Chapter Text
Clarke bounces her wailing newborn up and down, her own tears making it hard to see where she’s going as she paces the halls. Her pelvis and cervix ache, but still she walks. Over and over, covering every inch of her large, empty home.
“Please, baby. Please hush. Mommy’s here.” She bounces and coos and hugs and does everything she can, but her tiny daughter is distraught and unappeasable.
She tries Lexa’s cell. It’s noon in Paris, and she hopes, almost prays, that she’ll catch her on some kind of lunch break. Just talk. Or maybe cry. Anything but this suffocating aloneness.
It rings and rings, barely heard over the sound of her daughter’s screams that split the quiet nighttime.
She hangs up. Tries her mother, fruitlessly. She knows she’s in surgery. But she just needs someone, anyone, to talk to, and it’s too late to call a friend.
An hour passes—a long, loud, excruciating hour—before Clarke finally gives up on the phone calls and the pacing, and collapses into the nursery chair, rocking back and forth.
“You’re okay, princess. My sweet little one,” she coos. “You’re okay.” Clarke throws her head back, let’s out a shaky breath and tries to curb her exhausted tears. She cradles the baby close, bringing her up just under her chin to kiss and smell the soft, sweetness of her bald, little head. “Mommy’s here,” she mutters, sniffing through her words. “I’m here, baby.”
//
Lexa listens to Clarke’s story with tears in her eyes, her hand instinctively moving to grasp Clarke’s across the couch. She doesn’t look up for fear of what she’ll meet in their new therapist’s eyes.
Clarke takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, but that doesn’t make the rest any easier.
“I just felt so alone,” Clarke sighs, continuing. “I was in way over my head, but I was proud and stubborn so I just. Suffered through it.”
Their therapist nods, hums and scribbles some more on her notepad. The incessant scratching of her pen drives Lexa nuts. The woman finally looks up over her square glasses and give Clarke an encouraging smile. “And did you tell Lexa this?”
Clarke shakes her head.
“Why not?”
Clarke looks down. “I was proud of her,” she murmurs. “I didn’t want to take away from her accomplishments. Her dream, since as long as I can remember, has been to have a multi-national corporation and she finally did it. I wanted her to have her dream.”
“You’re my dream,” Lexa cuts in, gazing at her emphatically. “You.”
“And how about Lexie?” The therapists asks innocently, but it makes Lexa bristle.
“Of course. But I didn’t wrong Lexie. I wronged Clarke and Clarke needs to know that she’s my everything. And that—“ She turns to Clarke, “—I’d give up my company in a second if I had to choose.”
“I don’t want you to ever have to choose, Lex,” Clarke says, shaking her head.
“But if I had to—“
“Lexa,” the therapist calls, gently interrupting, “I want to talk a little bit about your experience in Paris. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” not really paying attention. She’s stuck on Clarke, staring at her for fear that if she looks away, she’ll miss something important again.
Clarke gives her a small smile, and then a teasing chuckle as she nudges Lexa and tells her to pay attention.
“How did you find your time in Paris? Good? Bad?”
“It was fine.”
More scribbling.
“Can you elaborate?”
“It was busy.”
“What was your ratio of work to play, so to speak?”
“It was all work,” Lexa snaps, defensively. She glares at that damn, mocking pen.
“Lex,” Clarke murmurs, barely audible, and runs her hand soothingly up and down Lexa’s thigh.
Lexa takes a breath, eyes on the notepad. “It was mostly work. I went out some.”
“Out?”
“Yes. Out.”
“Bars? Clubs?”
Lexa glares. “Museums. Schools. Things like that. I gave a lecture at one of their universities once.”
“You did?” Clarke turns to her, eyes curious and admiring. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“It wasn’t a big deal. Kind of last minute.”
“That’s neat, baby.”
Lexa sits up a little straighter, full of quiet pride.
“So, no parties? Drinking? That sort of thing?”
Lexa turns back to the therapist confused and annoyed as to why she seems hell bent on thinking the worst of her. “No,” she growls.
The therapist lays her pen down and sits back in her chair. “I’m just trying to establish a pattern, Lexa. Trying to get to the bottom of your relationship’s history, and why both of you tend to make the decisions you do regarding each other.”
“I’m not a fuck boy,” Lexa snaps, “if that’s what you’re trying to get at. I didn’t cheat on my wife in Paris and I didn’t cheat on her here. I may have been a coward by running away and staying there, but I was dedicated to my work while I was there. I wanted…I wanted to have something, wanted to be something worth—“ she stops, swallows hard. She turns her attention to the window, unable to finish.
“Worth what? Lexa. Finish that thought…worth what?”
Lexa shakes her head and shrugs. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“Hey,” Clarke soothes, “talk to us. Talk to me. What were you gonna say?”
Lexa bites her lip, stares out at the blurry view of Central park. “I wanted—“ it comes out small and choked. She sucks air in and closes her eyes. “I wanted to be worth…sticking around for.” She let’s out a small cry, and crosses her arms, annoyed at herself. “My parents left me. My foster parents dumped me.” She shrugs. “I wanted to be worth… wanting…for my child. I wanted her to be proud of me. Wanted to be something she could want. And I wasn’t. So I had to…do something.”
“I see. And Clarke--” The therapist picks up her pen again and turns to Clarke, ready to move on, but Clarke stops her.
“Hold on, I’m sorry. Just one sec.” She turns to Lexa, fully faces her, and takes her hands. “Sweetheart.”
Lexa remains fixed on the window. Gently, ever so gently, Clarke palms Lexa’s cheek and turns her head. Clarke’s always thought Lexa’s eyes looked beautiful when wet, but today they just make her heart ache. “Lexa.”
“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Lexa whispers, shaking her head. “I—“
“No, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I never knew…that you felt that way. You’re our shining star, Lexa. We love you so much.”
“But you were so ready to divorce me—“
Clarke opens her mouth to disagree, but she can’t. Lexa is right. Painfully right.
“May I?” The therapist offers, her presence almost forgotten. The couple nods. “Clarke, let’s talk about your thought process. Jumping straight to divorce. What was that about?”
“I don’t know. I...” she looks guiltily to the side, peering at Lexa. “I guess I just…wanted to make her hurt the way she hurt me. I wanted to it to be so drastic that she’d never ever hurt me again.”
