The Not Crazy Talk
Finding the right moment to address Clarke’s apparent superpowers was admittedly harder than she expected. Lexa found her eyes wandering to Clarke’s perfectly unmarked forehead every time she spoke to the woman, searching for any sign of scarring and always finding none. And what was even weirder was that she seemed to be the only person who noticed the fact that Clarke’s lack of injury was abnormal.
When she casually dropped it into conversation with Nyko the other day, he just looked at her with a very confused scoff and asked what cut she was talking about. It was bizarre.
However, Clarke was back to her friendly demeanor, and Lexa soon found herself in Clarke’s company more often than not. Just like today. They were both spread out on Lexa’s couch, mindlessly eating popcorn and watching whatever youtube video Clarke fancied at the moment.
After Clarke finished cackling at the sail cat for the seventh time in a row, Lexa just couldn’t hold it in any longer. “How’s your head?” She asked in the most casual tone she could muster.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? I asked you how your head injury was.”
“What head injury?” Clarke shook her head with a playfully confused smile.
“Clarke!” Lexa gaped, quickly becoming irritated. “You smashed your head against another player’s a few days ago earning yourself a cut that most definitely needed stitches. That head injury.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clarke insisted, and Lexa was beginning to question her sanity.
“I’m not crazy,” Lexa murmured mostly to herself although the current events would indicate otherwise. She was the only person who seemed to remember a gaping head wound.
“You’re saying you remember me getting hurt in the game?” Clarke asked. She stared into Lexa’s eyes, and Lexa sat up straighter. Clarke seemed confused, but there was something more. She was scared.
“I cleaned it out,” Lexa nodded recalling the memory that was as perfectly preserved as it could be. “Pressed a bandage to it. Hell, Clarke, I got a blood stain on my pants.”
“But you remember it,” Clarke repeated. “Clearly?”
“What do you- What are you even asking? I’m sitting here telling you I remember, and no one else does, and it’s just beyond strange. And I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“Lexa, do you trust me?” Clarke readjusted herself on the couch being sure to look directly into Lexa’s eyes. She softened her face and repeated her question. “Do you know me well enough to assume that I wouldn’t do anything to endanger you or our relationship?”
Lexa thought for a moment. She wanted to deny Clarke’s insinuation because she knew that if she agreed, if she told her that yes, of course, she trusted her, that Clarke would offer no further answers. However, she couldn’t lie to Clarke. Despite how frustrating and confusing the situation was, she did trust Clarke completely, so she just nodded her head.
“Then please trust me when I tell you that I can’t explain what you saw. And I’m begging you to accept the fact that somethings will never and should never be fully understood. Please.”
Lexa sat there, stewing in her frustrations, her jaw worrying as she crossed her arms. It went against every fiber in her being just to let something like this slide. She thrived on knowledge, and the unexplainable simply just didn’t exist in her world.
But Clarke was looking at her, pleading with her beautiful blue eyes to drop it. And it was almost futile to deny Clarke.
