Chapter Text
***
It would’ve been their fifth anniversary, which Clarke only realizes when she jots down the date on a chart at work. Somehow it feels important, that it’s this day and she hadn’t even noticed for seven whole hours.
She goes to a salon after work and gets her hair cut to chin-length, then enlists Raven to help her streak it with pink. It tints the bathroom sink a light rose for days and makes her mom frown the next time they videochat, but Clarke ignores that. She likes it.
“Do you...still keep in touch with Finn?” her mom asks, uncharacteristically hesitant. She’s Dr. Abby Griffin, award-winning chief of Arkadia Memorial’s surgery department; she doesn’t do uncertainty.
“No, I don’t.” Clarke fights the urge to change the subject. They’re both trying to do this thing now where they talk to each other about their actual lives and feelings. One call and text at a time, they’re trying to rebuild the relationship that was a little rocky even before Finn started reeling Clarke slowly away from her friends and family.
“It...wasn’t a healthy relationship, Mom. He said and did some really messed up things. It’s better for me now to not be in contact with him.”
Abby’s jaw tightens, visible even through the pixelated phone camera, but her voice comes out soft. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, Mom.” Clarke looks away from the screen, from her mother’s eyes. Her gaze falls on the Post-it notes she had stuck on her bedroom mirror a while back, on Becca’s advice. It wasn’t your fault. You deserve better. You are a fucking badass. She sighs. “Not physically, but emotionally it was—it got ugly.”
“Oh, Clarke.” That’s exactly what she hadn’t wanted to hear, why she’d put off telling her mom for so long. That sorrow, mixed with a little pity and guilt, in Abby’s voice and expression.
“It’s okay, I’m fine,” she snaps.
“I know you’re fine. And even if you aren’t, I suspect you wouldn’t really tell me that,” her mother says a bit ruefully. “But I’m just sorry that he treated you that way.”
Clarke feels a lump growing in her throat. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Tell Marcus that I don’t want to talk about me and Finn splitting up? I’m sure he wants to be the concerned stepdad and ask me how I’m doing all the time.” Clarke has grown to like Marcus Kane, in the three years that him and her mom have been together, but he’s from California and always wants to talk about everything. He’d probably get along great with her therapist.
Abby hides a smile, like she knows exactly what Clarke means. “Of course.”
Clarke almost goes to say goodbye, but then she sees her water bottle on the dresser, remembers that kiss with Lexa in the studio. “Actually, Mom...I met someone new. We’re just friends right now, I’m not ready to date yet, but...she’s special.” She fiddles with the dresser drawers, glancing away from her phone. This whole “being open” thing isn’t easy.
“I know that look,” Abby says, arching an eyebrow the same way her daughter does. “You like her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” A smile edges its way onto Clarke’s lips. “...Yeah.”
“Then honey...what are you waiting for? I loved your dad so much. I still wish I could’ve had more time with him.” Clarke looks up and sees the faintest glitter in her mother’s eyes. “But I held onto the pain and the grief for so long, I almost missed out on the chance to love someone else again.”
“It isn’t the same, Mom,” Clarke whispers. “I don’t know if I can trust her, if I can trust myself…”
“You have always been so smart,” her mom tells her fiercely. “You’ve always figured out what was best for you. You’ll figure this out, too.”
***
“This one. This one is my favorite.”
Clarke drags Lexa over to stand squarely in front of the artwork. They’re holding hands. They’re holding hands and it’s a real, actual, romantic date. Clarke had texted Lexa a week ago and told her about the new exhibit at the contemporary art museum.
Wanna go on a date with me? A more-than-friends one.
I think I’m ready now
(It had taken Clarke fully ten minutes to compose, erase, re-write, second-guess, and finally send the two texts.)
I’d love to.
(Lexa’s response had come back almost immediately, though Clarke’s heart still skipped a beat.)
“You already said that three others were your favorite,” Lexa points out dryly.
Clarke hip-checks her. “I have lots of favorites, okay.”
“What do you like about it?” Lexa asks after a moment.
Clarke tilts her head, considering. It’s an abstract painting, bold daubs of rust-red and brown standing out almost in relief from the canvas. It’s chaos with a hint of order behind it. “It looks raw, but you can tell a lot of work actually went into it to make it just right. It’s full of emotion, that’s the first thing you notice, but it’s been caged--like these circular lines here.”
