#that's also the first night Lexa actually kisses Clarke on the lips but dammit with that kind of reaction she earned it

[butmakeitgayblog]

Do you get Pretty Woman vibes from Alycia's wig in Lovebug or is it just me?

YES but maybe not in the way that the movie did

I see it as memory. A moment brought up between her and Clarke when they're in bed. Naked and laughing and all bubbly smiles from a night of room service and mind blowing sex. Lexa splayed on the rented sheets, still glistening with sweat, as Clarke lays propped up on an elbow just to admire how fucking pretty she is.

But the cuddling leads to talking and talking leads to sharing pieces of themselves without really thinking about what it means being that moment. And in the comfort of Clarke's arms and the orgasms still tingling over her skin, Lexa nonchalantly mentions how she was blonde for awhile. Much to Clarke's dismayed gasp of, "Sacrilege!"

She doesn't actually mean for it to come out. It just does with how unnervingly raw this woman makes her feel. It's a thoughtless piece of herself given away because Clarke just wouldn't stop talking about how in love with her hair she was. Wouldn't stop running her fingers through the sex-mussed halo of it fanned across the pillow. Wouldn't stop whispering to her how that first night at the bar, Lexa's hair had been the first thing she'd noticed.

And honestly what is a girl supposed to say when someone like Clarke says something like that? When she tells her it wasn't the laced sin of Lexa's dress, or the miles of leg she'd had on display. That it hadn't even been the graceful bend of her fingers as she'd balanced a too-full martini in her hand. Not the smoke of her eyes across the bar. No, it'd been her hair of all things that had gotten Clarke's immediate attention, the waterfall of brunette gathered over her shoulder falling in such chic and sophisticated waves. She'd said how badly she'd just wanted to touch it, run her fingers through it and tug. To hear Lexa moan as she sifted through the riot of chesnut and gold.

The moment had just been so real and so thoughtless and so unplanned in how relaxed she was that before Lexa knew it, she was mentioning those few months she'd been blonde... at the request of a client. She traced her fingertips over the thigh thrown carelessly over her hip and hummed at the feel of Clarke's foot smoothing along the length of her calf. She felt settled in the warmth of Clarke's breasts pressing securely against her side, not even feeling the hiccup and pause of the woman's breathing. She was so cozy in the afterglow of insanely good sex and the comfort of being in Clarke's space, that she certainly didn't notice when fingers stopped twisting and curling the tips of her hair.

Instead she just kept talking. About anything that came to the sated and soggy fore front of her post-orgasm brain. Talked about the few months she'd been blonde because an old regular client had been willing to pay her double and how that'd taken care of her rent for a year. She talked about the woman who hated when she shaved anything below the waist and another who had a very strange kink for exceedingly bad wigs. How by the end of that particular run, the floor of Lexa's closet looked like a starter kit for a league of underground drag queens.

She was just... talking. Sharing parts of herself and her past with Clarke. Sharing pieces of her life that she'd never even intended to. Which is fucking terrifying.

What she doesn't expect is for Clarke to eventually give her a shakey smile after a silence that seemed to stretch on for hours. She doesn't expect for Clarke ask more questions, about her life and her clients, tho those are done rather vaguely. She doesn't expect Clarke to tease her with a sweet silly joke here and there. Doesn't expect Clarke to ask if she happens to have any pictures of the phantom blonde or these wigs. Or to tell her to get her pretty ass up and get her phone because, quote, "Lexa? Your hair is ungodly perfection. I— Now I have to see this sacrilege."

[clarketomylexa]

Laundry

Clexa Week 2018, Day 1, Meet Ugly | read on ao3

A not yet generalised version of Murphy’s Law states that ‘it is found that anything that can go wrong at sea generally does go wrong sooner or later’, though to Clarke, it felt more like ‘anything that can go wrong the day of a job interview’. Regardless of which though – sea or interview – Clarke Griffin had decided that Murphy’s Law, unequivocally, sucked.

As if it hadn’t been bad enough shuffling into the classy, space-grey lobby of the company, her CV hiding the hot coffee stain on her skirt lest the pretentious looking receptionist with a blonde updo and a look decree that she’s a miscreant from the street. 

(Which she wasn’t. Pouring coffee over her meticulously chosen outfit hadn’t been her idea of a good start to the day and she could strangle the smug bastard who couldn’t be bothered look up from his phone as he did so).

But sitting through the interview, ignoring the fact that she seemed to be experiencing second degree burns had her looking unprofessional and desperate to get out of there. She scoffed, smacking her papers on the neighbouring washing machine. Like there was any way she was getting the job now. She might as well go crawling back to her mother and beg for the internship at the hospital back, exchange her portfolios for scrubs for good.

Souring at the thought, she toed her shoes off and peeled the soaked layer of clinging skirt fabric from her thighs, considering her options.

It was twenty-three minutes to home via the subway and she couldn’t think of anything worse than sitting there, coffee soaked and wallowing in the shame of flunking her interview. The laundromat she stood in how – the first one she had seen when she had escaped the office building, tucked down a side street and presentable enough – was empty anyway, save for the person behind the front desk. Clarke was hidden by a row of front loading washing machines from the waist down, the street was relatively unpopulated and, dammit, she was going to do this. Flustered and resolute, she stamped the sodden skirt down her legs and threw it in the machine, inserting her change and adjusting her Calvin Kleins around her backside.

The thing churned to life, sputtering unattractive noises and she folded her arms over her chest – shameless for now, thinking of how Raven would be proud. The dark-haired girl was probably the most audacious person Clarke knew, loud-mouthed and unafraid. Clarke and Octavia had had to pull her off the bar last time they went out and the Latina had downed too many Tequila shots and if she were here now she would be whispering in Clarke’s ear to flirt with the easy going blonde at the front desk.

But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned against the humming washing machine and appraised the woman who walked in, signalled by the ring of the rinky dink bell.

She was dressed prettily, in a navy cable-knit sweater that cut high across her neckline and low over her thighs, the sleeves rolled up to her wrists, dark washed jeans and Chelsea boots. Her dark hair was pulled back and up into a simple ponytail, her cheekbones were high and her jawline cut a

straight border across her face, and, Clarke thought quelling hot embarrassment, she was walking directly towards her.

Clarke adjusted the way her white, coffee splattered button down fell around her hips and wet her lips.

“You’re using my machine.”

Which was not the response she expected to receive from the girl when standing in a rumbled blouse and panties. Affronted, Clarke transferred her weight to her feet and saw – and felt – seafoam green eyes traverse the length of her body. It was gentler than she was used to. Inquisitive in the way the half-drunken guys raked their eyes over her when they went out wasn’t. But whereas at bars she couldn’t care less, now, she felt oddly defensive, and incredibly pantless.

She straightened, claiming the same defensiveness the brunette wore. “There are plenty of machines. Take your pick.”

“Precisely,” the girl pursed her lips, dusky pink, so Clarke could see the freckle on her top one. Deliciously kissable, she thought, but Clarke was here to claim her ground so she dug her heels in and listened to the girl’s rebuttal. “There’s plenty of machines. And this one –” she nodded to the one Clarke’s skirt was soaking in, “– is mine.” She raised a sculpted brow and it almost softened Clarke’s resolve – if Clarke Griffin was anything, it was a sucker for a pretty girl. But she was also stupidly stubborn and this pretty girl was rubbing her the wrong way. She sat back on her heels, the cut of her underwear riding up her backside and watching the brunette studiously avoiding looking anywhere below her neck.

“Yeah. Well,” Clarke swung herself up so she was sitting on the machine, crossing her legs at her ankles and smiling sweetly – a pantless showdown hadn���t been on her agenda for the day, but neither was flunking her interview. Today, Clarke decided, was the day things were going to happen – for better or for worse.

“You’ll cope, I ‘spose,” she shrugged.

The girl’s fists tightened around the string of her canvas laundry bag – who had a laundry bag nowadays, anyway? It felt meticulous, too organised, frustrating in a way Clarke, the artist who ate breakfast out of coffee mugs and borrowed her shirt off Raven for her interview because her own were paint stained, didn’t know how to explain. She watched the girl’s cheeks puff as she made an inarticulate noise, huffing errant strands of brunette hair off of her face, and moving on to the next machine. She set her bag down and pulled items out, garment by garment. Jeans, knitted sweaters, expensive blouses and smart looking top, socks, sweatpants – at which she almost faked keeling over because the idea of this uptight girl owning a pair of sweatpants suddenly seemed laughable. What would she do with them, anyway? Stare at them folded in her drawer, next to designer blouses and blazers and frown them into existence. She giggled obnoxiously.

“Are you finished?”

“You own sweatpants,” Clarke noted with immature glee.

“Yes,” the brunette replied, terse. She looked Clarke reprovingly. “I would say I assume you do too, but in your current state of undress…I’m not actually sure.”

“Hah hah,” Clarke retorted humourlessly, “someone spilt coffee on my skirt this morning – right before an interview, I might add – and now I’m here dealing with the consequences.”

Her antagonist didn’t seem to find that as impressive as Clarke would have liked, so she hummed and smoothed out the sleeve of a silk blouse, fingers feeling over the ridges where the seams joined. “So, you’re like, a lawyer, or something, huh?”

“Assistant District Attorney,” she was corrected irritably as the brunette smear stain remover onto one of her blouses in tight, aggressive movements and Clarke nodded, swinging her feet – that sounded right. She could see this girl in a skirt-suit or a tight, tight dress, examining witnesses with the same kind of concentration and application she used to examine her laundry for dust or stains, narrowed eyes and attentive fingers like the blouse was lying to her. Clarke leaned back on her hands. “So, Miss Hot-Shot-Lawyer –”

“Lexa.”

“What?”

The girl swallowed and dropped her hands to the surface of the machine she was working on, the top she was holding falling with them. She turned to Clarke in a mechanical twist of her upper body so that her sweater rode up her back and a strip of skin was visible. Clarke wet her lips. “My name is Lexa.” The brunette said again.

“Lexa,” Clarke tested the word on her tongue. She liked it, she decided. It was interesting, the emphasis on the ‘x’ and the way it rolled around her tongue was exotic in a way she didn’t expect but knew suited the lawyer, because this girl – this Lexa – was unlike many people she had met before. Many people who would be all over a pretty, pantless blonde in a vacant shop in a heartbeat. She was a hot-mess right now, admittedly, she stunk of caffeine, her hair was working itself free and there were probably circles under her eyes from her late-night agonising over her interview, but she felt offended nevertheless.

“And yours?” Lexa asked.

