She's been dodging her mother for an hour, arms full of charts, scuttling between break rooms and lounges and on call closets. Her mother's got that pinched look, Clarke ducking down and watching her go by through the window, frowning and harried.
Raven calls her and the vibration makes her jump. She accepts the call, pinching it between her cheek and shoulder as she gathers up the charts she'd dropped diving out of view. "Hey, you're lucky you got me," she greets, scrambling for the papers. "Have you heard from Lexa? She hasn't answered any of my ca-"
"Clarke," Raven says, quiet and heavy. "Clarke."
The way Raven's voice wobbles and pitches, it's-Clarke feels it like a hush on the water. A stillness settles into her bones and she can hear the soft whistle of her breath on the inside of her teeth.
"There's been an accident," Raven says, more gentle than Clarke has ever heard her. She swallows, audible through the connection. "It's Lexa."
There's an odd ringing in her ears that drowns out the rest of Raven's words. She moves the phone away from her ear to wiggle a finger in the beginning of the canal, shaking her head sideways like she's gotten water in her ear. When she presses the phone back into place Raven has finished talking.
"Okay," Clarke says, after a long long silence.
"Oh-okay?"
"Okay," Clarke repeats, very calm. "I have to go now."
"Clarke-wait-"
"I have to call Anya," Clarke tells her, and lays the phone facedown on the table. Raven's voice echoes from it, tinny and from a great distance, and Clarke stands. She looks at her paperwork spread out around her and realizes her pen is still in her hand, so she caps it and lays it down carefully.
She finds a nurse in the hall. "I have to go," she tells him.
"Clarke, it's me," he responds, grabbing her elbow.
"Oh." Clarke blinks rapidly, Lincoln's face becoming clear and familiar in front of her; the haze clearing. "Yes, sorry. My charts are-" She looks up and down the hallway, disoriented. "They're, uh."
"It's alright." He starts to walk her down towards the elevators, careful touch and gentle nudges. "She's in the ICU." Clarke's knees buckle for a half-second, then she rallies. Takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders.
"Okay."
/
Clarke chews her nails down until the tips of her fingers ache, the nailbeds raggedy and torn and painful. The waiting room is quiet, and Clarke thinks about it again, the wind going still on the river. A hush on the water and waiting for the other shoe to drop. She watches the other people fidget, tap at their phones, even fall asleep, the restless twitching doze of the exhausted.
Raven sits next to her. "Hey."
"Hey."
"Octavia's on detention this month. She'll be here soon as she can."
"It'll be hours," Clarke says, hollow. "Hours and hours." Of this room, with the outdated magazines and the trickle of people in and out. Gurgle of the water cooler in the corner and the tick of the clock on the wall. Clarke and her torn nails and the waiting.
"They're called Burr Holes," she tells Raven, when she can't stop her knee from jumping and bumping the magazine in her lap to the ground.
Raven looks up from where she's staring blankly at a back issue of Home and Garden. "What?"
"Burr Holes," Clarke repeats. "They-they drill them through the skull and insert tubes. To drain."
Raven is quiet for a stretch. Clarke chews on the tip of her thumb. "I keep," Raven says, an odd lilt to her voice. "I keep thinking about the day after we met. The morning after move in day. I woke up late; she was already up. I called her Alexa by mistake while we were plugging in the mini-fridge."
Clarke half-smiles. "She hates that."
"We went to the dollar store and she bought those magnets, the tiny ones with the letters. We kept them all the semesters we lived together, the little fridge and then the real one, in the apartment. Lost a lot of them, but I still have some. At Anya's."
Clarke picks up her magazine and puts it back on the little table between the rows of chairs. "She never got you back for that Alexa thing?"
"No, she did. Called me different bird names for years and years. I think I'm still in her phone as 'Rhea'. But I just keep thinking about those stupid magnet letters on our dorm room fridge."
Raven's exhale is shaky. She shoves her hair out of her face and shakes herself a little. Clarke takes her hand and their grip is matching; white knuckled and cold sweat. When the surgeon comes out and calls Clarke's name, her fingers have gone numb. Raven lets go and the blood rushes back, slowly and then all at once; a pulsing wave.