She glances at Lexa, catching the brunette looking at her instead of the artwork. Smirking, she leans in and presses a quick kiss to Lexa’s cheek. Just because she wants to.
When she rocks back onto her heels, Lexa’s blushing and smiling like a goofball. Clarke tugs her by the hand, on to the next room in the exhibit, feeling a little bit giddy herself.
“C’mon, there’s one more place I want to take you,” Clarke says after they’ve seen the whole show, plus a couple permanent exhibits that she’s particularly fond of. Lexa follows her to an elevator, up to the top floor, and to an open-air roof terrace. There are a few sculptures, some chairs and benches that look as funky and modern as the sculptures, and a gorgeous view of the city skyline.
“Wow.” Lexa walks up to the railing and leans her elbows on it, surveying the scenery. Clarke wants to sketch her like this, her long jean-clad legs and the dark button-down shirt she’s rolled up to her elbows. God help her, she wants to sketch Lexa all the time, etch this woman into her brain with her eyes and fingertips.
“I love this place,” Clarke says simply. “I haven’t been here in a while. The rooster is new,” she adds, noticing one of the sculptures.
“Why haven’t you? Too busy with your residency?”
“Partly.” Clarke leans on the railing, so close her arm is brushing against Lexa’s. “And Finn didn’t have much patience for art museums. Said they were boring.” He’d said she was boring in the same breath, she had a stick up her ass, she was lucky he loved her--she hears his voice , forces her shoulders to relax, she’s on a fucking date right now...
“Clarke, I’m not exactly sure how to say this.” Lexa’s tone is serious. She glances over and sees the brunette looking at her, eyes dark. “But your ex was a fucking douchebag.”
It’s so unexpectedly vulgar, yet still delivered in Lexa’s usual calm tone, that it shocks Clarke into laughing. She sees Lexa’s eyes crinkle in humor as well.
There’s still laughter almost bubbling onto her tongue when she turns and presses Lexa against the railing and kisses her. It’s only their first real date and maybe she should take it slower, be more careful. But she hasn’t wanted something for herself this much in so long.
Lexa lets Clarke take the lead in deepening the kiss, but she anchors Clarke with those capable hands at her waist. And Clarke suddenly thinks about the green flags that flew at the beach her parents took her to when she was a kid. They meant the water was calm, no hidden riptides to pull swimmers under, just a sunny blue sky over a vast gray-green ocean.
When she finally pulls back, disentangles her fingers from Lexa’s loose curls, Clarke feels like her whole body is made of helium. From the way Lexa gulps a small breath, she assumes she isn’t the only one feeling that way.
“Think I might have a new favorite,” she murmurs.
Lexa rolls her eyes. “That was cheesy.”
“You liked it.”
“Maybe.” Lexa smiles, ducking her head a little bit.
“Hey, are you--” “Do you wanna--” They both speak at once, words tumbling over each other. Clarke chuckles, and Lexa makes a little ‘you first’ gesture.
“Do you wanna go get a coffee?” Clarke isn’t quite ready for this date to be over.
“I’d love to.”
***
They have to cancel their next date, a movie, because Roan calls in sick and Lexa has to cover his evening class. Then Clarke tries to think of cute, fun date ideas but she’s actually a little behind on studying for her step exam and feeling stressed. Lexa picks up on it—she’s so attentive, even just through texts—and offers a different kind of date instead.
I can be your study buddy. Come over and I’ll keep you company, make you something to eat.
God. Is she even real?
Yes, please. That sounds amazing...
When she shows up at the address Lexa has texted her, with a backpack full of books, notebooks, and flashcards, Clarke feels a mix of nervousness and anticipation. It dissipates a little when Lexa comes to meet her downstairs, greets her with smiling eyes. She brings Clarke up to her one-bedroom apartment; immediately after they enter, a small black blur darts towards them and twines around Lexa’s legs.
“Sorry, I forgot to ask--you aren’t allergic to cats, are you?”
Yellow eyes blink warily up at Clarke, before the cat butts its head against Lexa’s calf with a soft mrrrrmff .
