[Having her hand attached to someone whose barriers come down seems to do the same to her: the walls in her mind, carefully crafted from years of emotional restrain, come crashing down, obliterating every step of the way and blurring together with Bellamy's insecurities until they feel as one (and feel separate, too, at the same time). What he has done, she has done, but has done with a clearer mind and a nonexistent conscience, so caught up in the feeling of righteousness that she never felt guilt for the people she's led to die for what had been perceived as the greater good.
Only bring dragged back, feet metaphorically bloodied, leaves her feeling the guilt that she's stifled and muted, thrown away so that she can't be caught up in it. It's years of guilt, going back to one moment—
the image that flashes out isn't just one, but several: Lexa's hair being braided by a girl with dark hair and brown skin, bright but focused eyes, and a serious mouth. Lexa turning toward her and kissing her, Lexa training with her watching on, knowing that she's about to have to fight the others around her to the death to claim her spot as the commander, Titus watching on and knowing that she is the best choice, if only she didn't love so strongly, because even then, he reminded her that her love would be her weakness, Lexa coming into her quarters, all the candles snuffed out, only to light one after another and see the blood, and then the head of that very same girl, and Lexa having to see Nia bow at her feet, chin proud, in spite of all the hatred stirring in her heart
—the wall begins to rebuild moments after, tears welled in her eyes as she realizes her hand is still latched on to Bellamy's arm, fingernails digging in to the bicep with what can be nothing more than an increased force. But it's not before the guilt from Costia's death returns, slamming into her, and almost debilitating her on her feet. Swimming in her thoughts about what has been lost is what she prefers not to do, but the barriers, shaky as they've always been, were nothing, dragged out and put on display due to the perfect storm of what has passed.
In what is a show of her training, she frees Bellamy's arm but doesn't stray from him, eyes closing as she experiences a sharp intake of breath.
When her eyes snap back open, she reaches for Bellamy's elbow, voice just above a whisper to hold back the choking feeling in her throat. Lexa has known the dangers of repression since arriving at the Nest, has known that she only has so many barriers to what lies in her head, but she is damning herself for it just the same. Still, he's her people, and he's hurt:] Your wrist. We need to tend to it.
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Only bring dragged back, feet metaphorically bloodied, leaves her feeling the guilt that she's stifled and muted, thrown away so that she can't be caught up in it. It's years of guilt, going back to one moment—
the image that flashes out isn't just one, but several: Lexa's hair being braided by a girl with dark hair and brown skin, bright but focused eyes, and a serious mouth. Lexa turning toward her and kissing her, Lexa training with her watching on, knowing that she's about to have to fight the others around her to the death to claim her spot as the commander, Titus watching on and knowing that she is the best choice, if only she didn't love so strongly, because even then, he reminded her that her love would be her weakness, Lexa coming into her quarters, all the candles snuffed out, only to light one after another and see the blood, and then the head of that very same girl, and Lexa having to see Nia bow at her feet, chin proud, in spite of all the hatred stirring in her heart
—the wall begins to rebuild moments after, tears welled in her eyes as she realizes her hand is still latched on to Bellamy's arm, fingernails digging in to the bicep with what can be nothing more than an increased force. But it's not before the guilt from Costia's death returns, slamming into her, and almost debilitating her on her feet. Swimming in her thoughts about what has been lost is what she prefers not to do, but the barriers, shaky as they've always been, were nothing, dragged out and put on display due to the perfect storm of what has passed.
In what is a show of her training, she frees Bellamy's arm but doesn't stray from him, eyes closing as she experiences a sharp intake of breath.
When her eyes snap back open, she reaches for Bellamy's elbow, voice just above a whisper to hold back the choking feeling in her throat. Lexa has known the dangers of repression since arriving at the Nest, has known that she only has so many barriers to what lies in her head, but she is damning herself for it just the same. Still, he's her people, and he's hurt:] Your wrist. We need to tend to it.