/
Raven stops just outside Lexa's room. Her limp got bad in the elevator and worse down the hallway, her fingertips shaking and paler than Clarke has ever seen her. "I, uh-I, um."
Abby was waiting outside, and she turns to Raven, concerned, but Clarke waves her away. "It's alright," she tells Raven. "I know."
Raven swallows, her eyes skittering away from Clarke's face. "I'm sorry."
Clarke fumbles in her pocket for a few crumpled bills. "Grab me a coffee?"
Raven nods, shoving the money into her jacket and backing up towards the stairwell. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."
Lexa is paler than pale, not just wan but sallow, sickly. Clarke touches the bandages at her temple with trembling fingers and knows the hair is shaved underneath. Her mother is speaking behind her, hovering at her shoulder, something about relieving pressure and medically induced coma, and it turns into white noise, high pitched and disappearing under the click-whoosh of the ventilator and the thrum of the machine, the beep beep of the monitors. Lexa is so still, a shade of herself. A sob rips from Clarke's chest and her knees give out abruptly-she thinks distantly that it'll hurt when she hits the ground and it's only when the sensation of falling stops that she realizes her mother has caught her.
Clarke comes back to herself in the chair by the door, the plastic squeaking as she tries to lift her head from between her knees and can't. She's sucking in big lungfuls of air and still feels like she's suffocating, and her mother's hand prickles when it rubs on her back. She cringes from it and exhales loudly through her mouth. She wants to tell her mother about how she ate cereal for breakfast that morning and texted Lexa a picture with the spoon stuck in her mouth and how last weekend Lexa had said she was going to frame the picture of them from college, babyfaced and smiling at each other. Clarke wanted it in their bedroom; Lexa had lobbied for the mantel in the living room. They'd had a proper argument out of it, somehow, accidentally dredging up old disagreements and glaring at each other and walking away in a huff before Clarke crawled into bed later that night and laid a hesitant hand on Lexa's hip and Lexa turned around to kiss Clarke's shoulder and hook her foot over Clarke's ankle and play her fingers through Clarke's hair until she fell asleep.
"Clarke?" Bellamy is peeking into the private room, looking uncomfortable. He shuffles inside and shuts the door. "Octavia will be here as soon as she can. Raven called me."
Clarke slips out from under her mother's oppressive concern and stumbles into his chest. "Lexa," she manages to choke out, and then squeezes her eyes shut and bites her tongue so she won't cry.
His arms close around her, easing her weight. "Hey, okay. It's alright." He walks her to Lexa's bedside, hooking his foot around a chair leg and dragging it over. He settles her into it-Lexa's hand, limp and pale, is huge in Clarke's field of view. She closes her own hand over Lexa's wrist and brushes her thumb over the weak flutter of Lexa's pulse. Bellamy and her mother talk, stilted and hushed, behind her, and Clarke adjusts the thin blanket rumped at Lexa's waist.
"I have to call Anya," she says, making them fall quiet. "I have to-" she touches her pocket. "My phone, I don't know where my phone-"
"I'll call her," Bellamy offers. The door swishes open and shut.
"Hi, baby," Clarke murmurs. Kisses the inside of Lexa's wrist, careful not to tangle the tubes and the monitoring wires. "I'm here."
"You know she won't wake up for at least a day." Her mother touches her shoulder. "You know that, Clarke. There's things you need to take care of."
Clarke touches her nose to the center of Lexa's palm, along her lifeline. "I'll kick you out," she promises, soft and pitched low. "I'll call security Mom, I swear to god I will."
Her mother sighs. "I'll get her doctor," she says, and the door opens and shuts again.
/
Clarke knows Lexa's primary care doctor, distantly. Seen him around, at meetings, in the break rooms and on elevators. Never talked to him much; it's a big hospital. She lets him go on for a while before she snaps. "Just stop it."