“Clarke,” she informed her, strangely proud. “With an ‘e’.” It was an important distinction.

“That’s original,” Lexa hummed.

“My parents wanted a boy.”

“And we’re they disappointed?”

Clarke tossed her head. Her hair was freeing itself from her updo by this stage, she saw strands falling soft around her face and could feel where it had loosened into a messy bun in a way she hoped looked good, but she was fast realising the conventional flirting wouldn’t work with Lexa. “Are you?” she challenged.

Lexa’s throat bobbed. “No.”

“Good.”

Lexa was smiling, she thought. It was hard to tell because of the way she wasn’t looking at Clarke god damn it, but the blonde was sure that was amusement turning the right corner of her lips up and it made something hot stir in her stomach, like the butterflies she would get before her art showings in middle school, as infantile as it sounded. Far from the flash-bang heat she felt with Finn when they ended up fumbling over each other at parties, the kind which deep down perhaps, she knew wasn’t sustainable. Either that or Clarke was just embarrassing herself.  

“So, you’re an artist.”

“What makes you say that?”

Lexa looked haughty but Clarke found it stupidly attractive, the conflicting feeling of wanting to kiss her and punch in her in the face had her fingers flexing. “You have paint under your nails,” the brunette informed her, she took Clarke’s fingers in her own, an action that Clarke was wholly unprepared for and while Lexa was concentrated on pointing out the flecks of teal oil paint embedded in her cuticles and under the nail of her index finger, Clarke was trying to remember how to breath. “Oh.”

Lexa hummed and went back to separating her laundry.

“I was interviewing for the art department at The Ark, this morning,” the blonde admitted, confirming Lexa’s guess and digging out the paint with her tongue licking at her lips. It was there from the weekend, when, after a tense phone call with Abby, she had retreated to the space room stacked with messy canvases and drop sheets to take her frustrations out. Raven had peered around the doorframe hours later with coffee but Clarke had taken the beverage and wished her away, irritably. It hadn’t been a good day. “Not that I’m going to get in now.”

“Are you any good?”

“Are you good at lawyering,” Clarke countered.

The woman looked somewhat offended – Clarke wondered how few people had called her abilities into question before. The challenge ticked in the muscles of her jaw, “touché.”

“So, Lexa,” Clarke gathered herself. She emphasised the syllables and Lexa laughed, a short sound, hidden behind her teeth so that it sounded like a hiss, but the blonde took it as a personal victory. She wanted to tell Lexa it was pretty, she wanted to tell Lexa she was pretty but it felt like too much so she left the words chewing on her lips where she would keep them until it was safe. “No court today?”

Work, she thought, work was safe. “Would have thought you’d be out scouring for evidence and examining the defence.” She was bluffing, she didn’t know the first thing about how lawyers worked or what an assistant district attorney did other than what she had seen on ‘Suits’ – Raven had had her binge the series with her because ‘Meghan Markle’s hot’ and Clarke had been inclined to agree. She, however, had nothing on ADA Lexa. But with the way she saw the tension leach out of Lexa’s stance, shoulders melting like wax into her shoulder blades, she decided her knowledge-less babble was worth it if Lexa kept shaking her head like that, fond and exasperated so that her hair shifted around the nape of her neck. “Day off,” she closed the door of the front-loading machine and pressed the buttons to make it churn to life, settling her hip on the edge of the machine whilst it filled with sudsy water. She folded her arms to her chest, her sweater shifting around her frame – taut muscles and wry strength, Clarke could see it in the flex of her biceps – and hooked her ankles over each other, tilting her head to look at Clarke.

“Which means laundry day?” the artist asked, unimpressed. She imagined someone like Lexa to be built for the glamour of cleaning ladies and brunching on her days off, peruse court notes in her sleek outfits between sips of a macchiato. But Lexa shook her head. “Plumbing’s broken.”

“Call a plumber.”

“I’m not exactly living the high life, Clarke,” the way her lips wrapped around her name make Clarke weak. “I’m waiting on a friend to fix it. Contrary to popular belief law school isn’t easy on the bank.”

Clarke scoffed. “You should try med school.”

“I assume you have?”

“For a while,” the blonde shrugged, her brows contorted and she puckered her lips. “Wasn’t my thing, I don’t suit hospital scrubs. They’re ill-fitting, not as flattering as my mother made them out to be.” The scrunch of her nose quirked her lips up and Lexa laughed like the melody of rain on the window panes, she wanted to bottle it, keep it on her shelf like fireflies in a childhood bedroom. “Still,” Clarke clacked her heels and faked nonchalance, “surely someone like you isn’t wallowing in laundry on a day off? No big plans?”

Lexa smiled, eyebrow raised suggestively – Clarke wondered how they had gone from barbed comments over washing machines to ill-concealed flirting but it suited her. “Someone like me?”

“Hush,” Clarke demanded.

Lexa watched her sideways through her lashes. “No plans,” she conceded.

“Would you like to rectify the situation?”

Lexa frowned in question.

“Coffee?” Clarke asked boldly. Between them the machines gurgled unattractively, whirring in the stagnant air of the laundromat and Clarke was reminded that she was picking up a girl in her button-down blouse and panties. Score one for Griffin, she thought, grinning.

“You used my machine,” Lexa reminded her, bird-mouthed and arms crossed.

“Wow,” Clarke clucked, taken aback, “okay.” She shrugged. “Apology coffee, then?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Is that a yes?”

Lexa nodded and her smile was beautiful, rare and as exotic as her name and the proud arch of her cheekbones and the line of her jaw. “If you’re paying.”

[ecfandom]

Girl please do a lil angsty one shot with clexa getting divorced and their kid doesn't understand whyyy. I need some angst rn

You are a cruel, cruel soul, but so am I so here you go and hang on tight. (Remember, YOU asked for angsty). (Also keep in mind it’s CLEXA so obviously it’s a happily ever after clexa endgame, I mean COME ON).

None of this is edited because I wanted to hurry and get it up before i got busy again. 

“I saw you, Lexa! I sawyou.”

“You didn’t see shit, Clarke! I would never do that to you!”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m calling you blind! Or something! What the hell, Clarke?! I mean, really? You’regonna ask me for a divorce over a blurry tabloid picture?! We’ve been marriedfor ten god damn years!” Lexa slams her hand against their kitchen wall andbegins to pace, anger and panic rippling off of her like a wild animal.

“Keep your voice down,” Clarke hisses, “you’ll wake Lexiup.”

Lexa swipes the tabloid off the counter and chucks it acrossthe room, needing some quieter form of venting. “This is ridiculous. You’rebeing ridiculous.”

“Just sign them, Lexa.” Clarke tries to force the manilaenvelope into her hands.

“Get that away from me.”

“Sign them. And then get out of my house.”

Lexa stops and stares, eyes just hard enough to hide thepain underneath. “I won’t.”

Clarke shoves folder against Lexa’s chest with enough forceto knock Lexa back a few steps, and Lexa knows that’s her pain talking. Lexaknows that when her wife is in pain, when she’s barely holding it together, shegets hard and strong and vicious. She knows, because she knows her wife. Herbest friend, her lover. She knows her better than anything.

“Don’t do this, Clarke. It’s only been a week.  Why are you just now bringing it up?”

“I wanted to have the papers first.”

“Give me a change to fix to this.”

Clarke stares at her as if she might actually bedeliberating. But then her head drops for a long time and when it finallyrises, there are tears in her eyes.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see you kissing her, Lexa. Touching her. Fuck. Inside her,” Clarke cries.

“That never happened! None of that happened! Clarke,please—“

“Don’t touch me.” Clarke steps back and yanks her arm out ofLexa’s tentative grasp. “I know what I saw.”

“What you think yousaw.”

 “God dammit, Lexa, it’s right here!” Clarke grabs thetabloid off the floor and points to the front cover. “For the whole fuckingworld to see! I got a call from my motherasking me if I’d seen the news!”

“It’s not news! It’s junk! Since when have we ever paidattention to that shit?!”

“Since Nylah was there! Since she saw it! Since shecorroborated the whole thing!”

“Oh jesus fuck, comeon! You can’t trust Nylah! She’s in love with you! She’d say anything tobreak us up.”

“Yeah, and Echo? What about her? She was there too—“

“Echo hates me! You know that! She’d do anything to get backat me for mother!”

“Echo isn’t Nia. She can’t be punished for her mother’smistakes. Besides, maybe hates you because she doesn’t have any respect forlying, shitbag cheaters!”

“Wow.” Lexa takes a step back, nodding slowly like she’strying to process. “Okay.”

“Lexa—“

“You’ve actually gone and lost your fucking mind.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re going to let…let people like them dictate our lives? Ten years of marriage, fifteen yearstogether total? Seriously? You’re gonna throw that away because you saw a blurry picture of me in a dark as fuck bar supposedly kissing somegirl? A picture where you can’t even tell it’s me? One that’s likelyphotoshopped? There’s like half a fucking face visible there!”

“Nylah and Echo—“

“Nylah and Echo are meddling fucks who have been trying toget between us since high school!”

“Why were you there?”

Lexa stills at the quiet tone of Clarke’s voice. She takes astep closer, encouraged by the sudden passivity.  “What?”

“Why were you at that bar?”

“I was closing a deal.”

“That couldn’t be done at the office?”

“He was a good ‘ol boy type. I told you. I told you that morning. I told you I wasgoing to meet him after work.”

“And you needed to do it at a bar?”

“I told you he was a bourbon kind of guy.”

So you needed to booze him up.”

“Yes.”

“To connect with him.”

“Yes.”

Clarke nods like she believes her. It’s disarming.

“And did you need to stick your tongue down some girl’sthroat to connect with him too?”

“Oh for christ’s sake, Clarke! What do I need to do toconvince you?”

“Just.” Clarke throws up her hands, unable to stop the smallwhimper that escapes. “Just sign the papers.”

“You’re not even going to give me a chance? Just like that,you want a divorce? What about Lexie? What about our family? Our life? Thiswonderful, beautiful life we’ve built together?”

“Don’t put that on me. Don’t. You did this. Just you.”

“But I didn’t! Clarke, I would never cheat on you! I have noreason to! I’m so,” Lexa chokes on the lump in her throat, ‘god I’m so in lovewith you, baby, please.”

“Sign the papers, Lexa.”

“Clarke—“

“Sign the fucking papers!”

“No!”