“Is that typical for you? Do you often handle your pain this way?”
“I don’t…understand,” Clarke stutters. “What do you mean?”
“That kind of…retribution. Is that standard practice for you?”
“Well…I think it’s pretty standard practice for everyone, don’t you?”
“I’m not concerned with everyone. I want to hear about you.”
Clarke hesitates, feeling the same defensiveness she’d heard from her wife just a moment ago when she was in the hot seat.
“Clarke’s not a spiteful person,” Lexa offers when her wife remains silent. “But she hurts deeply. She feels everything deeply.”
“Do you find your emotions hard to control, Clarke?”
“Sometimes,” Clarke murmurs, leaning into her wife’s arm now. Thankful and longing for the support.
“Who would you say has more control: you or your emotions?”
“I think, me. But I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Can you elaborate?”
Clarke sighs and looks down at her hands. She’s never shared this before. It’s embarrassing and terrifying. But if there was ever a time, now would be it. “I don’t always know if what’s happening is actually happening.”
“What do you mean?”
Clarke audibly swallows, like a caricature gulp, but it’s not funny, it’s awkward and embarrassing and she hates it.
“It’s okay, Clarke. You’re okay.” Lexa nudges her and kisses her on the head.
Clarke nods, gathering courage. “Sometimes…I don’t trust myself…my reactions. I often question whether I’m having an appropriate response, and I never really know how to tell.”
“Is that why you never bring things up?” Lexa asks before the therapist can butt in.
Clarke looks up at her, wide eyed and trusting. “I think so,” she whispers. “I don’t know.”
Lexa turns to the therapist. “Clarke rarely stands up for herself. She let’s people do shitty things and rarely ever reacts the way most people would.”
“Because I never know if I’m taking things too hard. I’ve always been told I’m sensitive.”
“Empathetic,” Lexa offers as a gentler alternative.
The therapist once again puts down her pen, but this time she sets her whole set up aside, and Lexa immediately breathes easier. “This is what I’m hearing,” the therapist begins, leaning towards them with intelligent eyes. “Lexa, you have a hard time feeling worthy. You blame yourself for your parents’ and step-parents’ absence, so when you are fearful, you place yourself in distracting situations, often by distancing yourself from the matter. Such as moving to Paris for six months during Clarke’s pregnancy.”
Lexa nods. Sounds about right, even though it twists nauseatingly in her stomach.
“And Clarke, you have a hard time trusting.” Clarke snorts—she doesn’t need a therapist to tell her that. “What you may not have considered, though, is that I think you have the hardest time trusting yourself. You don’t trust others in your life to be gentle with you, but you also don’t trust yourself to determine when your boundaries are being crossed. Thus, you either resign yourself to the treatment or you lash out in overreaction. Like the divorce papers.”
Clarke hadn’t considered it that way before, no. But it makes sense. The panic. The anxiety attacks that always seemed to stem from the endless questions that constantly ran through her mind when she was upset. Often questions that contradicted themselves. Questions that made everyone the enemy, even herself. Questions that made trusting even her reality sometimes difficult. “Yeah,” she mutters. Lexa slides her arm behind her and wraps around her back as if to say, ‘I’m here. You can trust me.’
“Here’s what I want to work on, then,” the therapist continues. “Lexa, we need to help you get better at articulating your fears and dealing with them constructively. Clarke, we need to help you become more sure of yourself and others around you. Especially Lexa. I’m gonna give you each a piece of homework that has two parts. One for the self and one for the relationship. For Lexa, I want you to start writing down, everyday, instances in which you feel or have felt unworthy and/or flighty. It doesn’t have to be something that happened that day. You can even write about Paris. It doesn’t matter as long as it’s everyday. Try to give at least three points. That’s for you. For the relationship, I then want you to take time, every night, and read those points to Clarke.” She turns to Clarke. “Clarke, I want you to really hear those points. Listen to what Lexa is telling you, regardless of whether you agree or not. If Lexa tells you that she doesn’t feel worthy because she thought the dinner she made tasted poorly, even if you think it was the best meal of your life, I want you to hear what Lexa is saying. Then discuss. It’s not up to you to make everything go away, but do your best to reassure her that she has worth to you. As a friend, as a wife, as a mother, etc. Can you do that?”
They both nod, Clarke taking notes on her phone. It makes Lexa smile to see the dedication. She bends down and kisses her briefly on the head.
“For Clarke, this is a little trickier given your history with DPD. We need to focus on three layers, here. Trusting yourself, trusting Lexa, and trusting your reality. The latter should not pose too much of a threat outside of your panic attacks. Would you say that’s true?”
“Yeah,” Clarke mutters, eyes still on her phone, though Lexa can see that it’s because she’s feeling shy, her fingers having since stopped typing.
“Alright. Then for you, I want you to make a list of things that have made you distrust either yourself or other people. Maybe there are times when it’s been both. Then, I want you to write down the first emotion that comes to mind when you remember those events and people. Don’t question, or second guess. Just the first thing that comes to mind whether it’s sadness, anger, betrayal, vulnerability, etc. Now, here’s the important step. I want you to look at those emotions and I want you to tell yourself, out loud, ‘Yes, that’s right, I was x,y,z.’ Let yourself hear it, let yourself believe it without any fear of repercussion or conflict. Can you do that?”
Clarke nods.
“Good.”
“How can I help her?” Lexa pipes up, eagerly.
“I have something I want you two to work on together, don’t worry. Clarke, I want you to talk to Lexa about your time with Lexie while she was in Paris. In full, with as much detail as you can remember. Talk about your day to day schedule, things that made you laugh. Things that made you cry. Talk to her about Lexie’s milestones and setbacks. Help Lexa understand what that time was like for you. Help her to connect that time to you and Lexie. When you’re talking about it, I want you to tell her the times you wish she’d been there. Specifically, if it’s because you were feeling overwhelmed or scared. But be careful how you do this. Don’t blame Lexa for not being there. Don’t punish for it. Simply talk with her about how characteristics of hers would have been appreciated. Show her that you valued and value her.” She turns back to Lexa. “Lexa, this is going to do two things. This is going to help you feel more a part of that time and help repair those lost connections. It’s also going to help you understand Clarke’s mindset and her emotions from that time that are very likely still lingering. This will help you help her identify when there are hidden emotions and circumstances driving her decisions. But don’t ever tell Clarke what she is feeling or that what she is feeling is wrong. Rather, be her ally. Help her trust herself by trusting her. By you trusting her, and helping her to trust herself, that’s going to help her start to trust you.”
