Lexa decides they are in dire need of a break - and calories - after going through such heavy emotional experience. Clarke doesn't object one bit. Especially when Lexa passes by the whole grain bread that she keeps mostly for Lexa's benefit anyway. "If we're making French toast," she announces, "we're gonna make it right."
Clarke honestly doesn't care if Lexa serves her an empty plate as long as she stays with her like this. Smiling like this. Joking like this. Looking at her like this, with calm, muted adoration that feels -- confident. Whole. Just like her.
"Aren't you going to help me?" Lexa asks, one eyebrow raised teasingly as she glances at her.
Clarke pretends to think about it. "I'm good." She barely manages to catch the towel Lexa throws at her, laughing. "Really? Resorting to domestic abuse?"
At that, Lexa scoffs. "You haven't seen anything yet. That was nothing," she says, pointing at Clarke with a spatula. Clarke hums.
"Maybe you could... educate me sometime," she tells her, coming up to Lexa and leaning against the counter while she watches her whip the eggs. Lexa doesn't falter as she replies with an amused chuckle.
"Is that your delicate way of asking me to punish you?" She flashes an exaggerated suggestive smirk, and Clarke is about to response, but the smile quickly fades as Lexa drops her gaze to the bowl in front of her, slowing her movements down until she's completely still. The suddenly tense silence falls over them. And Clarke -- Clarke doesn't know how to break it.
They may have made it out, but not without scars. Each one different - each one still painful.
"It's not like..." Lexa's lips twitch in a brief, sad smile. "I think I've made a great contribution as it is." She sharply snaps her head up to look at Clarke again when she reaches out and lightly touches her arm, but other than that, she doesn't move.
Clarke doesn't speak right away. For a moment, she allows herself to enjoy the feeling of Lexa's skin. "I don't think you realized that's what you were doing. Honestly..." She raises her hand to sofly cup Lexa's cheek, ensuring she doesn't turn away as she stares her in the eye. "I don't think that's what you were doing."
"But it was," Lexa says quietly. "Your letters -- they took me back to that time, and I -- I wanted to hurt you, Clarke." She reaches up to place her hand on Clarke's that's caressing her cheek, and closes her eyes for a second. "I wanted to cause you pain. As much pain as you caused me. More, even."
Clarke tries to swallow the bitter lump in her throat. She takes a deep breath, to try and calm herself down. To think rationally. She's had plenty of time to do that before. She wants Lexa to do that now. "Okay," she says slowly. "Okay. And what did you do to retaliate?"
At that Lexa blinks. Frowns. "I..."
When it's clear she's not going to continue, Clarke speaks again. "When we had sex," she pauses, thinking of a way to phrase her question better. "Did you think of it as punishment? Were you so detached intentionally?"
Lexa's eyes flash. "No," she says. "I didn't think about it. I just couldn't... I couldn't stay away," she finishes quietly. Her fingers curl around Clarke's, and Clarke lets her take her hand off her cheek, smiling when Lexa doesn't let go.
She takes another deep breath. "And when you didn't let me touch you," she says, softly, slowly, "did you think of it as punishment?"
It takes Lexa a bit longer to reply. "No. I was... too hurt to let you do that. I was -- afraid."
