"You have suffered," the Judge says, carefully neutral in that way Lexa always was. Is. Despite the glaring fact that the Judge isn't Lexa, Clarke knows that she's somewhere in their collective, which means she's there. Sometimes she swears she can see her, the real her, in the way the Judge's face twitches, the way they say Clarke with the emphasis like that, spoken in Trigedasleng even when the rest of the sentence was in English. "And now that you are no longer suffering you are at a loss."

Clarke: "Something like that."

Judge: "And this is not the same as when you lived alone with Madi?"

"The world had just ended," Clarke retorts dryly. Verbal sparring with a god wearing the face of her soulmate. What had it all come to? "I had other things on my mind."

Judge: "Your people, your responsibility, everything you've reached and struggled and sacrificed for. Now it's over."

Clarke: "Do you always psychoanalyze the subjects of your tests?"

Judge: "No." And there it is - just a tiny bit of Lexa, just enough to give Clarke pause.

Judge: "Just the ones that interest me." Not everyone. Not you.

Clarke: "Lexa's in there, isn’t she?" It's not a question.

"We absorb some aspects of all subjects," the Judge says, clearing her throat a little. "But due to the transcendent properties of the Flame…the way she has stubbornly against all manners of reason rallied for you…her consciousness has frequently forced its way to the forefront of our collective mind. In a manner of speaking."

Clarke: "She can see me."

Judge: "Yes."

"There are so many of us," the Judge says, expression too impassive to belong to Lexa but the eyes so world-weary, so exhausted. "You must know that, Clarke."

Clarke: "I do."

Judge: "You cannot expect her to always be there."

Clarke: "But she could be there? In…in some way, right?"

Judge: "Perhaps."

"Please." Clarke hates how small her voice sounds.

it's just Clarke and a god wearing the face of her greatest love, hesitantly promising something that will break her if it's not true, and somehow this feels like the most dangerous thing she has ever done.

"Clarke." Lexa looks at her, briefly. And it is Lexa, Clarke knows this. Her heart twists violently in her chest

"It's you," Clarke murmurs, and she doesn't reach for her - can't do it, can't let this moment end a second before it has to, before she wakes up or the Judge's impassive expression replaces the fondness in Lexa's face. "I've always been with you." Lexa puts a hand to her face. Her eyes are shining. Clarke inches closer. "You've borne so much, Clarke. You can rest now." "I miss you," Clarke says, and she knows she's about to cry "So much. I'm so tired, Lexa." "I know." Lexa says it not with the cold, probing authority of the Judge, but with an understanding that Clarke never thought she'd feel again.

"How much longer do we have?" All Clarke wants is to bask in her, sit beside her, stay together in a way they never could have a lifetime ago. "I don't know." Even as Lexa says it, she starts to fade. Clarke has to stop herself from reaching out and holding her. "This isn't it, Clarke. This isn't the end." "I know." That doesn't stop Clarke's throat from clogging up, doesn't stop her from finally giving in and touching her fingertips to Lexa's, just a ghost of a touch, before she disappears completely and the Judge resumes control, staring curiously at Clarke. "How was that?" There's no malice in the question. Clarke knows it, because then she starts crying, and the Judge lets her. "Thank you," Clarke croaks out. Some part of her hates the Judge with the strength of worlds, for still looking like Lexa when she knows for certain now that they're not. The other part of her thinks that an alien with no concept of love didn't owe her anything at all. "Lexa is persistent," the Judge says. "You will see her again. After all, you have an entire lifetime ahead of you." "I do," Clarke breathes out, an exhalation nearly two centuries in the making. "Don't I?"