The therapist scoots back into her chair and settles, hands crossing in her lap. “Yes? Any questions?
They shake their heads silently, still processing everything they’ve been told.
“No? Good. In the meantime, Lexa I want you to keep seeing your individual therapist, and Clarke…I want you to consider individual therapy as well. I don’t think you need to go back on medication. Putting you back on Sertraline will hinder your ability to focus on and trust your emotions. But I do believe it’d be helpful for you to check in with someone for your individual needs at least once a week. If you’d like, I can set you up with a referral at check-out.”
//
The park is peaceful at this time of day. Most everyone still at work or on their way home to get dinner started or pick up the kids.
“How’re you feeling?” Clarke laces her fingers with Lexa’s as they stroll, waiting for Abby to hand Lexie off.
“Uh, good. Yeah, good.”
“You sure?”
Lexa nods, though no, she isn’t sure. She’s good, definitely, good. But…there’s something else too. She cocks her head. She’s…she’s overwhelmed. And worried. And excited for the future. “It’s just a lot to take in,” she mutters.
Clarke hums and presses her cheek to the outside of Lexa’s arm.
“You?”
“Oh, I’m good. I meant…I meant more your stomach,” Clarke chuckles, smiling shyly.
“Oh.” Lexa looks down at herself. “Yeah, I’m okay. Little sore.”
“Should we sit?”
Lexa looks around, eyes appreciating and lingering on the fall leaves, the pink cheeked pedestrians milling about in excited undertones now that the snow has finally thawed. She smiles, content. “How about some hot chocolate?”
//
Lexa watches Clarke sip her hot chocolate like it’s a dance. Her pretty, pink lips around the rim. The delicate swallow in her neck. The flush of her cheeks at the heat. When Clarke pulls away, there’s whipped cream on her nose, and Lexa nearly bursts.
Gently, adoringly, she brushes the cream away with her finger, eyes trying to find a place to land. She brushes her thumb over her cheekbone, down her jaw. It’s familiar and new, all at the same time. Their physical affection having become shaky and unsure after everything. But Lexa can’t help herself today. Not when Clarke is looking up at her like she is—all wide, wet, blue eyes.
“I love you, Clarke,” she whispers, fingers still dancing over her soft, pale skin.
Clarke is awed, trapped and entranced by Lexa’s sudden tenderness. “I…love you too,” she sighs, stepping in closer. Lexa’s hands drop to her hips, gently tugging her in until they’re inches away from flush.
“We’re going to be okay.”
Clarke nods, gazing up at her still. “I know.”
“I think I’d like to take you on a date.”
Clarke smiles, her stomach flipping in a pleasant, almost adolescent way. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
She nods, biting her lip. “Yeah.”
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Lexa asks, grinning because she knows exactly what Clarke is doing.
Clarke shrugs, feigning indifference. “I dunno. Gotta check my calendar.”
“Think you could pencil me in? Seven o’clock? Arkadia?”
Clarke blinks. “Arkadia?”
“Yeah…is that okay?”
“It’s…pricey. Fancy, I mean.”
Lexa runs her hands through Clarke’s hair. “I miss wining and dining you. Wooing you.”
Clarke drops her forehead, resting against Lexa’s. “You do woo me,” she whispers.
“I have a lot of making up to do,” Lexa admits, hands stilling. But Clarke nuzzles and so she starts again with a small, gratified smile.
“So do I. Maybe more so.”
Lexa shakes her head. “There’s no score, baby. We both…hurt each other. I just want to show you how much I love you.”
“I wanna show you too.”
“So meet me at Arkadia, then. Seven. We’ll have dinner. Maybe drive out of the city. Look at the stars.”
“Who will watch Lexie?”
“I’ll ask Raven.”
Clarke pulls back, eye brow arched. “Really?”
Lexa shrugs. “She owes me.”
“You’re okay with her watching Lexie. After what she did to you?”
“To me, being the operative. She loves Lexie. I trust that. She’s watched her hundreds of times before and we’ve never had problems.”
Clarke considers it. “But do you really want to reward her with time with our daughter? She really hurt you, Lex. I’m happy keeping her out of our lives a little longer if that’s what you need.”
Lexa smiles at the offer. “I’m not rewarding her. I’m using her.”
“I’m not sure that’s healthy,” Clarke chuckles.
“It’s probably not. But I want to take you out, and I’d rather it be Raven than Bellamy or Octavia. At least Raven bothered to stay in my life…even if it was to tell me off. Bellamy and Octavia vanished like I was nothing. That’s something I don’t trust with our child. I trust Raven’s consistency, at least.”
Clarke sighs. “If you’re sure.”
“We could ask Kane, but I think he’s working.”
“How about Anya?”
“I’ve got her buried in work. She’s got a lot to catch up on to replace Nia.”
“Maybe she can take the night off. She’d probably appreciate the break.” She boops Lexa on the nose, teasing.
“I’ll watch her.”
They turn to find Abby standing a bit away, a sleeping Lexie in her arms.
“Hey,” Clarke greets, softly as to not wake the little one up. “But you have work.”
Abby shrugs. “I’ll take off. This is important.”
“So is your job,” Lexa chuckles, “you’re chief of surgery.”
“Which means I don’t actually do much operating. I’ll have Kane cover, it’s not big deal. I want to do this for you two. You deserve it.”
//
Clarke feels like a fool as she turns circles in front of the mirror. A giddy, nervous, happy fool.
“Clarke?” Abby calls from the stairs.
“I’m…I’m in the bedroom.” She gives herself another once over, turns to look at her dress’ lowcut back in the mirror. She catches a reflection of Abby’s smile in the door way and sighs. “Is it too much?”
“No, you’re gorgeous, babygirl.”
“Think she’ll like it?”
Abby steps into the room and runs her hands along Clarke’s sides, smoothing out the satin fabric, looking something akin to the way she had during Clarke’s first prom. “She’ll love it, Clarke. You look beautiful.”