Clarke swears and storms past her wife, but Lexa grabs herby the waist and yanks her back. In one swift motion she pushes her against thefridge and presses their bodies together, Lexa’s lips finding Clarke’s indesperation. Clarke doesn’t pull away. She let’s herself be kissed. She letsherself feel the warm familiarity of her wife’s hands on her cheeks, her lipssearching and devouring. Her hips, her strong and firm and sure hips pressingher into place like they have so many times before.

They paint each other’s cheeks with their tears until Clarketurns her head when Lexa moves to adjust. Her eyes are closed, but she can feelLexa watching her, waiting. She can feel when Lexa finally gives up and movesaway from her. When she opens her eyes, Lexa is holding the papers in her hand,trembling.

Their eyes meet.

“I can’t sign these,” Lexa whispers. “I can’t.”

Clarke bites her tingling bottom lip. She shakes her head.

“I can’t lose you.”

“Don’t,” Clarke gasps. “Don’t do that. I told you when westarted this. I told you. Cheating isthe one thing I can’t forgive. You know that. Finn…he…he destroyed me, Lexa,you know that. He …and you…I told you.”

“I know,” Lexa says, shaking her head as she walks back overto her. She reaches for Clarke’s shoulders, but Clarke shrugs her off andcrosses arms, folding into herself. “Clarke. Sweetheart, I need you to hear me.Listen to me. I did not cheat on you. I did not kiss that girl.”

“Please, just get out, Lexa. Just leave.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

Clarke looks back up at her, eyes ablaze. “I’m not askingyou.”

“You can’t kick me out. This is my house too.”

Clarke unfurls, standing at her full height, though stillshe’s a good six inches shorter than her wife. “Get out of my house.”

“No.”

“Get out of my—“

“No!”

“Get out of my fucking house!”

“Mommy?”

They both whip around, stunned into silence by their littlegirl’s presence. She’s beautiful, a spitting image of both of them with her wildbrown hair and bright, blue eyes. Her thumb is inching towards her mouth and herblankie drags along the floor behind her as she shuffles into the kitchen,sleepy and warm and innocent.

“Baby,” Clarke breathes, eyes flitting over to Lexa briefly,“Hi. Why are you up, sweetheart?”

“Is loud.”

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry.”

Lexie shuffles forward with her tiny, bare feet. She wandersover to Lexa and presses her body into her leg, wrapping around her with her freearm. Clarke bites at her cheek and Lexa tries and fails to hide the whimper inher throat. She reaches down and gently runs her fingers through her toddler’shair. She looks at Clarke, silently pleading with her, but Clarke just reachesdown and sweeps Lexie up into her arms.

“Let’s get you back to bed, love.” She presses her to hershoulder and cups her hand over her little ear. “I want you gone by the time Iget back.”

//

When Clarke walks back into the kitchen, her feet heavy andheart heavier, Lexa is nowhere to be found. The manila envelope is still on thekitchen island, but there’s a yellow sticky note on it with Lexa’s familiarchicken scratch.

Clarke,

 I love you. I willfight for you.

I refuse to give up onus, and

I will show you itisn’t what you think.

Please call me whenyou’re ready.

 Love,

L

 The words blur the longer she looks at it, tears stingingher eyes until there’s no point anymore. She wraps her shawl around her tighteras she walks into the living room and wanders over to the wall offloor-to-ceiling windows looking out on Manhattan. High above it all, with thelights and cars so small against the black blanket of night, she suddenly feelsso alone.

She grips her chest as a sob escapes her. It brings her toher knees, one hand braced against the cold glass of the window in front ofher. She sits there like that for more minutes than she can count, shaking andcrying and wondering how they’d gotten here. What she could have donedifferent. Why Lexa had felt the need to—maybe if she’d been more affectionate.Maybe if she’d been more understanding when Lexa was stressed. Maybe if they’dhad sex more often. Maybe if—

Maybe this was just always meant to b her fate. First Finn.Now Lexa.

//

Its cold and wet when Lexa steps out of her office lateFriday night. It’d been a week, and still there’d been no call from Clarke. Shehadn’t heard her daughter’s laugh or seen her smile in just as long and thatwas perhaps the hardest. That, and the way an empty bed felt after more than adecade of sleeping next to someone. Not just someone. The love of her life.

She recedes into her long, black coat as she waitsimpatiently for the valet. She’s short tempered and bitter. She’d snapped atmore employees than she could count today, fired another, though he had beenasking for it, and cancelled a meeting with one of her most important businesspartners simply for being 5 minutes late to the call.

Because she was sad.Is sad. So sad that it radiates through every part of her body, weighingdown her bones like lead, clogging her mind like fog, making it impossible towant to continue on with each day.

It’s like this that Raven finds her nearly drenched from therain on the curb of 5th Avenue.

“So it’s true then?”

Lexa pulls her head out of her phone and stares blankly fora moment before registering Raven and her question.

“I’m sorry?”

“You broke her heart. Cheated on her?”

“Not now, Raven.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s not what you think—“

“Just tell me I’m wrong, Lexa. Tell me you didn’t breakher.”

Lexa pockets her phone and squares up, giving Raven a good,long look. “I didn’t.”

“So I’m wrong?”

“You’re wrong.”

“And Nylah? Echo? The photographic evidence? I’m guessingthey’re wrong too.”

“That’s not evidence and you fucking know it. Anyone couldhave fabricated that photo. My child couldhave fabricated that photo.”

Raven scoffs. “To what end?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Echo and Nylah. They seemall to eager to offer up their side of the story.”

“I hope for your sake you’re right. Because if you’re lyingto me. If you cheated on her, after everything, after Finn…I will end you.”

Lexa steps into her space. “Are you threatening me, Reyes? Ihope for your sake that wasn’t athreat.”

Raven takes a step back, Lexa being an admittedly imposingfigure, but she steels her face and crosses her arms. “Just prove me wrong,Lexa. For the love of god. ”

//

“When’s momma coming back?”

Clarke swallows, her hands pausing in the soapy, bath waterfor a moment before renewing their ministrations. She scoops a cup up andgently pours it over Lexie’s damp curls. “Um.” She works at the knot in herthroat. “You’ll see her soon,” she says. A half truth.

“I miss momma.”

Clarke sinks back onto her heels and buries her nose intoher shoulder, clenching her eyes shut.

“Mommy?

“Mhm?”

“Why mad at momma?”

“I’m not mad, baby.”

“But you yewwed.”

“We weren’t yelling, baby, we were just talking. I’m sorryit was loud.”

“Can momma wead story night?”

“How about mommy reads you a story tonight?”

“No momma!” Lexie slams her little fists into the water and bursts into tears,wailing through all of Clarke’s attempts to calm her down.

Clarke doesn’t behave much differently when she finallycrawls into bed hours later, still damp from Lexie’s outburst in the bath, buttoo depressed to care.

//

A knock at her door, way too late at night, has Echotiptoeing towards her door with vase in hand. She’s ready to smash it over theintruder’s head when suddenly Lexa’s wet face pops into view through her frontwindow.

She opens the door and lowers the face, smirking slightly.“You look like shit, Woods.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

Lexa stares at her, almost rabid. Her eyes are red andswollen, her coat heavy with weeks worth of rain that refused to let up. “Don’tfucking play with me, Echo. Why are you doing this to me? How could you be socruel?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lexa, and I suggestyou get off my property before I call the cops on you for trespassing.”

“Just give me a god damnanswer. Lie to me, I don’t fucking care. Just give me an answer. Please.”

Echo leans in and chuckles. “You know what the best partabout it is? I hardly had to do a thing. Clearly, your wife must have suchlittle trust in you that all it takes is a stock photo of a girl with highcheek bones and brown hair. I find that hilarious, don’t you?”

“I will fucking—“

“Ah, ah, ah. Ae you threatening me, Lexa? That’s verbalassault. Wouldn’t want that on the record would we? Might make getting any kindof joint custody over little Lexa Jr. kind of difficult.”

//

Clarke stares at her closet, trying to find it somewhere inherself to care enough about the day to get dressed. She weeds through herclothes, noting the very limited amount of options she has due to the growingpile of dirty laundry in the corner.

She pushes hanger after hanger mindlessly aside until herfingers grasp something silky and she stops.

She runs the lilac satin through her fingers, tearsautomatically springing to her eyes as she caressed the tie. Lexa’s favorite.The very tie she’d been wearing that night.

//

She wakes up to Lexa’slips so soft and gentle on hers. Kissing her awake, she’s rewarded with themost beautiful smile sparkling all the way up into her favorite pair of greeneyes.

 “Good morning, mylove.”

 Clarke smiles andstretches, chuckling when Lexa takes the opportunity to kiss and nip at thebreadth of her exposed neck as she arches into awareness.

 “What time is it?”

 Lexa climbs on top ofher, wet hair draping down to cascade around their faces. “Almost six.”

 “How was your run?”

 “Good.”

 “And your shower?”

 “Missed you in it.”

 “You couldve’ woken meup.”

 Lexa hums as she dragsher lips down Clarke’s bare chest. She kisses her sternum. “I wanted to let yousleep. I know Lexie was up with nightmares again.”

 “I can’t believe Ravenlet her watch that movie.”

 “Don’t worry, Ialready spoke with her.”

 Lexa circles her bellybutton.

“You’re such a good mom.”

 Lexa kisses her pubicbone, then slides her hands underneath Clarke, opening her up.

 “So are you.”

 Lexa’s tongue partsher and Clarke gasps, head jerking off the pillow as her hand tangles itself intoLexa’s hair. “Shit.”

 “You taste so good,baby.”

 Clarke searches forsomething else to latch onto, and finds Lexa’s hand. She gets a gentle squeezebefore it’s gone again.

 “Lex-oh. Shit.” Lexapushes into her, slow and deep. One finger. Then two, easily. Despite the earlymorning time, Clarke is thoroughly wet and warm.

 Making Clarke come iseasy. Lexa knows her wife like she nows her own body. She takes pride inknowing her wife. Her pleasure. Her tells. Getting Clarke there is easy, butshe takes her sweet time, stretching out the hour they have until it feels likedays, and Clarke can barely catch her breath.

 Lexa kisses her whereshe’s swollen and pink when she’s done, earning a little jerk of Clarke’s hipsthat makes her smile. When she crawls back up the beautiful, naked expanse ofClarke’s body, Clarke is eager to kiss her. To taste herself on her wife’s lipsand bask in the afterglow of her wife’s arms wrapped tightly around her.

 Lexa kisses her on thehead.

 “Well good morning toyou too,” Clarke sighs.

 “I love you so much.”

 Clarke kisses her. Onthe lips. On the nose. “I love you too, Lex.”

 //

 “What are you gonnawear today?”