Clarke smiles. “No, I’m not allergic.” She crouches down and holds out a hand. The cat regards it for a moment, sniffs tentatively and then more thoroughly.
“This is Pauna,” Lexa says. “Careful, she can be pretty feisty around strangers--”
But the cat is nuzzling Clarke’s hand, rubbing whiskery cheeks against her fingers.
“Huh.” Lexa seems a little dumbfounded. “She never likes new people.”
She gives Pauna a couple more pets before standing again, smirking at Lexa. “Maybe she’s just picky.”
As Lexa leads the way further into the apartment, she tosses her own smirk back at Clarke. “Guess she has good taste in women, then.”
“Now who’s being cheesy?”
The apartment is modest, so Lexa’s tour is brief: bathroom, neat bedroom with an unexpectedly ornate wooden headboard, small but equally neat eat-in kitchen connected to the living room. A rolled-up yoga mat, hand weights, and exercise ball are lined up in one corner of the latter, next to a well-used scratching post. The only decorations are several fabric wall-hangings and an assortment of candles, but somehow it all works. In fact, the overall effect is calm, soothing, lived-in.
Lexa indicates the two-seat kitchen table. “Go ahead and set up, I’m going to fix us some food.” She puts on a tan apron over her muscle shirt and leggings. “Mind if I put on some music?”
“No, go ahead. Actually it’ll probably help me focus.” Clarke unpacks her stuff, which quickly covers much of the table, and sets to work.
She’s wrong about the focusing, it turns out. But it isn’t the music--some chill playlist that Lexa hums along to quietly--that distracts her, or even the tantalizing smells of whatever Lexa is chopping and sautéeing that starts to fill the apartment. It’s the sight of Lexa moving around the small kitchen with just as much grace and skill as she shows while sparring, or throwing axes, or doing anything really. It’s the muscles in her bare, tattooed arms flexing slightly as she lifts a colander, her lips wrapping around a spoon to taste the sauce…
Clarke shivers and forces her attention back to her notes. Maybe she should’ve sat facing away from Lexa.
She manages to recover some self-discipline, slogging through her work until Lexa eventually pronounces dinner ready and shucks off her apron. They clear away the books and notecards and dig into the food-- penne alla Siciliana , Lexa calls it; Clarke calls it ridiculously delicious. In fact, her eyes practically roll back into her head at the first bite of cheesy, tomato-y goodness.
“That good, huh?” Lexa sounds amused.
“Unggh. Yes.” Clarke forces herself to take normal, polite, human-sized bites instead of wolfing it down. “This is how you woo all the ladies, isn’t it? You cook amazing food for them?”
Lexa smiles but then looks down at her plate, toys with a piece of eggplant. “To be honest I haven’t actually wooed many ladies. I’ve dated a little since...since Costia, but it’s never gotten very far. I just haven’t really connected with anyone.”
The quiet vulnerability in her voice makes Clarke ache for her. She reaches out and touches Lexa’s forearm. “Well, I feel extra lucky, then.”
Lexa meets her gaze then, and it’s almost too much, too intense, searing the breath from Clarke’s lungs. But the moment breaks when a piteous meow sounds next to Clarke.
Pauna has put two small paws up on her thigh and cranes her neck to look hopefully up at her.
Lexa groans and claps her hands at the cat, who blithely ignores her. “Little reprobate. She wants the cheese from your pasta, it’s the only human food she likes…” She gets up and lifts the cat away from Clarke’s lap, setting her on the floor near the scratching post. “Don’t make me get the spray bottle,” she threatens, leveling Pauna a look that would probably be very intimidating if it wasn’t being directed at a cat.
Instead, it just makes Clarke laugh, which in turn provokes a bashful smile from Lexa and further ruins her attempted scowl.
They finish eating, and Lexa refuses to let Clarke do the dishes. “You study,” she insists, “I’ll handle it.”
“Okay.” The word comes out unusually husky, because Clarke can’t remember the last time someone took care of her like this. It’s nice. Though there’s a little wary part of her that wonders what’s the catch, when is Lexa going to hold this against her or expect something in return...
But once the dishes are done, Lexa just offers to quiz Clarke on her notes.