Fretting, and fourteen all over again, she turns and searches for excuses. “You sure watching Lexie won’t be too much?”
“I’ve been watching Lexie for the entirety of her three years on this Earth, hon, I think we’ll be okay.”
“Yes, but she’s been moody lately. And she’s still being difficult to get down at night. Lexa and I can just reschedule, it’s not—“
“Clarke. Sweetheart.” Abby grips onto her arms, steadying, sure. “It’s going to be alright. You have nothing to be afraid of. After all, you’ve done this a few times before,” she teases.
Clarke swallows and deflects her eyes. “But what if everything is different now? What if we don’t even know each other anymore?”
“Hey,” Abby tilts her daughter’s chin and catches her worried eyes. “You’ve known Lexa your entire life. You two got each other from the start, even I could see it. I thought you were a little young at fourteen to be declaring your undying love, but I could also tell it was something special, so I let it go. And look at you two now. Fifteen years and a beautiful daughter…that doesn’t come from two people who can’t get over a few obstacles.”
Clarke is silent for a moment, blinking away her emotions. She shrugs, ashamed and almost disbelieving. “But I tried to divorce her, Mom. And all of our friends…they just turned on her so easily when she was all alone and I let it happen.”
“There’s no way you could have known they would do that, Clarke—“
“Of course I knew they would.” Clarke laughs at herself. “Of course. They’ve been critical of Lexa since day one and never failed to let the both of us know. I thought it’d finally be better after marriage or hell, after we had a child together. But I knew…and still, I let them stay in our lives when I should have been more protective. She’s my wife and I just let these people continue to shit on her because—what? Because I liked their company? Because they’re convenient?”
“Hey now,” Abby soothes, trying and failing to keep up with Clarke’s ramping emotions as her daughter paces the room. She catches her near the bathroom and grabs her face in her hands. “Hey. Be still.”
Clarke stays, breathing hard, eyes a little too wide.
“You’re beating yourself up for way too much, Clarke. I know you feel like you need to punish yourself, but that’s enough of that. You both made poor choices, you both endured pain by the other’s hand, and guess what? You both found your way back to each other. It’s time to stop taking score. Lexa has forgiven you, you’ve forgiven Lexa. Let yourself breathe, Clarke.”
“I just—“ Clarke wipes her nose, child-like, on the back of her wrist. “I can’t stop wondering what wouldn’ve happened if she hadn’t gotten in the accident. I mean, that’s why we made up, right?”
Abby clucks her tongue at her. “You and I both know that’s not why you made up. The accident, though terrible and traumatizing, just helped speed up the process a little bit. You would’ve gotten here eventually. You love each other too much not to have.”
“I just don’t know if I deserve to be back here with her. When I think back, I just feel like I’ve been hurting her for years. And I never really knew until I was angry enough at my friends to open my eyes and realize just how shitty they’ve been to her our entire lives. What kind of wife—“
“Clarke, stop.” Abby’s grip becomes a little firmer, though still gentle. “You are not a bad person. You are not a bad wife. If Lexa was miserable or unhappy with your friends, she would have done something about it long ago. I know you love your wife and you want to protect her from all the bad in the world because of everything she’s been through, but Lexa is not a child, Clarke. She is a remarkably strong, intelligent woman. You did not put her through anything she wasn’t willing to go through.”
“But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Clarke asks quietly. “She went through it for me. Because I insisted on keeping them around.”
“Sometimes we do things we don’t want to for the people we love, Clarke. That’s normal.”
“But what have I ever done for her?”
“Clarke,” Abby chides, but Clarke stares at her blankly. Abby sighs. “Your contract with MOMA? Your social life for the past three years? Your sanity in the months after Lexie was born? You have done more than enough, Clarke. So has she. It’s time to stop looking at the past and just move forward together.” She kisses Clarke on the forehead. “There’s so much love there, sweetheart. Please don’t waste it. Now, go finish getting ready.”
Clarke wants to object, but Abby wipes away a stray tear on her cheek and shakes her head. “You’re such a good girl, Clarke. Let yourself be happy.”
With a shaky, resigned sigh, Clarke nods and turns back towards the mirror. “You really think this is okay?”
“I think you’re going to take her breath away. When’s she getting home?”
“She’s gonna meet me there. She’s coming straight from work.”
“How’s that going for her? Being back?”
Clarke players with the necklace at her collarbone, adjusting and readjusting the height nervously. “I think it’s good. She’s spending too much time on her feet, but it’s helping her mind. She’d been so restless.”
“How’s her scar tissue? Is she rolling every night?”
Clarke grimaces for Lexa’s sake. “I think so? I know how much it hurts her, so I don’t know if she’s doing it every night.”
“You don’t see her doing it?”
“Well…” Clarke stammers, blushing. “We’re not sleeping together yet.”
“Why not?”
“We just thought…that, I don’t know, maybe we needed some time to get back to being…us…first.”
“I’m confused. Are we talking sleeping together or sleeping together.”
“Oh my god, I’m not having this discussion with you.”
Abby furrows. “I’m just concerned, Clarke. You mean you’re still not back to sharing a bed?”
Clarke shrugs sheepishly.
“And whose idea was that actually?”
“Both.” Abby cocks her brow. Clarke rolls her eyes. “Mine.”
“And why is that?”
“It just feels weird, mom, okay? We’re like…dating again or whatever this weird thing is. I feel like we’ve jumped back in time and sleeping next to each other just feels really fast. After everything we’ve been through. I want to take things slow so that we don’t miss anything again. Because when I’m with her…like physically…everything just melts away and it’s like I don’t notice anything other than how wonderful she feels. And I can’t afford to be distracted. Not when we’re trying to heal and fix our issues.”
Abby nods slowly, obvious in her lingering confusion.
“What?” Clarke snaps, defensive and nervous and oh so emotional.
“Nothing, I’m just surprised is all. I would have thought you’d be all over each other after making up.”
“Well we were, at first. At the hospital. But then I felt like I took advantage of her state to satisfy my own cravings to have her near. It’s not like she could have put up a fight against me sleeping in her hospital bed if she’d wanted to.”
“You sleeping in her hospital bed and doting on her helped heal her faster, Clarke, I believe that one hundred percent. There’s no way she should be as far along as she is now after an accident like that. Your love is what made the difference. She had a reason to fight.”