 “Pick it out for me?”

 Clarke smiles andjumps off the bed. She loves this. Their routine. Lexa’s trust. “What’ve yougot?”

 “The usual.”

 “Any meetings?”

 “Oh. Shit, yeah. I’mmeeting this man after work today. Old guard type. Takes his burbon on therocks. That kind.”

“So then I’m thinking muted tones”

 Lexa smiles and comesup behind her, cradling her. “That sounds great.”

 //

 “Let me help.” Clarkeswats Lexa’s hands away and adjusts the knot of Lexa’s tie. “There.” When shelooks up, she’s met with such adoration in Lexa’s soft, green eyes it makes herknees weak.

 “I thought we saidmuted.”

 Clarke grins. “This ismuted.”

 “It’s purple.”

 Clarke hums.

 “Clarke—“

 “It’s lilac.”

 Lexa smiles. “Lilac.”

 “Mhm.”

 “It’s my favorite.”

 Clarke smiles and runsher hand down it, smoothing it into her vest. “It is.”

 “Do you remember?”

 Clarke blushes andcan’t help but recall the first time she’d encountered this tie on Lexa. Thatlate night at Lexa’s internship office, fresh out of college. The way her mouthhad watered at the look of it around Lexa’s neck, the way it softened the tanskin of her bare torso as Clarke stripped her out of white Oxford shirt andpulled their bodies together.

 She kisses Lexa tohide her blush.

 Lexa chuckles. “So youdo, then.”

 “Of course I do.”

 “It’s my favorite.”

 Clarke laughs androlls her eyes, tucking herself into Lexa’s arms. “It’s mine too.”

 “Momma!”

They pull a part, smiling as their little, wild thing comes bounding into theirbedroom, hair flying in every direction.

 “Mommy! Brefast!”

 Lexa smiles and scoopsher up, saving Clarke from the tornado of shrieks and squeals. She squeezes hertight and peppers her with kisses until her daughter is a giggling mess andpressing her little hands against Lexa’s face.

 “I’ll get breakfaststarted while you get ready,” she says chuckling as she tries to avoid thoselittle hands now poking at her cheeks.  

 “Okay.” But Clarkedoesn’t move, she stands there, one hand on her wife’s back, the other strokingthrough the fine baby hairs framing her little girl’s face, beaming.

 “Pwetty momma,” Lexiesays, taking Lexa’s tie between her tiny fingers.

 “You like it?”

 Lexie beams. “I wikeit!”

 Clarke’s head falls toLexa’s shoulder as she watches on, so happy she could almost cry.

 //

 Clarke blinks tears onto her cheeks and releases the tiebefore deciding that a t-shirt and jeans would be good enough for this day.

//

When Clarke walks down the hallway late Wednesday evening,wet and miserable, she’s so surprised to see Lexa’s sitting there with her headagainst the door, she almost drops all her bags of groceries.

Her wife appears to be asleep. Her mouth hangs slightly openas her chest rises gently up and down in her disheveled suit. Clarke clocks thetie—a plain, silver, skinny thing. It could mean only one thing. Lawyers.

//

“That color’s boring.Wear this one.” Clarke holds up a loud, teal tie from the bottom of Lexa’s tierack.

 “I wish I could, baby,but I’m meeting with the lawyers today. Lawyers mean professional andprofessional means monotone.”

 “But you hate grey.”

 “I also hate lawyers,”Lexa says, winking.

 “Still looks good.”

 “Think so?”

 Clarke nods and wrapsherself around her wife. “My wife looks good anything.”

 //

 Her stomach plummets before she’s able to catch it. This iswhat she wanted. This is what she asked for. She isn’t allowed to be upset atthe idea of Lexa having potentially met with divorce lawyers.

“Clarke.”

Clarke’s eyes rise from the floor and fall on Lexa’s paleface, the dark circles under her eyes, the weight loss accentuating her jaw andcheek bones.  “What are you doing here?”

Lexa scrambles upwards and hands her a slim, white envelope.“Here.”

“What’s this?”

“A check.”

“A check? Why?”

Lexa swallows and runs a hand through her wet hair. Clarkealmost smiles at the familiarity of her wife’s nervous tick. “I just found outAnya went behind my back and froze our joint account. That’s for Lexie. Oryou…you know, whatever. Whatever you guys might need it for. Until I can getthe account unfrozen.”

“Oh.” Clarke looks at the envelope. “I thought…I thoughtthat was you.”

Lexa tisks. “I would never do that to you.”

Clarke looks at her and Lexa gives her a small, timid smile.“Let me know if you need more.”

For a moment, Clarke wants to slip into the warmth of Lexa’sfamiliar sweetness. Her gentleness. She open the envelope and pulls the check out.Her eyes widen and she gasps. “Lexa. This is too much.”

“It’s yours.”

Clarke shakes her head, eyes stinging. “No, it’s not. Thisis your money.”

“It’s ours.”

Clarke’s head falls back as she blinks up at the ceiling,fingers aching under the weight of her grocery bags.

“Please, Clarke. Let me help. I know how hard it is being astay-at-home mom.”

“I have income from my paintings.”

“It’s not steady.”

“It’s steady enough.”

“Just let me help, Clarke. At least until the account isback online.”

Clarke lets the grocery bags fall and runs her hands overher face, thankful that there’s no make-up there to be careful of. Her fingerscomb through her hair, and by the time she looks back up at Lexa, her wife’seye are shiny.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa whispers, wet and small.

“Stop. Don’t—“ Clarke swallows thickly, “don’t.”

“I’m sorry. I just. I miss you.”

Clarke breaks and she lets the tears fall. “I miss you too.”

“I want to come home.”

“I’m not ready yet.”

“Yet?” Lexa asks, hope tinting her voice.

“I haven’t forgiven you.”

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

Somehow this seems to sober Clarke, and suddenly the angeris back. As if just saying the word “cheat” made it real again. “I need you togo.”

“Clarke—“

“Go, Lexa.”

Lexa doesn’t move, just turns her eyes to the floor, handscoming together to pick nervously at her finger tips.  “This isn’t fair. I didn’t do anything wrong.You can’t treat me like this.”

“You cheated on me.”

“I didn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know. And that hurts so much.”

Clarke blinks, a sliver of something new creeping up intoher throat. Something that makes her hands go cold and her mouth go dry.Something that tastes an awful lot like doubt. She swallows the feeling downand forces herself to look at her wife.

“You’re hurting me,” Lexa whispers, her eyes wide and fullof tears.

Clarke’s lip trembles as her heart tears itself to pieces.She wants to apologize, but her anger keeps her silent.

“But I’m not going tostop. I’m not. So either you tell me you never want to see me again, or youwork with me.”

Clarke whimpers and leans herself against the wall, closing hereyes. “I want to believe you,” she cries. “I…I want to more than anything. Butevery time I close my eyes I think of you touching her. It makes me sick to mystomach.”

She flinches when Lexa’s fingers touch her cheeks, but sherelaxes as soon as she realizes she’s being caressed. Her eyes open and Lexa isinches away, her gaze flitting over her face a mile a minute as the pads of herfingers trace the curve of her features.

“I would never hurt you.”

Lexa’s words ache through Clarke. You’re hurting me. “I don’tknow what to do.”

Lexa presses their foreheads together. “Just trust me.”

Clarke’s eyes fall to her lips. She loves those lips. Orloved. No…loves. Still loves. She licks her own and tries to quell the yearninginside of her.  

“Trust me,” Lexa begs, her hands resting unthreateningly oneither side of Clarke’s neck. Her thumb occasionally sweeps across her jawline. “Please trust me.”

Clarke takes a deep breath and nods. “I want to.”

Lexa smiles, hope bubbling in her stomach.  But then—

“But I can’t.”

It’s like a punch to the stomach. For both of them. Lexa’sthumb stills, she stands back abruptly, recoiling in such a way that Clarkeinstantly feels cold with her distance.

When Clarke looks at her, she’s frightened to see an oldlifelessness to Lexa’s eyes. A numbness to her face. It’d been years sinceClarke had seen that look. Years since that Lexa—terrified and bitter andangry—had sat alone at lunch every day in high school, flinching at everypassing teenager who’d walked too close to her. Years since thatLexa—aggressive and distrusting and vulnerable—had stumbled into the girl’sbathroom, bloody lip and nose dripping all over the sink next to Clarke’s.

Suddenly, it’s as if Clarke is looking at seventeen-year-oldLexa, bullied and broken and utterly lost, and she can’t help the overwhelmingurge she has to protect and love and sooth. The same urge that had found herholding a whimpering Lexa that day in the girl’s bathroom as she dabbed at herbusted lip.

But unlike that Lexa, so needy for love and attention, sopliant in Clarke’s arms, this Lexa is hard and cold and angry. This Lexa stepsaway from her, heartbreak raging like a hurricane in her eyes.

“Go get them.”

“What?”

“Go get the fucking papers. I’ll sign your fucking papers.”

Clarke freezes and her heart beat kicks into overdrive.

Lexa laughs and it sends chills up Clarke’s spine. “This issome fucking life. My parents, dead. My wife hates me and wants a divorce. Myfriends…well they’re of course on my wife’s side and just can’t help themselves.They’ve wanted to hate me for so long. Their precious Clarke being corrupted bythe foster kid with too many problems. I bet they’re just having a fuckingfield day with this.”

“Lex, that’s not true—“

“Oh and did I tell you? Found out last week Echo’s motherhas been skimming money off the top way longerthan just the past year. State wants to indict me too since I didn’t notice itsooner which means I must becomplicit. Guess I was too busy cheating on my wife to notice my CFO scammingme for years. I spoke with the lawyers again today about testifying against herin court, but you’re probably right, there’s no way her daughter could have a bigenough vendetta against me to try to tear my life apart. As for my own daughter?What daughter? Haven’t seen her in months. Probably has no idea who I amanymore.” Lexa laughs. “Who the fuck was I in a past life to land this shitpile of an existence? I must’ve been pretty fucking terrible. But you knew thatalready, didn’t you?”

“Lex—“

“No, you know what? I’m done. I can’t. I tried, Clarke, andI’m tired. I’m so tired. I can’t be here any more, so just send me your papers.I’ll sign them, whatever you want. But if you think for one second you’re goingto keep my daughter away from me any longer, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

And with that, she’s gone faster than Clarke can registerthe calamity.

//

“Can you tell me more about it?” Clarke swirls her salad around on her plate,eyes occasionally glancing up Echo. “I just…need to hear it. You know? To makeit real.”