“I helped Anya study for her licensing exam, I’m good at flash cards,” she says as they move to the couch. A little twinkle enters her eye. “For you, though, I propose a little extra incentive, should you choose to accept it.”
“What’s that?”
“For every five cards you get right, you get a kiss on the cheek. For every ten you get right, you get a kiss on the lips.” Lexa raises an eyebrow questioningly.
“Oh, you’re on,” agrees Clarke, grinning.
They manage to get through about half the deck of index cards before one of the kisses, perhaps predictably, devolves into a full-on makeout session.
Lexa makes this little noise in her throat at the feel of Clarke’s tongue dipping hungrily into her mouth, and heat pools low in Clarke’s belly. She straddles Lexa’s lap without breaking the kiss, while Lexa brings hands up to curve over her hips, her lower back. She sinks her fingers into dark, partially braided hair, rocks slightly against a firm abdomen...
Clarke’s phone dings in her pocket, making her jump. “Shit! Sorry, I should check it in case it’s about a patient,” she says, pulling away reluctantly and rather breathlessly.
It’s a text from Bellamy asking if he can borrow her study guide. “Bellamy’s just worried about passing his step,” she explains, tossing her phone on the couch next to them. “Even though we’ve been studying together for weeks and I’ve told him repeatedly that he’s going to do fine.”
“You care about him,” Lexa observes.
“I care about all of my cohort. It’s like we’ve been through battle together,” Clarke jokes. But she thinks she hears something in Lexa’s voice, and it makes her pull back and frown. “Why do you ask?”
“You talk about him a lot.”
A sudden chill washes over Clarke, immediately drowning her arousal. “No, okay, I’m not doing this.” She extricates herself from Lexa’s lap and starts stuffing flash cards, phone, and books into her bag. Lexa is frozen on the couch, confused and a little disheveled.
“Clarke? Wait, what are you--”
“I’m not going to feed into whatever jealousy or insecurity you’ve got going on. Bellamy and I are just friends, but I shouldn’t have to defend that to you.” She shoves suddenly-shaky arms into her jacket sleeves, her feet into her boots.
“I agree.”
Even more than Lexa’s words, her quiet, even tone catches Clarke off guard. She had instinctively expected defensiveness, sarcasm, shouting, instead of...this.
“I’m not jealous of you and Bellamy, really,” Lexa says, and she sounds sincere. “I’d actually like to meet him, maybe more of your friends. You talk a lot about Raven and Octavia too, I’d like to get to know them as well. If that’s okay.”
“...oh.” Clarke’s pulse won’t settle; she still feels the itch to leave, get out, now . But she takes a breath, then another, and forces herself still. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I think I understand where your reaction comes from.”
“Still. I shouldn’t’ve gone off like that.”
Lexa merely shrugs. “Just for the record...I just want to get to know you better, all of you, at whatever speed you’re comfortable with. Because I like you, Clarke.” Her breath visibly catches a little as she meets Clarke’s gaze. “A lot.
Clarke swallows. This girl, this fucking girl with her clear green eyes, is looking up at her all solemn and sincere, like she’s a knight swearing her unwavering fealty. And Clarke is so scared to trust her because Lexa could betray her, could make her fall only to break her again. But there’s something about her that keeps cracking Clarke’s heart open anyway.
“I like you too.”
A little smile glimmers in Lexa’s eyes at Clarke’s quiet admission.
“I’m still gonna go now,” Clarke tells her. “I think I...need to calm down and be on my own tonight, and it’s getting late anyway.”
Lexa nods understandingly.
“But I’d like a hug first, if that’s alright with you.” Clarke holds her breath, but Lexa stands without hesitation and wraps her in a warm embrace. The tightness in Clarke’s throat unlocks slowly, like a fist clenched too long. She pulls the brunette even closer against her, rests her head on a toned shoulder.
After a few lingering moments, she feels more than hears Lexa’s voice, buzzing under her sternum and against Clarke’s chest. “I thought you were going to leave.”
“I am. In a minute.”
The brunette chuckles. “You said it was getting late.”
“Can’t help it. You smell good. Like a candle or something,” Clarke mumbles against Lexa’s neck. She feels a hundred times calmer and more relaxed. Finally she steps back, catching the tail end of a tender, amused look on Lexa’s face as she picks up her bag. “Good night, Lexa.”