A small smile fights its way onto Clarke’s face for the briefest of moments before Clarke shrugs. “Still. I just want to be back to normal before we sleep together again.”
“Sleep together? Or sleep together?”
“I’m so not having this discussion with you.”
“What? Now, you’re a prude too?”
Clarke grins and finally drops the necklace, leaving it where it is. “I’m a lady. Ladies don’t kiss and tell.”
Abby chuckles. “Well miss lady, you better get going or you’ll be late. Not very lady-like.”
Clarke stills, the inevitability of her reality finally unavoidable. She looks at her mother like a scared child. “So this is it?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Clarke. She’s your wife. You’ll have a great time. If you ever leave that is.”
Clarke glares, following her mother out of the room. “Where’s my baby? I want to say bye before I go.”
“She in her play pen in the living room.”
“Alone?!”
“I’ve got the monitor, Clarke, and she’s confined to a three feet by three feet space. She’s fine.” She urges her down the stairs.
“But she’s my baby.”
“And you’re my baby. And I need you to quit acting like one and go meet your wife.”
//
Clarke can’t stop smiling as she watches Lexa, tall and beautiful and frazzled, rush across the street to meet her. With her pink cheeks and perfectly-fitted gray suit, her silky hair and elegant, black, knee-length coat, Clarke swoons, unabashed and proud.
Though when Lexa gets close, and stops in front of her, suddenly she’s mindless and speechless and trembling with nerves. Lexa says something, probably “hi,” and kisses her on the cheek like it’s the most normal thing in the world, but Clarke is lost and shy and pink with embarrassment.
She catches a few more of Lexa’s words here and there as they walk into the restaurant. Things like “Sorry I was late,” and “Anya needed help with a report,” and “Rushed over as soon as I could.” She smiles out of habit at the hostess and smiles again when she catches Lexa’s “Woods, reservation for two,” and the hostess’ “Okay, right this way.”
It’s not until Lexa takes her hands under the table and gives them a gentle squeeze, and calls her name with sweet eyes and a concerned frown, that she blinks and everything comes back into focus, like turning the volume back up.
She blinks, even gives herself the slightest shake. “I’m sorry, what?”
Lexa smiles at her, small and timid and dazzling. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Clarke smiles, and squeezes back. “Yeah,” she reassures, “I’m great.”
“You got awfully quiet on me.”
Clarke smiles towards her lap. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, “I’m a little nervous I guess.”
Lexa chuckles softly and nods. “Yeah, me too.”
“Really?”
Lexa nods again. Clarke bites her lip in an attempt to contain her smile, but it shows through anyways. It’s stunning, Lexa thinks. “You’re stunning, Clarke,” she says aloud. “You look really beautiful tonight.”
Clarke’s insides squeal, but she forces herself to remain calm as she grins, cheeks hot. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Lexa looks at herself, then frowns in fleeting disappointment. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to dress up. I wasn’t expecting work to take so long.”
“What are you talking about? You look beautiful, Lex.”
“I don’t like wearing the clothes I wore to work to a date. It feels lazy. I want you to know how serious I’m taking this. This is really important to me…you’re really important to me.”
Clarke’s not sure how much more of Lexa’s chivalry she can take before she implodes. Lexa had always been like this, smooth and romantic and so very sweet, even back in high school. Even when she was angry at the world and had every right to be. Even when she was the shy, terrified, but intimidating little thing no body dared approach. Even then, when it came to Clarke, she was nothing but a romantic sweetheart, so kind it made Clarke’s heart ache.
When Clarke looks up and sees just how earnest Lexa is staring at her, just how emphatically, she wants nothing more than to burrow into her chest and hold her close, restaurant be damned.
Instead she swallows and smiles, shaking her head slightly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I think you might be the sweetest person in the world, Lexa.”
It’s Lexa’s turn to blush. She does it so rarely that when it happens, Clarke can’t help but recall the handful of times she’s seen it before, and how each time made her stomach flip. She finds Lexa’s hand under the table again and laces their fingers together. “Hey.”
Lexa grins. “Hey.”
“How was work?”
“It was good. Getting somewhere with Anya, I think. Indra did a good job keeping everything afloat while I was out. Now it’s just a matter of getting this Nia bullshit sorted out so that we can work back into the market again.”
“Is there still a hold on the company?”
Lexa nods, takes a sip of her water. “There will be until a court ruling.”
“And they still haven’t decided on a date?”
“They want to wait until the audit is complete since it’ll be admissible.”
Clarke frowns. “This is such a pain. I’m sorry you’re going through this. I know how hard you worked for your company.”
“It’s not going anywhere. We’ll be okay,” Lexa assures, but Clarke knows her wife well enough to hear the hint of doubt. “I’m glad we sorted out Lexie’s trust and college fund years ago. At least we don’t have to worry about her.”
“Will they take that though if they indict you for fraud?”
“At this point, they’re not looking to indict me. They can trace the money to Nia’s offshore accounts and can see it was being spent in her name for her own personal items. Worse case scenario, I’ll have to come up with whatever the difference is after they recover the remaining funds. Which I have many times over in our joint.”
“But that’s your money. That you worked hard for. They can’t make you make up that money if you’re not the one who stole it, can they?”
“It’s gotta come from somewhere. They can reclaim Nia’s assets, but I don’t think it’ll cover it. I’d rather pay the difference then let the company take the hit.”
Clarke looks like she wants to argue, but instead she sighs. Lexa had built a multi-million dollar, international corporation from nothing in less than a decade. Lexa had been made to handle things like this. And she trusts her.
Her heart lurches when she realizes the implication of that thought. She trusts her. She trusts Lexa. She always has. Just yesterday the therapist had told her she needed to learn how to trust Lexa but that’d never been the problem. She just needed to remember how to trust that she trusts Lexa. And that would take examples. Reminders. Reminders just like this. “I love you,” she blurts, suddenly not interested in ordering any longer.
Lexa seems to startle for a moment before breaking out into a beaming smile. “I love you too, Clarke.”
“Hey, let’s-- Clarke pauses, second guessing herself. She should just breathe. Take a moment to calm down and have a nice, quiet dinner with her wife. But Lexa’s eyes are sparkling and her own hands are trembling, and she feels like a teenager again, open and fresh and falling so very deeply in love.