He blinks. "Ms. Griffin, I-"
"Doctor. It's Doctor Griffin. So stop with the coached language and tell me what we're looking at for recovery."
He sighs. "You know how head injuries are. It's not good, but it's not the worst. We'll know more when she wakes up-tomorrow, if everything goes well."
Clarke frowns at where Lexa's eyelids are closed and still. "I want to talk to neuro."
"Clarke," Abby breaks in. "You know how it goes."
Clarke presses the knuckle of her thumb between her eyebrows. "I wasn't kidding about throwing you out of here."
"Clarke, this is no time for drama-"
"Are you fucking serious?" Clarke points at a nurse looking slightly frozen in the act of checking Lexa's vitals. "You. Get me a security guard."
"Dr. Griffin. I promise, as soon as she wakes up, I'll have a consult down for a treatment plan."
"Fine," Clarke snaps. "Fine. Good." She strides across the room and bats the nurse's hands away from where he was readjusting Lexa's IV. "I'll do that."
/
"Clarke," Raven says, hesitant. "Clarke, maybe-"
"Don't."
"Clarke-"
"I threw my mother out and I'll do the same to you." Clarke flickers her eyes to where Anya is walking around to Lexa's bedside. "Both of you."
"You could try." Anya's voice is flat. "You may be the name on the papers, but if you think you're throwing me out of here-" she stops talking, abrupt. "Let's-not. Not here."
There's a long silence. Raven's hand hovers over Clarke's shoulder before it drops again.
"Not here," Clarke agrees. She kicks a chair out and Anya sits.
Raven sighs. "Food. Clothes. And when I get back with them, you'll take turns going to shower. And I'm bringing Octavia back with me, and you will not throw things, Clarke. And you will not tell the doctors they're incompetent children, Anya."
The door opens and closes again.
Anya sits near Lexa's knee, a large blur in Clarke's peripheral vision. "You threw things at Octavia?"
"And Lincoln."
"They are incompetent children." Anya curls her hand over Lexa's ankle. "The doctors."
"They're all older than you."
"And?"
Clarke turns her head to look; Anya's face is pale and her eyes are tired and there are fine lines around her mouth. Her hair is falling out of its braid. "And they're incompetent children."
Anya smiles, thin. They sit and wait.
/
Lexa wakes up at a quarter to midnight on a Tuesday. Clarke was asleep when it happened, but Anya tells her that Lexa's eyes fluttered open and she made weak noises until Anya woke up and called a nurse.
When Clarke woke they were checking Lexa's vitals. Her eyes were unfocused and slow when they tracked the doctor's pen and her breathing was ragged and dragging. She licked her lips and Clarke swayed towards her, Lexa's hand still limp in hers.
"Anya," Lexa rasps.
"Don't fuss for attention," Anya says, from where she's holding Lexa's other hand. "You're not a child." The relief has creased her face in a smile she can't seem to tamp down.
"Anya," Lexa repeats, a little stronger.
Clarke is listening to the doctor and wiping at her eyes and she barely hears it the first time, Lexa's rough whisper -is that?. She turns. "What, baby? Are you in pain?" She takes a purposeful step towards the doctor and his eyes go wide as he retreats. "She's in pain, do something."
Lexa coughs once, weakly, still looking at Anya. "Who," she repeats. "Who is that?"
Clarke turns. "Dr. Litman? He's a specialist, he flew in-"
Lexa's eyes focus on hers, hazy but cognizant. "You. Who are you?"
/
Octavia finds Clarke ripping apart the master bedroom. "Uhh-"
"I haven't gone crazy." Clarke straightens from where she's knee deep in the walk in closet near the master back. "I know it-" she casts a quick look around the room "-really looks like I have. I even maybe kind of feel like I have. But I haven't."