“Clarke, you don’t need to hear that bullshit,” Octaviasighs, “Just sign the papers and get it over with. You need to be trying tomove on.”

“It’s just hard to…it’s just surreal. I just want to hear itagain before I sign. I want to know exactly what happened.”

“You know what happened,” Raven retorts. “She doesn’tdeserve justification. You’re being too nice as it is.”

“How am I being to nice? I haven’t so much as talked to herin months.”

“You’re letting her see Lexie. That’s too nice. She doesn’tdeserve it.”

“She’s her mother. She’s namedafter her. I couldn’t keep them apart any longer.”

“You’re her mother.”

Clarke sighs. “She’s just as much Lexa’s as she is mine. Ikept her away for too long as it is. They were both miserable.”

“And where’s Lexie now?”

“With Lexa. Can we not talk about Lexie right now? I justwant to know I’m doing the right thing.”  

“I totally get it, Clarke,” Echo smiles. “I’m so sorryyou’re going through this.” She places her hand over Clarke’s for a moment andsqueezes.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “So…about that night.”

“Well you know. She was drunk.”

“Drunk? I don’t remember you saying that the first time. Shedidn’t come home drunk.”  

“Mmm, yeah. Yeah, she was pretty far gone, according toNylah. Had about three Long Islands.”

Clarke frowns.  MaybeEcho had the drink wrong.

“When Nylah cut her off, she took off somewhere.”

“What happened to the guy?”

“What guy?”

“The guy she was meeting? The older guy, grey hair, likesbourbon?”

“Oh. Oh, he was long gone by that point. Meeting was short.”

//

Lexa trudges throughthe door, rubbing at her head, but immediately perks when Clarke wanders out ofthe kitchen with Lexie in her arms.

“What are my girls doing up? It’s so late!”

 Clarke smiles andgreets her in the foyer, raising up for a kiss. “This little one had anothernightmare.”

 “Oh no. My poor baby.What’s goin on in there?” Lexa asks, poking around Lexie’s ears as if she cansee into her head. Lexie bursts into giggles and snuggles further into Clarke’s neck to escape the inspection.

 “How was yourmeeting?”

 Lexa sighs and drapesher briefcase and jacket over a chair in the living room before plopping downand dragging Clarke and Lexie into her lap. “Long. This guy would not shut up.Just went on and on about his business theories which are decades outdated.”

 “Bummer. So no luck?”

 “Well, not quite. He’sgot some interesting insight on the history of engineering firm stocks andtheir fluctuations over the years. Might be useful for our investments team.”

 “Well that’s good!”

 “Das good, momma!”Lexie echoes, clapping her little hands together.

 Clarke chuckles and grabsLexa by the tie, their favorite tie, and kisses her sound on the lips.

 //

“Clarke?”

“I’m sorry.” Clarke shakes her head and frowns. “You saidthe meeting was short?”

“I mean, seemed to be. I didn’t see him around any.”

“What time did you get there?”

“Oh I don’t know.” Echo checks her watch as if it’ll helpher remember. “Around eight.”

“Lexa was home around nine. Doesn’t give her much time tofuck around,” Clarke thinks aloud.

“Well no, but she’s was like well into it by the time I showedup. Had this girl all over her. Don’t know how either of them were gettingenough air.”

Clarke closes her eyes and tries not to vomit at the image,her heart beating heavily against her sternum.

“That’s enough,” Raven cuts in, but Clarke waves her off,shaking her head.

“No it’s okay. Keep going.”

Echo smiles sympathetically. “You sure?”

Clarke nods.

“Well they’re making out for a while. I’m sitting therestunned, like I don’t know what to do. Do I interfere? Do I let it go? I don’tknow. So I’m just kind of like watching, frozen in place, wondering what thehell is happening. I’ve just about worked up the courage to go over there inchew her out when I see this bitch leading Lexa out by her tie. Like actuallypulling on her tacky, red tie.”

Clarke freezes, and her blood runs cold. Her heart thumpswildly as her eyes come up slowly to meet Echo. “What?”

“Yeah. I remember, because I remember thinking that if Lexajust happened to choke, I wouldn’t be torn up about it,” Echo laughs.

“This girl was pulling Lexa by the tie?”

“Mhm.”

“Her red tie?”

“Yep. And Lexa totally dug it.”

Clarke lowers her fork and wipes her mouth, gathering herwords and thoughts. She turns to Echo, her eyes hard. “Lexa doesn’t own a redtie.”

Echo’s eyes go wide. “Oh, well. Maybe it was maroon. Thelighting was dark, I don’t know the exact color.”

Clarke nods, and Echo seems to relax, but Clarke’s not done.She shifts forward and bores into the fidgety woman across from her. “Lexadoesn’t drink Long Islands. She’s allergic to black tea. And her meeting withthe business man was not short. It was long. So long, Lexa came home with aheadache.

Echo stutters and tries to back track, but Clarke is done.She’s furious and embarrassed and ashamed. She shove her chair back and stand,grabbing her purse.  

“And Echo?” Clarke takes her drink and dumps it over Echo’shead. “Her tie was fucking lilac.”

Clarke storms away from the table and jogs to her car,fumbling through her purse for her phone. She’s desperate to reach Lexa.Desperate to apologize, to explain, to grovel and do whatever it takes to saveher marriage.

“Fuck!” She growls when she can’t locate her cell. Sheslides into her car and dumps the contents out onto the passenger seat, divingfor it once it became visible.

She’s ready to dial when she pauses, noticing the sevenmissed calls and nine text messages.

With trembling fingers she opens each one.

Lincoln [12:23pm]:Clarke, you there? Pick up your phone.

Anya [12:23]: Hey, youneed to call me ASAP.

Lincoln [12:25]: Seriously.Call me.

Lincoln [12:30]: Whereare you? Call me, it’s an emergency.

Bellamy [12:35]: Don’tpanic, but as soon as you get this, call me.

Lincoln [12:36]:CLARKE PICK UP UR FUCKING PHONE

Kane [12:40]: Hey,your mom and I are with Lexie, don’t worry.

Anya [12:42]: Clarke,please. Look I know you guys are fighting, but I can’t do this alone. Please. Callme back.

 //

When she pulls up, there’s ringing in her ears, andeverything seems to be slightly off its axis, as if she’s just spun in circlesand  beenasked to stand on one foot.There are fire trucks and police cars everywhere, and for a moment, Clarke isfrozen in place. Her eye wide with terror, her grip on the steering wheel sofirm it hurts, but she’s too petrified to notice.

A teenager running by her car on the phone yanks her backinto reality, and then she’s tumbling out of the car, her legs barely able tokeep her up right as she stumbles towards the thick of the crowd.  

Someone grabs her, and she yelps and flails, suddenlyconscious and aware and overwhelmed by what she’s walking towards. She fightsthe grip on her wrist, but then she’s being tugged out of the crowd and towardsthe back of a fire truck, Lincolns horrified face swimming into view.

“Clarke—“

“Where is she? Where is she, Lincoln? Where is she, where’smy wife?”

“Clarke, you need to listen to me.” He fights his tears toget his words out. “Listen to me.”

“Where is she?”

“It’s not good, Clarke. Okay? It’s not good. It’s really,bad. It’s really fucking bad, so you have to be strong okay? You have to bestrong.”

“Oh god,” Clarke wails, “oh god. What—what happened?”

Lincoln drags her wordlessly towards a fireman. “This isClarke. This is her wife. She needs to see her.”

Clarke yanks her arm out of Lincoln’s grip and tries tocatch her breath. “Where is she? What happened? Please—”

“M’am, I need you to be calm. I need you to be calm before Ilet you in there, can you do that?”

Clarke’s close to hyperventilating, but she digs her nails intoher palms and nods.

“Your wife was struck by a car. She’s been pinned between itand a telephone pole, and we’re working to cut her out, but it’s a slowprocess. Her sister is with her right now trying to keep her conscious while wecut her out. That’s what we need right now, can you handle that?”

Clarke’s hands fall to her knees and she gasps for air, butfinds none.

“Clarke—“ Lincoln puts his hand on her back, but the touchmakes her sick and she empties her stomach onto the asphalt until she’strembling so hard she can barely stand.

“She’s not ready,” the fireman says, “take her back.”

“No!” Clarke jerks and pushes herself up, eyes wide andwild. “No, I’m fine! I’m fine. Please. Please, god, I need to see her. Take meto her. Please, I have to see her.”

//

The first thing she sees is the black car, crunched up likean accordion against the telephone pole. Then she she sees the beads ofshattered class, metal bits strewn about like some perfectly constructed moviescene.

The next thing she sees is Anya’s back, small and curved andshaking.

“Anya—“

Anya turns, her face a mess of fear and pain. “Clarke, hey,”Anya sniffs, reaching out for her. “Come’re, come’re she’s been asking foryou.”

Clarke can’t move for fear of passing out, but Anya latchesonto her hands and squeezes. “It’s okay, come’re. It’s okay.”

Clarke shuffles forward tentatively, her hand trembling in Anya’s grasp as sheapproaches.

“Here,” Anya shifts and pulls her down to the ground, but assoon as Anya had moved, Clarke had frozen, her heart clenching excruciatinglyinside her chest as Lexa’s face came into view.

“Oh, Lex—“ She gasps, her hands flying to her chest and mouthas she gets in close.

Lexa’s mouth is covered in blood, her face a ghostly whitein contrast. Clarke can tell she’s tired, or maybe in pain, because her eyesstruggle to focus and are so dim they look grey.

“Lexie, baby,” she sniffs and quickly wipes at her eyes,trying not to scare Lexa with her tears, “hey, I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart.”

Lexa’s eyes roll to her, her hand—pinned up near herchest—shakes as she struggles to move it. Her mouth opens, a whimper comes out,but any possibility for words are snuffed out by the cough of blood thattrickles down her chin with the effort. “Shh, don’t speak. It’s okay, don’t speak.”

Lexa continues to flex her hand with what little control shehas until Clarke understands. With a choked back sob, she scoots closer andwraps her fingers around her wife’s red hand. “I’m here. Baby, I’m here.”

“’Scuse me,” a paramedic near by murmurs as they maneuveraround behind the pole to adjust Lexa’s head slightly.

“Lexa, hey, no don’t close your eyes. Don’t close you’reeyes, you know you can’t.” Anya’s voice brings Clarke back to Lexa’s face, herheart picking up at the sight of Lexa’s eyes drooping.

“Hey, Lexa, keep those eyes open,” the paramedic says,reaching over to tap Lexa gently on the cheek.