“Good night, Clarke. Sleep well.”
***
Griffin. Game night. Me and O are hosting this Friday. You in?
Clarke is practically inhaling some warmed-up leftovers in the residents’ lounge when she gets Raven’s text. Another quickly follows it.
I promise there won’t be any Risk. Not after last time
Clarke snorts. “Last time” had ended with Raven literally flipping the board over after Octavia had betrayed their alliance. The two roommates hadn’t talked to each other for a week.
Good. Then I’m in. She remembers the conversation with Lexa a couple of dates ago, about getting to know her friends, and adds, OK if Lexa joins?
Omg you’re so gayyy. Yeah, sure.
You can bring your roommate too. If she’s free or whatever
Who’s being gay now?
Shut up Griffin
Love you too Rae
“No Pictionary,” Raven decrees as she sets down a bowl of chips on the coffee table. “Clarke’s team will automatically win, it isn’t even a competition.”
“Ok fine, but no Trivial Pursuit either. And that includes the Star Trek edition, nerd,” Clarke retorts. Raven sticks her tongue out at her.
They wind up settling on Taboo first. Clarke, Lexa, and Octavia play against Raven, Lincoln, and Anya--who was indeed free, and had driven them over. Clarke is pretty good at guessing Lexa’s clues, when she isn’t distracted by the cute way she waves her hands around while searching for a word. Surprisingly Raven and Anya are even better as team members, even though their playing styles are very different. Anya states clues in a monotone, one word at a time, staring expectantly at her teammates until they guess the answer; Raven bounces on her feet, intersperses rapid-fire descriptions with swear words.
“Shit, this is that fucking guy who was on that show—"
“Fraser,” Anya drawls, and of course, somehow, it’s right.
(Clarke gets them back, though. Next round one of her words is “cheese”, and she grins at Lexa. “Pauna really likes this.”
“You...? No, wait—cheese!”
“Wait, you’re telling me that evil creature likes someone besides Lexa?” Anya exclaims in disbelief.)
After a while they switch to Cards against Humanity. A few rounds in, Clarke is struggling to decide what Batman’s guilty pleasure is, debating between “poor life choices” and “puppies!”, while everyone else has already selected their cards.
“C’mon, hurry up Princess,” Raven prompts.
Clarke feels the warmth drain suddenly from her body, starting at her scalp and rolling down through her face, shoulders, stomach. She’s frozen in place, mind gone fuzzy, staring at her hand of cards but unable to read them.
“Earth to Clarke,” says Octavia.
“Sorry.” Shaking her head hard, she tosses down a card at random and stands up. “Think I need another beer.”
She books it to the kitchen, where she rolls an unopened bottle of icy beer between her palms, focusing on the sensation.
She hasn’t had a full-blown panic attack in months, fortunately, but sometimes moments like this just come completely out of nowhere. All it takes is something small--the slam of a neighbor’s door or the smell of a guy’s cologne at the hospital, sometimes she doesn’t even know what it is--to hotwire her body straight into fight or flight mode. Or worse, to send her into detached numbness or deep sadness that can last for hours. In this case it’s a single word.
“Princess” had started as a nickname, thanks to a Halloween costume Clarke wore one year. By the end, Finn mostly wielded it in sarcasm and anger, to belittle her, to dismiss her accomplishments and feelings.
Breathe, Becca has taught her. Breathe, remind yourself that it’s over, move your body, ground yourself in your senses.
She can feel the cold, sweating glass in her hands, can smell the limes Octavia had cut up for Coronas. From the open kitchen she can see the living room: Octavia is leaning against Lincoln, teasing Raven about something; the tiniest of smiles is spreading across Anya’s angular face, as she watches them. And Lexa, with her usual quiet confidence, sits relaxed on the couch, entirely at ease with Clarke’s friends; earlier, she and Octavia had bonded over a discussion of martial arts techniques.
(By this point in the night Finn would’ve probably been withdrawn and sullen, because Clarke’s attention was partly on the game and her friends; his sour mood would’ve pressured her to leave earlier than she wanted. Or he wouldn’t have agreed to even come in the first place.)