"I-"
"I haven't, Octavia, okay? And I waited through the neuro tests and she didn't-she only asked for Anya. And I waited for five more hours, and she still only wanted Anya. So just-just stop distracting me." Clarke disappears back into the boxes, digging through them with a dogged determination. She finishes with the last box and rubs at her forehead. "Where the fuck is it… where the fuck-" Her eyes land on a box on a high shelf in the closet. "You fucker," she mutters. She goes on her tiptoes. "You absolute piece of-"
Bellamy appears in her bedroom. "Clarke, Octavia says you're not crazy, but she said it in a way that-"
The box tips off the shelf, sudden and in the second she's distracted-when she looks back it's headed for her head, and she shrieks.
Bellamy lunges across the room to save her from a concussion. He curses when the box hits his fingers at an angle. "Fuck!" The box thuds, bouncing off the wall and landing on its side, the flaps opening and odd knick knacks spilling out: christmas lights, the ugly vase Clarke's mother gave them for Christmas four years ago as a passive-aggressive response to not being invited to the housewarming. Bellamy sighs. He hefts the box up onto the bed, still unmade. "What is this?"
Clarke flaps her hands at him until he moves away. "It's… it was my responsibility to organize the closet last spring."
Bellamy pulls out a handful of assorted cutlery. "I can see that." He drops the utensils on the mattress with a clatter. "So… it's uh. It's good you're home. Resting." His voice goes up on the word, like he's not sure.
"Lexa doesn't know me. She asked me to leave the room." Clarke goes elbows deep, rummaging. "And I got tired of standing in the hallway listening to her doctors tell me-" She emerges from the box, triumphant. "So I'm-I'm taking her some things. Clothes, and that lotion she likes. She doesn't- she's particular, she pretends she isn't but-the one at the hospital smells weird and she doesn't-"
Bellamy's hands ease the shoebox out of her trembling fingers. "Alright. Where is it?"
Clarke blinks at him. "Where's what?"
"The bag, Clarke. With the magic lotion."
Clarke rolls her eyes. "It's in the living room. Give me that." She snatches the shoebox back, bumping the lid open and rifling through the stacks of photographs.
"Was it also your responsibility to make the photo albums?"
"Obviously." Clarke sorts quickly, a growing pile on the bedspread. "I'm the arty one." Her fingers falter. "She… she recorded six episodes of the scrapbooking show on the DIY channel and played them when I didn't do the dishes."
Bellamy shifts, awkward. "You always told us she had a sense of humor."
Clarke's fingers tremble. She fumbles through another handful of photos. "Yeah. She does."
Bellamy's hands settle over hers, stilling them. He eases the photos out of her grip, careful to only touch the edges. "What are we looking at?"
Clarke clears her throat, dragging a hand through her hair. "The doctor said that maybe-photos could help. So I'm trying to find-" she takes a shuddery breath.
"I like this one."
Clarke takes the single photograph from him. It's from graduation, a selfie of the two of them in cap and gown and cords of honours. "It's a good one," she agrees.
"And this one?"
They go through them, Clarke and Lexa together and on their own, in dorm rooms and cars and on beaches. One with Anya at the housewarming party, another artsy shot of Lexa in bed sipping a coffee with messy hair. Christmas and Thanksgiving and looking sweaty with alcohol-loose smiles after dancing on New Year's. Bellamy keeps Clarke from clutching them too tight and tucks them into an envelope while Clarke double checks the duffel bag: Lexa's comfiest sweats, the lotion she likes, a box of the tea Lexa drinks before bed.
/
"This is us at graduation," Clarke says. She's careful not to touch Lexa's fingers when she hands it over. "You, uh-I mean. Anya said that you remember most of college."
"And some of law school." Lexa studies the picture, eyes shadowed and her voice still raspy. "Did we live together then?"
"No." Clarke shuffles through the pictures. "But we-we were together, a lot. You and Raven shared an apartment with Anya; you commuted." She hands over another picture, the two of them on a couch, barefoot and sharing a glass of wine. "Octavia and I lived on campus, but she had Lincoln and you had your own room, so. We were together a lot."
"A lot," Lexa repeats. Her forehead is furrowed. "But I don't-."
"The doctor said that's normal," Clarke rushes to assure her. "And it's, you know. It's a process, and unpredictable."
"Finals week," Lexa says. "I remember finals week, my last year."