Lexa groans, but does as she’s told, eyes immediatelyfinding their way back to Clarke. She opens her mouth again, and the paramedicis forced to lean back over to place a suction in her mouth. The sound it makesdraining the blood from her airways makes Clarke want to hurl again.

“Can she breathe? Is she in pain?”

“We’re doing the best we can,” the solemn woman murmurs,focusing on adjusting the cannula in Lexa’s nose.

“When will they be done? What’s taking so long?”

“We have to cut the car away in pieces to avoid jostlingher.”

“Is she in pain?” She turns to Lexa and runs a palm over herforehead and hair. “Are you in pain, sweetheart?”

Lexa’s whimper overshadows whatever the paramedic’s answeris, and the fact that Clarke can’t scoop her up and hold her close makes herdizzy. She gets as close as she can and runs her hands over her cheeks and neckand everywhere she can reach without agitating, soothing and wiping away theblood as best she can.

“Hey—“ Anya presses her hand gently to Clarke’s back, “I’mgonna go be with Lincoln for a bit. Update him.”

Clarke nods and moves to let Anya in close.

“Hey, kid. I’m gonna go keep Lincoln updated, okay? I’ll beback. I love you.”

Lexa nods and gives her a weak smile, and then they’realone. Clarke presses their foreheads together and cups her wife’s damp,freezing cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, hanging on as if she can make upfor lost time through touch. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much, Lexa. Do youhear me?”

Lexa’s eyes close just long enough for a few tears to spillout, but she nods and nuzzles weakly closer.

“I know now, okay? I know you didn’t do it. I’m so sorry Ididn’t believe you, I—“ she can’t finish, too overcome and needing to breathethrough the pain in her chest. A man in scrubs kneels beside them and stickshis arm in between them, check on Lexa’s pulse. He shines a light in her eyesand squeezes her finger tips, but all Clarke can see is the steady trickle ofblood seeping out of the corner of Lexa’s mouth.

“Why is she bleeding?” She asks, hands resuming theirsoothing as soon as he has backed out of the way.

“It’s likely internal from the impact. We won’t know untilwe can get in there.”

“Are you almost done?”

“The problem is, the car was pierced by this street sign onimpact—this thing, right here—“ he points to a thick piece of metal stickingout the back of the telephone pole. “It’s going through the pole and into thecar. We can’t tell if it missed Lexa here or not, so we have to be very carefulabout cutting around it.”

“Is there anything I can do to make her more comfortable?”

The man frowns sympathetically at her and squeezes hershoulder. “You’re doing what you can.”

“I want to do more. I need to.”

He stands, and instantly Clarke misses his presence, as ifjust the fact that he’s a doctor makes things safer and more helpful.  “Just keep her conscious. Keep her positive.”He bends over and peers into Lexa’s eyes again. “You’re doing great, Lexa.We’re almost there.” And with that, he walks away leaving Clarke completelyoverwhelmed. She turns back to Lexa who brow if furrowed either with worry ofdiscomfort.

“Hey you,” she whispers, stroking Lexa’s face. “You’re okay.It’s all going to be okay.”

For the first time, Lexa manages to sputter out one coherentsound—

“Lexie?”

Clarke smiles and brushes sticky strands of hair out ofLexa’s face. “She’s okay. She’s with my mom, I spoke to them on the way over.”

Lexa nods, a sigh of relief doing the opposite of actuallyrelieving her as she erupts into a fit of clogged coughs.

“Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay. Take it easy, it’s okay.” It’s weak and watery andunconvincing, but Clarke clings to her own words like a life line as shepresses their foreheads together again. She wipes at Lexa’s mouth, and withouta second thought, kisses her—gently, desperately, apologetically. Whatever shecan manage, she conveys into that kiss with all of her might. “I love you,Lexa,” she says in between, “I love you.” She can’t say it enough, terrifiedthat this is it. Terrified that this is the last time she’ll every say that toLexa—that she’d wasted all those months of possible “I love you”s, months ofmorning kisses and evening cuddles, months of family days at the park, monthsof sweet dates at new restaurants, months of sweeter love making after quietlypaying their babysitter, checking on their little girl and undressing eachother with quiet chuckles and easy embraces—all lost, wasted, on some cruelscheme by people she should have never trusted over her wife.

“Lexa—“ Clarke pulls away from Lexa’s lips, trying hard notto shudder against the metallic taste now coating her own mouth. She wipes atLexa’s lips and chin uselessly.

Lexa whimpers at the loss of contact. It reminds Clarke sodearly of Lexa’s early morning whines—her sleepy sounds so defiant against therising sun, so like their daughter with her wild hair and jaw breakingyawns—only this time, they’re not tangled together, soft and flushed under thewarm blankets. They’re not fighting an alarm on an early Saturday, or kissingjust “one more time.” This time, Lexa is cold and bloody. This time, she’sfighting for her life. And every kiss Clarke presses to her lips may be thelast, so Lexa doesn’t have to ask for another.

But Clarke stops because she needs to talk to her. She needsto hear her, to connect with her. She needs her to know. Needs her understand thatLexa is her life. That there’s noworld in which she could possibly live without her.

“Lexa—“

Lexa whines again and for once, Clarke chuckles, wiping ather tears. “Okay,” she concedes and presses back in, kissing her until,inevitably, Lexa begins coughing again. “Baby,” Clarke whines, hating the ideaof making Lexa’s struggle worse. “Just breathe, okay? Just breathe.” Sheshimmies out of her coat and tucks it around her as best she can. She peersover at the fireman and their saws, close enough now to feel the wind createdby their rotating blades. “We’re almost there. We’re almost there. And thenwe’re gonna get you all patched up okay?”

Lexa smiles sadly and shakes her head, weakly gripping ontoClarke’s hand. “ I’m gonna die here—“

“No. No, that’s not—no, Lexa. Do you hear me? You’re notgoing to die here. You can’t—“ she breaks down, shaking her head, “you can’tdie, okay? I need you. I need you, I love you so much. I was such a fool, Lexa.I was so stupid and I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me, you don’thave to, but you can’t leave me, okay? I don’t want to live in a world withoutyou. I can’t. I need you.  Lexie needsyou.”

//

“Lexie—can you drink for me? Please, for grandma?” Abbyencourages the juice box closer to her grandchild’s face, but the toddler isstoic and ashen, her unblinking eyes trained on the door of the exam room.

Abby wipes at her tear-stained chinks, scrubs at the dirtand dried blood along her jaw—busy work to distract herself from the pitifulsight in front of her and the terrifying unknowns of her daughter-in-law’sstate.

“Hey.” Marcus Kane walks in with a gentle smile, suit case,and light blue blankie. “I grabbed this while I was at it. Clarke texted aboutit just as I was leaving. ” He tucks a suitcase full of Clarke and Lexa’sclothes into the corner behind a chair before approaching Lexie with theblanket.

“How is Le—how are things going? Did she say?”

He shakes his head and drapes the well-loved fabric aroundLexie’s neck. “I texted her letting her know I was grabbing things from thehouse. She thought Lexie might want her blankie. And then radio silence.”

Abby sighs. “I’m sure she’s overwhelmed.”

He nods and tries a few more times to get Lexie to drink,but the little girl is intent on keeping a watch on the door, waiting forClarke and Lexa to walk through and scoop her up into their arms like theyalways did after a nightmare.

//

“Cold,” Lexa murmurs as the firemen slowly began to pullpieces of car away from her body.

“I know, baby,” Clarke says, brushing at her tears, “I know.Almost there.”

Lexa’s head lulls to Clarke’s chest, heavy and hot withfever. An occasional whimper makes it out of her, but otherwise the scene iseerily quiet save for the jarring sounds of scraping and tearing metal.

But then it all stops and shadow overcomes them. Clarkelooks up and meets the dirty, concerned face of a fireman.

“Ma’am, we’re ready to move the last piece. I’m going toneed you to step aside.”

It tears Clarke up inside, makes her blood run cold and herheart pound, but with one last kiss, she takes a step back and watches.

It’s like a choreographed, terrifying dance from hell. Theirtrusty paramedic and doctor kneels on either side of Lexa, holding her inplace, stabilizing things and giving each other murmured warnings.

A team of firemen carefully latch onto the last bit ofbumper, and on “three” begin peeling it back at an agonizing pace.

Her eyes flutter back and forth from the firemen to Lexa,trying to keep track of everything all at once, but it’s almost impossible withthe quickly setting sun.

It’s the “oh shit,” that has her attention focusing solelyon Lexa, quickly closing the distance between the two of them before the sight stopsher dead in her tracks.  

“Oh god.”

The doctor looks up, a well-practiced calm washing over hisface that’s infuriating to Clarke. “It’s okay, we can work with this.”

Clarke scoffs, her eyes quickly watering over as shedejectedly gestures towards the metal intersecting Lexa’s torso, a choked-offobjection whining in her throat. She falls to her knees next to Lexa and holdsLexa’s head close.

“Clarke—“ Lexa whispers.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I want to say bye to Lexie.”

“You can talk to her at the hospital.”

“Clarke—“

“No!” Clarke scares the both of them with her outcry and shequickly falls into tears, feeling guilty and scared and devastated. “No,” shefollows up quietly, “you don’t need to say good bye. You’ll see here soon.”

“I’m not gonna make it, Clarke,” Lexa cries, “I’m not.”

“No, I don’t accept that.”

“I want to say goodbye. Please, Clarke.”

//

Abby rocks a whimpering Lexie in her lap, finally havingtorn her away from the doorway. She’s whispering fairytales into her ear whenher phone buzzes and she’s shocked to see Clarke’s facetime request. She shiftsaway from Lexie slightly, just in case, and answers. Clarke’s bright red eyesand dripping cheeks breaks her heart. “Clarke, oh sweetheart, it’s okay.”

Clarke shakes her head and struggles to composeherself.  “Is Lexie there?”

“She’s here in my lap. How is everything?”

Clarke closes her eyes, her head falling back as she chokesback a sob.

“Clarke?”

“She wants to talk to Lexie.”

“Who?”

“Lexa. She—she wants to—“ she drops to a whisper, “she wantsto say goodbye.”  

Abby inhales sharply, tears jumping to her eyes. “Ohsweetheart—”

“Can I see her?”

Abby nods and adjusts Lexie in her lap. “Mommy’s on thephone.” She turns the screen and Lexie immediately presses in, her whimpersimmediately turning into tears.

“Mommy?”

“Hi baby. Hi, how are you?”

“Want you! ‘Mere!”