“Let’s, what?”
Clarke considers. She stares at Lexa’s expectant gaze and thinks, fuck it. “Let’s get out of here.”
//
Clarke thrums in the passenger seat of Lexa’s insanely expensive Mercedes as she pilots it through mud and grass to get to the New Jersey cliff edge overlooking the city. At first she’d worried about the car, but when she’d looked over at her wife, Lexa had looked almost gleeful as they turned off the old single-lane road towards their old spot.
“Do you think it still looks the same?”
Lexa looks over at her just long enough to grin and return to the road, or rather, field. “I hope so.”
“I wonder if the tree’s still there.”
“Me too,” Lexa murmurs, craning to see. They climb and climb until the land finally starts to flatten out again and a distinct glow comes into view.
Lexa pulls the car to a stop and stills, both hands on the wheels, her face focused forward.
“Lex?”
“I remember the first time we came up here like it was yesterday,” Lexa mutters, eyes glazed like she’s remembering. Clarke reaches out and wraps her hand over Lexa’s, squeezing.
//
Clarke stops to catch her breath as she finally comes upon Lexa’s rusted old, red truck. Annoyed and angry and so very relieved, she storms the rest of the way up the hill and has nothing but venom when she gets to the top.
But then there’s Lexa’s hunched, little form, sitting atop a fallen tree, knees pulled to her chest as she stares out at the city below. Looking so small and alone, Clarke’s anger melts away into just relief as she walks up behind her, calling her name softly to avoid startling her.
She breaks when Lexa turns to look at her, eyes wet and puffy.
“Lex—“
“What are you doing here, Clarke?”
Clarke winces at the tone, but perseveres until she’s right beside her. “Can I sit?”
“You’re probably going to anyways, regardless of what I say, so go ahead.”
Clarke crosses her arms, shielding herself against Lexa’s barbs, and sits. “Lex, look—“
“You’re gonna talk too? Great.”
“Hey,” Clarke snaps, turning her body. Challenging Lexa. “Stop. You don’t get to be mean to me, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You certainly didn’t do anything right.”
Clarke glares and turns back towards the valley, all aglow from the city gridding out over its expanse. They don’t talk for a while, both too stubborn to be the first one to speak. It’s mostly Clarke who’s the stubborn one. For Lexa she supposes it’s the anger.
As the seconds drag into minutes, without any distraction or movement, Clarke feels the sting of the April nighttime chill. Like the air can’t quite make up its mind between winter and spring, so it’s too warm for a coat, and too cold for no jacket.
Lucky for Clarke, she’s got on nothing but a strapless dress and some Uggs. Better than heals she supposes as she looks down at her feet, grimacing at the mismatched outfit. She tilts a foot towards her and grimaces harder at the mud. Much better than heals, she thinks, glad she had the foresight to take them off before going off to look for her missing prom date.
For the most part, she can keep her shivers under control. But when the wind picks up and whips against her bare shoulders, she’s a gonner. She makes a sound with the next wave of chills and twitches as her body shivers violently much to her dismay.
She’s about to call it quits and tell Lexa to have fun sitting in the cold, when, wordlessly, Lexa peels out of her suit jackets and holds it out. All still while keeping her eyes glued in front of her.
“Is this a peace offering?” Clarke tries.
Lexa doesn’t say anything.
“Because if that’s a peace offering, I accept, but you can keep your jacket and we can go sit in a café or something like normal people and talk where it’s warm.”
“You can leave,” Lexa says simply.
Clarke scoffs and rolls her eyes. “We were doing so well.”
“Just take the jacket, Clarke.” Lexa shoves it over and drops it into Clarke’s lap.
For a second, Clarke thinks about shoving it back. Making a point. But that would only antagonize Lexa further, and really, all Clarke wants is to take Lexa back to the dance and kiss until her lips hurt. So she puts on the jacket and scoots a little closer, adamant even when Lexa starts to drift away. “Can you just talk toe me?” She sighs.
“You know you could have just told me.”
She’s surprised by the response. It makes her sit up, shift herself into awareness because suddenly Lexa is responding, and maybe they’ll finally get somewhere. “Told you what?”
Lexa’s jaw tightens.
“What, Lex?” Clarke, like a feather, places her hand on Lexa’s arm.
Lexa sighs, her head drooping. “That you were embarrassed of me.”
Clarke’s first response is to want to laugh at the absurdity of such a statement. “Embarrassed of you? What are you talking about?”
“You don’t have to pretend, Clarke. Echo told me everything. I get it.”
“Honestly, I really have no idea what you’re talking about. What did Echo tell you?”
Lexa purses her lips. Clarke has yet to see her eyes since she sat, but she can tell by the bob in Lexa’s throat that they’ll be shiny. “Why you didn’t want to go at first. Why you danced with everyone but me.”
Clarke furrows in confusion and shakes her head, mouth open to object, but not even sure where to begin.
“I get why, Clarke. I don’t blame you. But the humane thing to do would’ve been to just let me stay at home like I wantede.”
“Lexa, what on earth—“
“Oh, don’t play innocent, Clarke. Echo—“
“Fuck Echo,” Clarke snaps. “She lied. Now shut up and listen.”
Lexa startles into silence and even Clarke is taken aback by her sudden show of confidence. But she recovers, refusing to lose Lexa over something so trivial. “Are you listening?”
Lexa nods.
“Good. I don’t know what Echo said to you, but whatever it was, she certainly didn’t hear it from me, and—no, hold on. You said you were listening.”
Lexa closes her mouth with a huff.
“I didn’t not want to go to prom with you, Lex. I just knew how much you hate that kind of thing, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and make you feel like you had to ask. But honestly, Lexa, I wanted to DIE waiting for you to ask me. Do you know I was the only freshman there? I know that’s stupid and petty, but it made feel good, because I was a freshman going to prom with the most gorgeous junior in school and I felt fucking awesome. You make me feel awesome, Lexa. I know that sounds lame, but…I don’t know I to explain it. It just felt really good to be there. To be there and be yours. Do you get that? I’m yours Lexa. And nothing else is more important to me than that.”
“But you acted like you didn’t want me there,” Lexa says, voice small.