As if Lexa feels Clarke’s gaze on her, she looks up. Raises an eyebrow with gently questioning concern: you okay?
Clarke melts a little. She nods, and realizes the moment of frozen dread is waning already, her body thawing from its numbness.
She also realizes that Lexa looks really, really good tonight. Her hair is loose and lush, she’s wearing a worn cotton shirt tight enough to show the muscles in her shoulders, there’s a little color high in her cheeks from laughing at Raven and Octavia’s antics.
Clarke could watch her all night.
Popping the cap off the beer, she heads back to the living room and squeezes onto the couch next to Lexa, so close that the outsides of their thighs are pressed together. Close enough that it gives her an excuse to sling an arm around Lexa’s waist. She rests her chin on Lexa’s shoulder, lets her comforting smell wash away the last bit of remembered fear and tension from her nerves.
“Want a sip?” she asks, offering the bottle.
Lexa nods, holds the neck of the beer between her long, slender fingers, licks her lips and tilts her head back for a swallow--
Clarke blinks hard. Her own mouth has gone dry as a desert.
“Clarke?” Lexa is holding out the bottle, which she takes absently, staring into green eyes...
“Ok, quit canoodling, you two,” Octavia teases them. “Lexa, you’re up.”
Several rounds later (in which Raven puts down progressively more scandalous cards and makes unsubtle eyes at Anya), Anya steps away for a phone call. When she returns, she’s glaring at her phone.
“Hey Clarke, can you get a ride back home? My intern submitted the wrong fucking drawings for this deadline, I have to go in--”
“Sure, don’t worry about it,” Clarke says quickly, at Anya’s murderous look.
“Yeah, I can drive you,” Lexa offers.
“Great.” Anya stalks away, muttering to herself about incompetent people.
“I could actually be ready to head out soon,” Clarke admits. “I had a busy week...”
“Okay, let me just grab my jacket.” Lexa makes sure to thank Octavia and Raven for hosting, though, and promises to send Octavia the class schedule for TriKru Studio.
The drive starts out quiet--another one of Lexa’s chill playlists spilling softly from the speakers--and Clarke finds herself glancing sideways at the brunette’s beautiful profile, outlined by streetlights.
“What?”
“Nothing, just--you’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” Clarke’s tongue is only slightly loosened by the couple of beers she’s had. Mostly it’s just Lexa.
“Look who’s talking. I was distracted by you all night.”
“Oh really?” Clarke flirts back. She reaches out and takes Lexa’s free hand, intertwines their fingers. “So, um...what if we went to your place instead?”
Lexa sucks in an audible breath, glances over at Clarke as the car coasts to stop at a red light. “You mean…”
“...I mean I’d really like to take you to bed.” Clarke’s voice is husky even to her own ears.
The light turns green. Lexa hits the gas with a suddenly uncoordinated foot, pushing them both back in their seats a little. “Yeah. God, yeah.”
Clarke smiles, then brings their hands up and kisses Lexa’s fingertips one by one. Soft, intentional, promising. Lexa makes that noise in her throat again.
Fortunately it doesn’t take too much longer to arrive at Lexa’s apartment building—she lives even closer to Raven and Octavia than Clarke does. She parks in a hurry, and before she can even unbuckle her seatbelt Clarke leans over the console and yanks her into a bruising kiss. Lexa returns it just as feverishly, almost trembling as she sinks a hand into blonde and pink hair.
Somehow they manage to eventually get out of the car and make their way upstairs to Lexa’s apartment. Lexa presses Clarke up against the door as soon as it closes, nibbles on her earlobe and the side of her neck, making her shiver. Clarke slips her hands around Lexa’s waist, up under her shirt, hungrily seeking out smooth skin. Her heartbeat is racing, but this time only from anticipation and desire...not from fear.
“Lexa--your bedroom, we should--”
Lexa just makes an impatient hmfff noise from where she’s moving down along Clarke’s neck to her collarbone, mouth hot and wet, and Clarke loses her words for a moment.
“C’mon, “ she finally manages, “your cat is staring at us, it’s creepy--”
That makes Lexa pause and look around. Sure enough, Pauna is watching them curiously from the kitchen, her yellow eyes wide and tail flicking.