“Oh baby, I wish I could. I’m here, though. Mommy’s righthere.”

“Momma?”

“Momma’s here too. She wants to talk to you. You want totalk to Momma?”

Lexie nods and immediately brightens up when Lexa’sflashlight-lit face comes into view. “Momma!”

“Hi…baby,” Lexa says between ragged breaths.

Abby buries her face into Lexie’s hair and holds her close.

“Momma okay?”

Lexa smiles, and Clarke is quick to wipe away the red beforeit can scare their little girl. “Yeah. Momma’s okay…how…are you, baby?”

“I scarwed.”

“Don’t be scared. It’s okay.”

“Momma ‘mere now?”

Lexa closes her eyes, collecting, and shakes her head as sheopens them again and sniffs away her tears. “I can’t come right now, baby.But…mommy…she’ll be there soon, okay?”

“But momma—“

“I want you to listen to me—“

“No! Momma ‘mere now!” Lexie bursts into tears and beginsfighting against Abby’s hold.

“Lexa, I need you to list to momma, okay?”

Lexie immediately stills, not used to her full name beingemployed, but used to it enough to know that it means it’s time to be serious.

Clarke buries her face in the crook of Lexa’s neck, thesound of her wife using their child’s full name, her name sake, too much tobare.

“Lexa, momma loves you,” Lexa begins, holding the phoneclose. “Momma loves you…so much. I’m so proud of you.”

Sensing something is wrong, Lexie whines and fidgets inAbby’s lap, her stubby little fingers tugging on the phone to get her motherscloser. She’s done listening to Lexa, she doesn’t want her words, she wants herembrace. She wants her family back to the way it was. Even in her toddler mindshe’d realized a difference in the past few months and resented it. Her mommahad just come back to her life weeks previous, their short afternoon excursionswhile mommy was busy or with her aunts. And now something was telling her,something twisty in her little tummy, that her momma was gonna leave again.

“Lexie…Lexa, look at momma, please,” Clarke pleads, “momma’stalking to you.”

“No!” Lexie shouts, scared and overwhelmed. Abby holds herclose and whispers into her ear long enough to get her to settle.

“Lexie,” Lexa murmurs, eyes fluttering, “can you…promisemomma something?”

Lexie nods and wiggles back into her grandmother’s chest,searching for comfort.

“Promise me to never…stop dreaming. Never give up, Lexie.Okay? I want you…to be strong…like mommy. Listen to her, be good for her. Okay?I love you so much, my sweet girl.”

“Momma—“

“Tell momma you love her, baby,” Clarke says, the camerabeginning to tremble in her hand.

“I wub you, momma.”

“I love you too, Lexa. So much. Remember that always.”

“You ‘mere now?”

Lexa shakes her head, lips trembling, chest heaving in itsattempt to keep her calm. “Mommy will be there soon.”

Clarke shifts the phone to her face and gives her the bestsmile she can manage. “Be good for grandma, Lexie. Go to bed soon and I’l bethere when you wake up, okay? I love you, baby.”

“Tay mommy,” Lexie whispers, fingers tracing her mother’soutline on the phone. “Nigh nigh.”

“Good night, baby.” She turns the phone to Lexa.

“Sweet dreams, Lexie. I love you,” Lexa whispers. She closesher eyes when the call ends, her head lulling to Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke holds her close and nuzzles her cheek, forcingherself to be calm and strong for her wife. Despite the hopelessness of thesituation, the firemen continue to work as the sun finally sets, their sawsgrinding away at the metal keeping Lexa to the pole. Anya and Lincoln come andgo, but when the sun is finally gone and the work lights come on, Lexa says hergoodbyes and asks them to be with her daughter, wanting Lexie to have thesupport, and in her mind, not wanting to die in front of them.

When they’re alone again, Clarke kisses Lexa’s fingers,caresses the silver band around her ring finger. She tuts at the shatteredwatch on her wrist but promises quietly to replace it, knowing it’s Lexa’sfavorite.

“Are you still cold?” She asks quietly, moving her hands toLexa’s face, tracing over Lexa’s brows, cheekbones, swiping across her bottomlip—committing every detail to memory.  

Lexa barely shakes her head. “Numb,” she mumbles.

Clarke tries to ignore the way the doctor and paramedicexchange a loaded look. “Hey,” she whispers, wanting Lexa’s eyes. They flutter,exhausted, but eventually open. Clarke smiles and kisses her briefly. “Godyou’re beautiful. Do you know that?” Clarke brushes her hair back. “You’re sobeautiful, Lex.”

“Potato face,” is all Lexa murmurs, a tiny, wry smileflitting across her lips.

Clarke laughs wetly and nods, remembering that day in highschool when she’d called Lexa the meanest thing she could muster towards thebeautiful, brooding girl (that she wasn’t actually mad at) after Lexa had runsmack into her in the hallway. “My beautiful potato face,” she chuckles.

Lexa smiles and moves her finger enough to run the back ofit across Clarke’s wet cheeks. “Don’t cry for me,” she whispers.

Clarke scoffs and buries back down, not wanting to seeanymore. Of course she’d cry for her. She’d never stop crying for her.

“Don’t let this stop you…from living…your life.”

“I don’t have a life without you in it.”

“You have Lexie.”

“You gave me Lexie.”

Lexa kisses her on the head. “So you’ll have her…to rememberme…by.”

“I don’t want to have to remember you. I want you here.”

Lexa chuckles. “Just a second ago…you were ready…to divorceme.”

Clarke’s stomach flips violently and she shakes her head,eyes wide and wet. “Don’t joke about that, Lexa. Please. God, I’m so sorry. Idon’t know what I was thinking. You have to believe me when I say that I neverwanted and I never will want a divorce. I want to grow old with you. I want towatch our daughter grow up and date and—“

“No dating.”

Clarke smiles. “Okay, no dating.”

“Until she’s thirty.”

“You’ll have to be the one to tell her.”

“Clarke—“

“Hush. You tell her. You have to tell her. You have to bethere, Lexa. You’re her hero, you know that? She talked about you every day wewere apart. She needs you in her life.”

Lexa whimpers. There’s nothing she wants more than to bethere for her daughter. She wants to see her grow up, date, go to college, getmarried. All of the things she’d dreamt about the day Clarke told her she waspregnant. But she knows her body. She knows what those looks from the doctorand paramedic mean. She knows that things are not looking good for her, andthere’s nothing she can do about it.

“Shh, I’m sorry,” Clarke soothes, “I’m sorry. It’s alright,it’s gonna be alright.”

Lexa inhales sharply, something painful happening in hertorso. “Lexie’s gonna…be okay right?”

Clarke nods and kisses her temple. “She’ll be okay.”

Lexa turns her head so that they’re pressed together again.“I want…you…to love again. Don’t be alone, okay?”

The idea is laughable, but not in the mood to laugh, Clarkeshakes her head and kisses her. “I’ll never want anyone else, Lex. I want you. You’re it for me.”

“I don’t want you to be sad after—“

“I don’t want to talk about the after anymore, okay? We’renot there yet. Don’t you dare give up on me.”

“I’m not,” Lexa whispers, barely audibly. “But can I…closemy eyes?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Just a little longer.” Clarke turnsto the doctor, eye pleading. “Just a little longer, right?”

“We’re actually ready to move her.”

//

Moving her is a mistake. A grave, unavoidable mistake—afatal necessity, a taunting oxymoron. Leave her there, and her body will shutdown. Move her, and bad things will happen.

The doctor and paramedic struggle to stop the bleeding thatpushes out of Lexa around the metal stake like water does around a crack in adamn.

The pressure makes Lexa’s belly bloat, and with the smell,it’s enough to rip the stomach acid from Clarke’s empty stomach and leave herdry heaving on the ground. A spare paramedic puts their hand on her back andholds her hair, but there’s nothing to avoid. She hasn’t eaten in hours, andmore to the point, it’s the stress of it all that has her gasping.

It lasts all of a couple of seconds, but somewhere withinthose moments, Lexa had closed her eyes, and somewhere further along, she’dgone unconscious and then unresponsive, and then sickly pale—the fear inside ofClarke is vicious, shutting down her faculties one by one until she can barelymove, let alone climb into the ambulance after her wife.

She struggles at the back of the bus, but then someoneboosts her up and pushes her into the seat next to the stretcher. After that,all eyes, all thoughts, all actions, and all focus is on Lexa.

//

The first thing Clarke does after the double doors to thetrauma rooms close in her face, is stare. Unseeing, she stares after thestretcher, still trying to catch up in a moment that’s already gone. Stilltrying to process how anyone could have somuch blood to lose. Still trying to last words meaningful enough to bestow.

“Hey there, hon” someone to her left says, but she doesn’thave the energy to look. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up?”

Still, she doesn’t move—too tired, too angry, too confused,distraught and undone.

“Ma’am,” the stranger prods, placing an arm on Clarke’sback.

“Please don’t touch me,” is all Clarke manages, nothing buta whisper with her eyes still glued to the doors.

“Ma’am, you’re scaring the others.”

With great effort, Clarke blinks. With even greater effortshe turns and looks at the grey-haired nurse with wide eyes and sweet smile. “Oh.I’m sorry,” she murmurs, half a question, half a sentiment.

���Come on, lets get you cleaned up.”

Clarke puzzles, then looks down at herself realizing what itis exactly that’s scaring the other people in the waiting room. She runs a handover the large stain of drying blood on her shirt. Lexa’s blood. The same bloodcovering her hands, and she suspects (because of the nagging itch) her neck andface.

//

The second thing Clarke does, is cry into the warm, wetwashcloth the nurse has given her. Her throat burns with the day’s longexertion and the remnant sting of stomach acid, but still she cries. Big, ugly,angry sobs.

Sniffling all the while, she scrubs at the blood on her handthen peels out of her shirt and stares at herself in the mirror. She sits therelike that for a while, in nothing but her jeans and white bra, chest having,nose running.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, but at some pointshe picks up the wash cloth again and goes away at her face and neck andstomach. She scrubs herself pink, tears renewing at times, ebbing at others.Her skin stings by the time there’s a light knock on the door and it opens toreaveal her mother, looking scared and sad and relieved.

“Oh, Clarke. Sweetheart.”

Clarke doesn’t say anything. Can’t. Just whimpers and allowsher mother to take up the washing, her strokes much softer, much gentler acrossher stained skin.

When Abby’s done, and there’s still nothing to say, Clarkelets herself be held. She lets the soft, whispered words lull her into somekind of distracted trance. She lets herself be dressed into the spare scrubs,lets herself be led down the hall, all the while, feeling nothing.