“I didn’t mean to, Lex. I really didn’t. I’m so sorry if I made you feel that way. You were sitting down at our table most of the time. I thought you were happy to watch. You didn’t want to dance when I asked.”
“Echo said I was your latest charity case. First Finn, then me. I thought you were embarrassed and just asked me to dance to be nice.”
“When exactly did Echo talk to you?”
Lexa shrugs. “Like before. I don’t know. We were getting out of the limo.”
Clarke groans, rubbing her forehead. “Is that why you were acting so sullen? I thought you just didn’t want to be there. Lexa, look at me.”
She places her hands on Lexa’s cheek and squeezes briefly. “Echo doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You’re not a charity case. You’re the most amazing girl I know and I can’t believe you’re going out with me. I mean honestly, you’re such an ego boost you have no idea.”
Lexa cracks a small smile and Clarke leans in quickly to kiss it, ever enamored by that look. They’re both blushing when Clarke pulls back, heart pounding, still not quite used to being able to do that.
“I would dance with you, every song, every minute, in front of a whole football stadium, if you let me. I’m so proud to be your date, Lex. Did you see Nylah when you walked in? She was practically drooling. I almost slapped her, because you’re mine, and only I get to drool over you.”
“I don’t think that look was for me, Clarke. You were standing right behind me.”
Clarke shakes her head. “No, it was for you, trust me. She’s got a thing for chicks in suits.” Clarke wraps the jacket around her shoulders tighter and breathes in the faint smell of Lexa’s perfume. Woody and spicy. “So do I,” she admits and grins.
Lexa bumps into Clarke’s shoulder and sighs. “I’m sorry.”
Clarke leans her head on Lexa and holds her hand. “One of these days you’re gonna believe me when I say you’re my entire world.”
“I’m not used to being anybody’s anything,” Lexa murmurs.
“Well.” Clarke stands and draws Lexa up. “You’re my everything. And I want to dance with you.”
“You wanna head back?”
Clarke shakes her head and wanders over to Lexa’s truck. She throws the door open and turns the key in the ignition enough to power up the radio. Turning in to something a little less crackily then the others, she turns up the volume and flicks on the headlights.
She holds out her hand and Lexa takes it, grinning. “Dance with me?”
“You’re a dork,” Lexa mutters, but her eyes are wide and adoring as she pulls Clarke into her chest
“But I’m your dork,” Clarke retorts and lays her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “Forever and ever.”
“You sure about that?”
Clarke nods. “Yeah.”
//
Clarke reaches over and squeezes Lexa’s thigh. “I’m still your dork,” she whispers, smiling. “Just slightly better dressed.”
“Well, you did say forever.” Lexa looks back at her and grins. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. You were totally working that dress and Ugg combo.”
Clarke smacks her on the arm and laughs. “Don’t make fun of me. The nineties were a confusing time for everyone. And it was cold that night.”
Lexa stares lovingly, reminiscent, until Clarke goes shy and averts her gaze, fingers twiddling in her lap. “So do you wanna get out?”
“Yeah. Stay put.”
Before she can ask, Lexa is out and jogging around the car to open her door. She’s got a big, cheesy grin on her face when she sweeps it open and holds out her hand. “Shall we dance?”
Clarke chuckles. “We shall.”
//
They move quietly together, slow and easy with no real motivations other than to be close. Clarke is warm under Lexa’s jacket and against her chest, listening to the steady thrum of Lexa’s heart as it almost matches the song.
Lexa is decidedly more coordinated than she once was those ten odd years ago with Clarke and her Uggs wrapped up in her arms. But when she runs her hand up Clarke’s back as her wife nuzzles closer, Clarke thinks she’s never been more familiar.
Clarke presses her nose to her wife’s chest and breathes. “You smell good,” she murmurs.
Lexa hums, continues her swaying, too content to draw the energy to muster words.
“We’re gonna be okay right?” Clarke props her chin on Lexa and gazes up at her. Those wide, blue eyes. They make Lexa’s lungs ache.
Lexa nods. Then, for emphasis, “yeah,” she whispers. “We’re gonna be more than okay.”
Clarke slides her hands up Lexa’s ribs, then over her shoulders and up her neck. She gently maps out Lexa’s jawline with the pads of her fingers, feather-light touches just for the sake of touch. “I love you, Lex. I always have.”
Biting her cheek because she’s tired of crying, Lexa uses her hands on Clarke’s hip to drag her wife up to her toes, drawing her lips closer and closer. Clarke smiles and Lexa bends to kiss it away, soft and timid, so much like their first time. As Clarke’s hand drops to grip Lexa’s collar and pull her closer, her fingers remember the feeling of Lexa’s thick, red hoody in her fist. The way the late night mist had made it damp to the touch as they sat in the middle of the lit-up soccer field and kissed for that first time.
//
“Better?” Clarke whispers, breathless, as she pulls away from Lexa’s soft, pink lips.
The stunned girl nods as her tongue sneaks out to explore the foreign, but amazing, new taste on her bottom lip.
With her pupils still blown wide and hair in frizzy ringlets framing her face, Clarke thinks Lexa is the most gorgeous creature she’s ever seen.
“You kissed me,” Lexa murmurs, just to hear it. To make sure it’s real.
Clarke grins and nods. She nervously plays with her hair, tucking it behind her ear and averting her gaze.
“If I’d known punching Murphy in the face would get me kissed I would have done it last quarter.”
Clarke is so surprised by Lexa’s humor she almost doesn’t react. But then, looking at this magical, mysterious girl in front of her, so rarely stationary and always quiet, Clarke falls so hard her chest aches, and she laughs until she’s crying.
Lexa marvels right back at her, enjoying the site of her pink nose and hair sprinkled with tiny water droplets, laughing until her eyes sparkle. Surrounded by the mist rising up around them, encircling them in their own perfect shroud, Lexa swallows every rational thought telling her to run, and lurches forward. She grabs Clarke’s cheeks and does her best to taste the sound of Clarke’s laugh.
//
Clarke tugs on Lexa’s collar, pulling her invariably closer until she’s pressing so adamantly she can no longer breathe. When Lexa’s hand slides into her dress through the back, gripping and tugging at her bare ribs, the feeling of skin on skin brings tears to her eyes.
