didn't end up with it splattered on the wall first. Desperately, she sprinted through the open space. The door was so close...and then she saw her. Horrified, Clarke opened her mouth to yell. Tell her to get away. Anything to keep her out of a stray bullet's lethal path. But she was too late. As Lexa stood at her lover's door, a bullet slammed into her chest, and she stood yet for a few moments, gasping like a fish on land, a look of wide-eyed shock on her beautiful face even as the blood drained from it.

"Lexa!" Clarke breathed, her heart, which moments ago had been bursting from her chest was now clenched painfully tight as she watched Lexa's legs shake and finally give beneath her. Without thinking, Clarke stepped forwards and caught her limp frame.

"Help me get her to the bed!" she yelled, now that her adrenaline had kicked in and she had found her voice. Titus, his face almost as white as his mistress's, bent down and picked Lexa up like she weighed nothing more than a child.

"Forgive me, Heda," he whispered to her, "for everything I have done this day."

Lexa just stared up at him with pain-clouded green eyes, struggling for each breath as her hand scrabbled desperately on her stomach in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of midnight black blood.

Titus laid her down on Clarke's fur-covered bed, the white wolf pelts already stained black.

"I need bandages; she's losing too much blood!" Turning to Lexa, Clarke gently stroked her hair "Don't worry, I'm going to fix you. You're going to be just fine."

"There is no...weakness...in accepting my death." Lexa wheezed out, her hands finding Clarke's on top of her wound. Their fingers, slippery with blood, intertwined.

"I'm not accepting anything. You're going to be just fine, Lexa, so don't let go."

Even to her own ears, Clarke thought it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself that she could heal Lexa.

Titus handed her a bowl of water, an old set of scalpel blades and another bowl of ripped bandages. Clarke recognized them as the ones she had torn from one of her shirts after Lexa's duel with Roan.

"Lexa, I need to get this bullet out, but right now you're bleeding too much. I'm going to stitch up your wound now and then when you're healed I'll go back in and take the bullet out, okay?"

Even in her pain-filled state, Lexa smiled a little at Clarke's clinical knowledge. However, her wording didn't pass Lexa by.

"If." She breathed out.

"If what?"

"If I heal."

Clarke's eyes clouded with anger and she stopped her work.

"No Lexa. You don't get to do this. You talk about your death enough when you're healthy. Talking about it when you're injured won't help you heal."

Lexa had lost all energy to argue, the adrenaline had worn off and she could feel the burning pain of Clarke trying to piece her back together. Suddenly, her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and she felt the sliding shut, curtains of black appearing around her peripheral vision. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she wondered if this was what it felt like to suffer execution at her people's hands. If this was dying.

She was shocked back to reality with a sharp jolt of cold water on her face.

"Not yet, Lexa," Clarke smiled sympathetically down at her, "After I've got you stitched up, you can sleep. It's too dangerous to let you pass out while you're still losing this much blood. Besides, I know you hit your head when you fell, and you may have a concussion."

Lexa blinked up at Clarke, trying to focus on her eyes. However, just then, the blonde girl pulled to stitch tight, and Lexa saw stars as fire raced through her veins. She felt steadying hands on her body as she convulsed, but they only added to her pain. She opened her mouth to gasp in air but nothing came in. Panic rose in her chest and her weakened hands scrabbled at her throat.

Suddenly, she felt something soft against her lips, and then it went away and soft voice told her to just breathe, that she was fine and all she needed to do was breathe.

"That's better," the voice, which Lexa now recognized as Clarke's, told her, "I'm almost done, I just need to sew up the outer wound and check your head and then you can go to sleep."

Lexa could barely keep her eyes open, and she felt so heavy and exhausted she couldn't even open her mouth to form a coherent answer, just a weak whimper of pain and exhaustion. The candles and the ceiling swam above her like a lake on a windy day. She saw Clarke's black-stained hands suddenly appear in her field of vision, gently stroking her hair. Clarke was talking as well, but Lexa couldn't understand what she was saying anymore, and she was just so exhausted...

Then, she felt Clarke's hand on her eyelids, checking her eyes and the bruise on the back of her head, and this time her speaking was coherent.

"You don't have a concussion, so you can sleep, Lexa."

Lexa opened her mouth, to protest that she was feeling better (which she really wasn't) and that she wasn't tired (which she really was), but all that came out were incoherent noises.

"Shhh, just close your eyes. I'll be here when you wake up."

Relieved, Lexa allowed herself to fall into the the welcoming dark abyss which opened up at her head. Her last conscious feeling was Clarke's hand gently stroking her cheek, and telling her she was fine.

•••

Clarke let a shaky breath escape through her mouth, feeling dangerously close to bursting into tears. Lexa was fine, for now, but she was worried that the bullet would get infected before Lexa was well enough for her to remove it. But she couldn't control that. She had to do her best with the situation that was given to her.

Turning to Titus, who had helped her and stood by her for the whole gruelling time, she motioned to Lexa.

"She needs to be in her own bed, but I don't think I can lift her. Can I trust you to take her there?"

Titus nodded, eyes downcast and overcome with shame for what he had done to his Heda.

"Sha, Wanheda. You did well tonight, saving her."

Clarke dipped her head.

"I trust you know what will befall you if you make another attempt on my life." She fixed him with a glare, as powerful as she could muster in her current state.

Titus nodded and moved to Lexa's side, gently picking her up so as not to jostle her stomach or her head. As Clarke watched him, she wondered if the seasoned politician had once been a warrior. His bearing around the wounded seemed to suggest it. However, Clarke was too exhausted to entertain thoughts of this any further as she followed Titus down the corridor into Lexa's room. Once they were in front of her bed, Titus laid his mistress gently down and nodded to Clarke before making his way out of the room. Clarke set down the bowl of bandages on Lexa's bedside table and then moved to where she knew the Commander kept her clothes, to find her something more comfortable.

Lexa's collection of clothes was surprisingly extensive, seeing as Clarke had one ever seen her wear her armour, and, once, a long black dress. After a few minutes of sorting through the wardrobe, Clarke settled on a long, white t-shirt, probably the only article of clothing that wasn't stained or torn.

Almost apprehensively, she approached Lexa's bedside. She had seen Lexa naked yesterday, but this seemed so different, undressing the Commander without her permission.

"Stop being ridiculous. She needs this." Clarke shook her head and gently eased Lexa's pants down her sun-kissed legs, trying not to admire her strong appearance. Then, she slipped the t-shirt up around the Commander's legs and then onto her torso, trying to avoid lifting her arms at all costs. When she was finished, Clarke hurried back to the wardrobe and found a royal purple wrap, similar to the apricot one she usually wore, which she draped gently over Lexa's upper half, and then she pulled the furs up around her legs, trying to keep the heavier wrapping off of her wound while still keeping her warm. Then, running a shaky hand through her matted hair, Clarke collapsed exhaustedly on the couch by the fire grate and fell into a light sleep, ready to wake at a moment's notice should Lexa need her.

It had been a long night.

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A/N: So, how was it? It would really mean a lot to me to hear your guys' opinions, just please be kind! Feel free to send me requests on Tumblr at onthe-longwaydown I'm willing to do one-shot prompts.

A new chapter should be up tomorrow!

A&E