She doesn’t let herself feel until she’s guided into a darkroom and helped into the bed where her daughter lies, blankie held tight, thumbin her mouth. With silent tears, she curls around Lexie and pulls her to her chest,noticing and aching at the way her brown hair splayed all over the pillow is somuch like her mother’s.

Careful not to wake her up, Clarke presses kiss after kissonto her warm, little head, whispering apologies for keeping she and Lexa apartfor so long. She can hear her little girl’s pained, confused questions in herhead, even now, on repeat as her own special hell. “Never again,” she promises,and in the same breaths, begs whoever might be listening, to give her a secondchance.

//

“Clarke. Baby, wake up.”

Clarke is quick to wake, but slow to rise. Her body acheswith a heaviness that comes from too much. To much pain. Too much emotion. Toomuch sleep deprivation. Too much trauma. Her body is exhausted, but her mind ison hyper drive, and so she opens her eyes immediately, blinks, and sees hermother.

The reality of the previous night slams into her at thesight of her mother’s concerned, sympathetic eyes, and she jerks upwards,though still she manages not to jostle her daughter with a finesse only amother is capable of.

“Lexa?”

“She’s still in surgery, but she’s stable.”

Clarke allows herself only a fleeting moment of relief. “Howlong’s it been?”

“They’re going into their ninth hour now.”

Clarke balks. “Nine hours?”

“There’s a lot to repair, sweetheart. It’s a wonder she’salive.” Abby smiles and smooths her hand over Clarke’s hair. “You hanging inthere?”

Clarke nods, though she certainly doesn’t feel it. Hangingas in suffocating on every breath perhaps. But coping? Doing okay? There isnone of that going on. Not on the inside. On the outside, she gives her mothera small smile and a whispered “yeah,” for emphasis.  

“Have you talked to Lexie yet?”

Clarke turns back to her daughter, runs her hand overLexie’s hair just as Abby had done to her. A natural, soothing instinct. “No,”she murmurs, eyes glassy and awed by the sweet, peaceful innocence of herbaby’s sleeping face. “She woke once in the middle of the night withnightmares, but I got her back down and she hasn’t been up since.”

Abby quietly pulls a chair up to the bedside and sits. Shepours Clarke a glass of water, watches her not drink it, but takes comfort in theoption at least. “How has she been handling the past couple of months?”

It’s a reminder she doesn’t need. An unintentional tauntthat leaves her embarrassed, ashamed and panicked. She’d asked for a divorce.Kicked her wife of ten years out of their home. Out of their daughter’s life.All on the basis of a blurry paparazzi photo and the word of her, arguably mostuntrustworthy, mutuals.

The most upsetting part is that she’d known. Deep down she’dknown that Lexa would never do that to her. To their family. But that’d beenthe problem, hadn’t it? Lexa, in all of her glory, had always been the good one.The sweet one. The respectful one. The loving, understanding, perfect one. AndClarke had been feeling an itch for months. Maybe even years. Perhaps it’dstarted with Lexie’s conception—this notion that doom was impending. That oneday, soon, they’d hit that inevitable, unsurmountable obstacle. Inevitablebecause Lexa had always been the perfect one, and Clarke the one trying to keepup. Sooner or later, Lexa would realize. Would see her for what she is and,utterly horrified, leave.

“I seriously messed up,” she whispers. Not so much to Abby,but more to her thoughts.

“How much did she understand?”

Clarke blinks, realizing that Abby is still agonizingly onLexie. It’s annoying and upsetting, and so she snaps. “I mean, she’s three,mom. What do you think?”

Abby reclines, used to her daughter’s hot head, andunphased. Particularly given the circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says on her own volition, sighing andrunning her hands over her face. “It’s just been a mess. And I could haveprevented it all—“

“Honey, that’s not true.”

“No, it is. I could have let them start visiting sooner.What kind of mother lets her daughter suffer like that?”

“I’m sure she understoond, baby.”

“Yeah, no that’s the problem,” Clarke snaps, again. “Sheunderstood too much and not enough. She understood Lexa’s absence. Could feelit and asked about it all the time. And she understood that I was different.She could feel my pain and anger. But she couldn’t possibly understand why, ofcourse, and that made it worse. It’s not like I could sit my three year olddown and explain everything, but I could tell that she was aware that somethingwas up. Her behavior was all over the place. Up and down, temper tantrumsgalore. She refused to eat for a week until I started bribing her.”  

Abby pushes back in, her hand instinctively reaching out tosoothe. This time it finds purchase at Clarke’s lower back. “Well, a part ofthat could also be that she’s simply a toddler and bound to act out right now.”

“No,” Clarke says quietly. She shakes her head and looks atLexie once again. “I know my little girl. She was hurting and reacting. And theirony of it all is that Lexa was always the one who best understood her tobegin with.”

“At least she’s young. She’ll bounce back.”

“Not if—“ Clarke’ voice cracks and she whimpers at thethought…not if Lexa doesn’t make it. “What if she dies, mom? What if I lose herafter everything? What if the last moments I have with her are all fights?”

“You have fifteen years of moments, Sweetheart. Focus on thegood ones.”

She wishes her mother had told her that there’s no way Lexawill die. That her concerns are pointless because Lexa is going to make itthrough and wake up and give her another fifty years of moments. But Abby is asurgeon. The surgeon. And not nearlydumb or optimistic enough to spin such a silver lining. It shoves Clarke intoresignation like a square peg into a round hole.

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“How’d you keep going after Dad?”

Abby smiles sadly and nods towards Lexie. “The same way youwill if it comes to it.”

//

Clarke never really understood the power of friendship andall its hype throughout her life. She met Lexa young, a freshman in highschool, and she became her entire universe soon after. It was she and Lexaagainst the world, and that’s all that ever really mattered to her.

Of course there was Octavia and Bellamy, closest to herafter Lexa, but they had each other and were in and out of her life as timewent on. Anya and Lincoln were family, but arguably Lexa’s. Nylah and Echo hadbeen around for so long that at some point she’d started calling them friendstoo, though they’d always been trouble. Raven came into her life in college,and she loved the girl, but she’d always be a little tainted in Clarke’s mind asthe girl she bonded with because they’d both known a certain Finn Collins intheir early life.

Up until this point, friends had always been sort of anaside to her life. Her love for Lexa was all consuming. When Lexie came along,several years later, her heart was full in the best of ways. Too early hadClarke felt the irreparable sting of a devastated family. Too early had sheexperienced the excruciating pain of losing a family member. Thus, when her owncame along, she devoted herself to it singularly and completely; friends hadbeen a happy bonus, when there was time.

But now, with Bellamy bouncing a giggling Lexie on his lap,huge smile on his face working magic to keep her calm, and Raven absentmindedly,distractingly, rambling about one of her projects going explosively awry, and Octaviacasually holding her hand while whispering to Lincoln, and Anya shooting herintermittent smiles from across the room as she chats with Abby—

Clarke has never been more sure of one thing in her life:while her wife and daughter are her universe, her friends are her world, andshe loves them all desperately.

//

“She’s awake now.”

Three words have never stunted her so proficiently before. “Ilove you,” had come close. Lexa’s soft, timid proclamation that night in hertruck bed under the start. “Be my wife,” five years later had come even closer.“Lexa is hurt,” Anya’s shaky, terrified voice, from just the week before hadcome the closes.

But nothing had so thoroughly short circuited her systembefore as those three words from her mother, almost whispered as if any loudermight undo it.

“I can see her?” Clarke gulps, a hand going to her daughter’shair, somehow softer and silkier in sleep.

“If you’d like.”

Clarke nods, tears already beginning to coat her eyes as shefollows her mother down the hall and into Lexa’s room. The first thing shenotices is the equipment. Too much of it. Everywhere. All over her wife. It’s clinicaland mechanic and terrifying.

The second thing she notices is the soft, soft skin of Lexa’sarm—the one not wrapped in a heavy, white cast. It’s pale and and marred byangry, red lines, but it’s so unmistakably Lexa’s arm, it comforts her in thestrangest of ways.

The third thing she notices is the hair, just like herdaughters, splayed over the pillow, and it makes her chuckle oddly and uncomfortably—relievedand terrified all at once. She’s slow approaching the side of the bed, mindover concerned with every little thing that might make this unreal. A wrongstep, or a blink—something that rips her out of the dreams and slams her rightback down into that moment in front of the double doors, her torso covered inLexa’s blood, sure that she’d neve see her wife again.

Her mother pulls up a chair for her by the bed and it’s the legsscraping against the floor that has Lexa’s eyes fluttering open—heavy and greyand dull. But so, so beautiful.

“Clarke.”

She doesn’t mean to let it affect her so much, but the soundof Lexa’s voice of course draws the sobs out of her violently and unexpectedly.

“Shh,” Lexa soothes, slurred and tired and thick withsedative. “Its’okay”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke gasps, “oh my god. Oh my god, hi. Hibaby,” she chuckles through her tears, shaking her head and cradling Lexa’sface in her hands. “Hi.”

Lexa smiles. “Hi, Clarke.”

Chuckling and crying and still shaking her head, Clarkekisses her, once, twice. She loses count. “I love you,” she whispers. Thenlouder, “I love you so fucking much, Lexa.”

“Love you too,” Lexa slurs with a dopey smile on her face.

Clarke places her head on Lexa’s chest, gently, and spendsseveral seconds just listening. Convincing herself with physical, pulsing evidence.

“Mommy?”

Clarke smiles at the uptake of Lexa’s heart beat at thesound of their daughter’s sleepy, concerned voice. “You have a visitor,” shetells Lexa whose turn it is with the wet, shiny eyes.

She lifts her daughter up and sets her carefully on the sideof the bed. She tells her to be gently, tells her not to touch momma’s tummy,and then let’s her go, free to wrap herself around Lexa’s neck and squeal indelight.

She steps back, watching on with a trembling lip rivaledonly by her wife’s and her mother’s as the two Lexa’s reunite with excitedwhispers and fluttery kisses.

“Everything’s going to be okay now, Clarke,” her momassures, rubbing her back. Clarke just nods and wipes at her cheek with hershoulder.

“Mommy?”

Clarke gravitates back, one hand going to her daughter, the other to her wife. “Hmm?”

“Momma can come home wif us?”

She smiles, shares a look with Lexa—long and loving and fullof apologies and ‘I love you’s—before she bends and kisses Lexie on the head. “Yesbaby, momma’s coming home with us.”

“Forever?”

This time, Clarke kisses her wife. “Forever,” she promises.