A watery mewl slips pat her lips as Lexa’s uses her other hand to thread into her hair and hold her, a possessive and protective embrace she hasn’t had in so long she’d almost forgotten what it feels like.
Clarke pushes her hips forward, wanting the contact. Wanting Lexa. Wanting to be Lexa’s again. Her body flushes from head to toe, arousal and love and hope heating her from the inside out until she wants to claw out of her dress. Lexa slides her jacket off of Clarke and drapes it over her shoulder to get it out of the way before scooping Clarke up.
Clarke doesn’t kiss her as she’s carried to the car, wanting to gaze at her. Take her all in with her glassy, green eyes and swollen pink lips. Clarke lives for Lexa like this. When she’s soft and wide open for Clarke, all of her hard edges and defenses melting away into a reverence Clarke has never quite understood but loves none the less.
Lexa lowers her to the hood of the car, chuckling slightly when Clarke hisses at the cold buries her face in the crook of her neck.
Her heartbeat ramps up and startles her breath when Lexa presses between her legs, firm and warm and translucent in her desire. Her mouth waters while her throat goes dry and adolescent sort of excitement runs through her because this isn’t familiar anymore. It’s exciting and new and filled with implications that have Clarke vibrating with nerves and anticipation.
Because Lexa wanted to wait. With her sweet gentleness, Lexa had wanted to wait until they were okay. Until Clarke knew, without a doubt, that Lexa loved her and was in it, that Lexa had forgiven her. That Lexa had been forgiven. Lexa, ever the sweetheart, had wanted it to be special and magical and romantic. Just like it’d been the first time. Just like it’d been every time.
Clarke barely hears the moan trickles into Lexa’s mouth—
But then Lexa is pulling away, panting and shaking her head because she can’t find words just yet, but she knows they need to stop.
She pulls away and holds Clarke’s cheeks and licks her lips, so beautiful and frazzled and unsure.
“Lex?”
“Not like this,” she pants, “not yet.” She stares at Clarke, trying to implore more meaning than she can muster in words. Trying to not offend, trying to love, trying to take care, trying—
“Oh.”
And failing.
“I’m sorry, I just…”
“You don’t want to.”
“No, it’s not that. I want to. I do. God, I miss you. It’s just…” Lexa’s words die out because…because what is it exactly? Is it fear? Is it trust or anger or disinterest?
Clarke shifts uncomfortably atop the car and works the straps of her dress back onto her shoulders. She’s exposed and vulnerable and self-conscious trapped between the hood and Lexa’s strong thighs. Lexa who can’t even look at her. Won’t look at her.
“Can I just—“ Clarke gently pushes on her chest, “get down,” she says making room for herself and sliding down from the car. Her anger grows the longer Lexa is silent until she’s mad enough to roughly push past Lexa in search of her discarded heels.
But Lexa grabs her forearm and hauls her back, apologies sputtering out of her before Clarke is even in front of her again. Clarke frowns, upset and confused and feeling like a fool.
But then Lexa steps into her space and wraps around her, hugging her. Just hugging her. Like they’d done so often in their early years. Just being together, being close. Intimate through proximity and tenderness alone, blocking out all of the darkness. The bullies for Lexa, Jake’s death for Clarke. They’d spent so many of their first years wrapped up like this. Soft and warm and together, alone against the world as they always said.
“Lex,” Clarke breathes, giving in and melting against her wife.
“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m so worried.”
“Why?”
Lexa pulls her closer, perhaps anticipating Clarke to pull away at her admission. For her part, Clarke runs her hands in assurance up Lexa’s long back, scratching between her shoulder blades the way she loves it.
“I’m worries that maybe you…maybe there’s still a small part of you that doesn’t believe me. I’m worried that there’s still a part of you that sees me cheating on you and I’m scared that if you do, and we sleep together, that…” she pauses, her broad shoulders shrugging and stooping.
Clarke pulls back and takes Lexa’ face in her hands. Her eyes flick across Lexa’s face like a pinball machine, trying to discern the answers in the lines of worry there. When Lexa doesn’t continue, just stares back at her with those emotive, transparent eyes, Clarke kisses her on the chin to see her smile and prompts her. “You’re worried that what? It’s okay, Lex, just talk to me. You’re worth it,” she adds, offering a small smile, “I want to hear what you have to say.”
Lexa considers.
“Please?”
“It will upset you.”
Clarke shakes her head, though she can’t be sure. She just trusts that Lexa will be gentle with her.
“I’m scared that if you still don’t fully trust me again…and you’re still seeing those images of me with another woman…that if we sleep together now, you’ll be...I don’t know.”
“What?” Clarke prompts gently.
“…disgusted.” Lexa’s hands find their way back to Clarke’s hips and settle.
“Oh sweetheart,” Clarke lifts Lexa’s chin and frowns sympathetically. “I could never be disgusted.”
“It’s just always been so good with us. From our first time to the last time, being with you…making love to you—“ Lexa swallows, shaking her head as if to shake the emotions away. “It’s the best thing in the world,” she whispers, tight and hoarse. “I really don’t wanna mess that up…”
Clarke nods, drawing Lexa in for a quick kiss. “For the record, I do trust you. I do. I believe 100% that Echo and Nylah set the whole thing up and that you’ve never so much as looked at another woman. I trust you, Lexa. But, we’ll wait. We’ll wait until you’re sure, okay?”
“You don’t mind?”
Clarke looks down and smiles. She plays with the exposed patch of skin on Lexa’s chest from where she’d ripped the buttons of her shirt open. “I want you, don’t get me wrong.” She smooths the fabric down and pulls it back together. “But I’d wait forever if you needed me to.”
Lexa releases a thousand breaths worth of relief and slumps against her wife, nodding. “You know I want you too, right? Like…so much,” she says, chuckling.
Clarke chuckles too and nods. “Should we go home?”
“Were you sufficiently wined and dined?”
Smiling, Clarke pats Lexa on the butt and pushes her back upright. “Consider me satisfied.”
//
They’re quiet on the way home, but it’s an easy quiet. Stemming from comfort and familiarity.
As they cross back over into New York, Lexa takes Clarke’s hand into her lap and sighs.
So in love with you, Clarke thinks. “I’m so in love with you,” she says a second later, almost by accident.
Lexa just smiles and kisses her hand.