Lexa huffs a laugh. Then she bends at the knees and picks Clarke up by the backs of her thighs. It’s sexy as fuck for about five steps, until Lexa overbalances--wiry-strong as she is, she’s tiny after all--and Clarke falls, stumbling and catching herself on the wall. She just laughs and tugs Lexa along by the belt loop, pulling her into the bedroom, into her arms.
***
Afterwards they lie curled into each other, skin to skin. Clarke is propped up on one elbow, fingers tracing the tattoos that spill down Lexa’s back and arm. But misgivings start to nibble away at her contentment, cold little whispers of doubt sneaking in around the warmth and joy and digging into her heart.
“You sure you wanna date me?”
Lexa turns over to face her, rests a warm hand in the dip of her waist. She smiles like Clarke had said something funny. “Uh yeah, pretty sure. Seeing as I’ve been on several dates with you now and just went down on you for about half an hour…”
Clarke shivers a little, because Lexa was really good at that, but persists. “I’m serious. You know it isn’t always game nights, sometimes I’m gonna be on call for thirty hours and when I get home I’m just going to crash instead of calling you.”
“I know.” Lexa shrugs. “That’s fine. Maybe I’ll come over and make you waffles after. Or that pasta that makes you moan.”
“But what if I get paged in the middle of a date and have to go in for a patient? What if I’m exhausted or grumpy because a surgery didn’t go well, when we’re trying to go out?”
“We’ll just reschedule. We’ll stay in and watch Netflix. Besides,” Lexa adds, “who’s to say I won’t be the exhausted one after a long day at the studio?”
Clarke chews her lip and finally voices the real worry that’s gnawing at her. “I’m not--things are getting better, but Finn fucked me up and I don’t know how long that’s gonna take to completely go away.”
Lexa leans up and over her, green eyes glittering and warm. “Clarke, I don’t care whether or not it’s easy. I want to date you because I...because you’re you.” She cups Clarke’s cheek in the callused palm of her hand. “I like you for who you are.”
Clarke lets out a breath and nuzzles into her hand, kisses it. I think I’m falling in love with you , she thinks but doesn’t say. Not yet. She’s sure Lexa was about to say something similar, a moment earlier, but didn’t want to pressure Clarke or move too fast, too soon. That’s who Lexa is—so considerate and thoughtful and willing to let Clarke just be .
It makes her breath catch. Makes her feel like there’s a whole sun shining inside her body. She tugs Lexa down, sees her smiling all the way into the kiss.
***
EPILOGUE
She passes her step exam. There’s the mandatory party with her fellow residents, at which Bellamy gets very drunk and starts reciting parts of the Iliad from memory, before making out with an orthopedics fellow named Echo. Two nights later Clarke goes out for celebratory fancy cocktails with Raven, Octavia, Lincoln, Anya, and Lexa, which eventually devolves into well shots at a gay bar.
“Ohmygod, Clarke. Look. Clarke !” Octavia has been nudging her with her remarkably pointy elbow for the past few seconds. Clarke finally tears her attention away from where she’s pressed up against Lexa, who’s moving enticingly along with the music, and looks over her shoulder.
A few feet away on the dance floor, Raven is drunkenly, and very raunchily, grinding up on Anya. The architect is wearing that take-no-shit look that’s her hallmark, one eyebrow raised at Raven.
“Oh God. Should we rescue her?”
“Who, Anya?”
“No, I’m more worried about Raven!”
In horrified fascination they watch Raven arch into Anya, mouth close to her ear, but her drunken ‘whisper’ is loud enough to carry to her friends. “Y’know, Anya, you act all scary and tough but you--you’re the most beautiful broom in a broom closet of brooms.”
“Oh God. We should definitely rescue her--”
But before Clarke can move, Anya actually laughs, throwing her head back. And then she tugs Raven in and kisses her hard.
“What the...” Lexa had turned around just in time to witness this. “Oh. Huh.”
There’s an astoundingly loud moan from--Raven? Clarke almost hopes it’s Raven, otherwise it’s just too weird. Clarke leans into Lexa to say, “let’s stay at your place tonight.”
“Agreed.” Lexa nods fervently.
“I need another drink,” Octavia mutters and disappears in the direction of Lincoln and the bar.
***