Clarke's breath catches. "You do? We studied together. I finished before you-you made these flashcards and I quizzed you. Do you remember?"
Lexa frowns. "No. I remember flashcards, but…." she trails off. Her finger taps on the bed, frustrated. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." Clarke catches herself before she can sigh. "The doctor's said-it's alright." She shuffles through the pictures. "Wanna do a few more?"
Lexa sips from her water cup, the straw rattling the ice chips. "Okay."
/
Clarke frowns at Teresa behind the gift shop register. "But you always have violets."
"We've got tulips, roses, carnations, orchids-"
Clarke frowns harder. "Can you check the back for me?"
Teresa pops her gum, then looks abashed about it. "I know what's in the back, okay? How about an orchid, on the house even?"
"Are they purple?"
"Sure, if you want."
Clarke nods, decisive. "She likes purple."
Lexa is picking at her jello. "This is gross," she tells Clarke. "I don't like this, right?"
Clarke clears her small table of the lunch tray. "You never have. I brought you this." Lexa touches the tip of a petal with a finger.
"Thank you. I guess I like flowers."
There are bouquets in the windowsill, along the back counter. From her work, Raven, Lincoln. "You do, yes."
"Is this one my favorite?"
"Orchid," Clarke says. "Is what they told me. Not your favorite. You like the color, though."
"Do I?" Lexa's face is guarded.
"Uh, yeah." Clarke sets them down on the small nightstand next to the bed. "You always-violets are your favourite. And dahlias. The purple ones."
"I see." Lexa runs her fingers through her hair, grimacing at the rough patches, shaved down.
"It'll grow," Clarke offers. "And-you've got a lot of hair, babe." It slips out; she's said it before, Lexa tucked into her and Clarke waking up with Lexa's messy curls in her mouth and up her nose, the way it frizzes in the humidity and makes Lexa cranky in the peak of summer.
Lexa blinks. "None of my exes called me babe."
"I know."
"Did you do it a lot?"
"Yeah, I guess." Clarke sits in one of the chairs dragged close to Lexa's bedside. "I never did it with any of my exes either, if it makes you feel better."
Lexa half-smiles. "I'm special?"
Clarke returns the smile, tremulously hopeful. "Yeah. You're special."
Lexa's eyes slide sideways-a tell that she's feeling off-footed and awkward, although she doesn't know Clarke is able to read it.
"I sent you carnations on Valentine's Day," Clarke volunteers. "Before we started dating. They had those flowergram things, at the student union? Pay fifteen bucks and they get anonymously sent with a chocolate and a custom message."
Lexa blinks, slow. "I remember that," she says, slow. "That was you?"
Clarke lights up. "Yes! I mean, yes, yeah. You remember?"
Lexa nods. "Yea. I thought-I remember texting Anya about it, about who it could be."
"It was impulsive," Clarke admits. "I hadn't really thought about asking you out. Wells asked me to buy three grams, for some associated student body fundraiser. One for Octavia, one for Bellamy, and you popped into my head. I didn't even know your last name, they had to search it up for me."
Raven raps her knuckles on the door. "Hey, lazy. You done napping?"
Lexa smiles. Clarke feels it twist, a knife between her ribs. The recognition in Lexa's face, the warmth. Something must show in her own expression, because Raven falters, a small vase of violets between her palms. "Hey," Clarke says quickly, as close to an apology as she's gonna get. "Come in. I'll uh, I'll grab us all some coffees, give you guys a minute."
Raven looks like she's going to argue, but Lexa speaks first. "Thank you, that sounds good."
Raven touches Clarke's arm lightly when they pass, a split second of comfort. Clarke lingers just outside the door, listening. "Anya's parking," Raven is teling Lexa. "Is it weird, me and her?"
"Anya is always weird," Lexa says. Clarke imagines her smile, the wryness of her sly teasing. "Was it odd?" she hears Lexa ask. "When you two moved in together, with me there still?"
Raven stutters her answer, clearly off-footed. "No-you, uh-you. You moved in with Clarke."
"Oh. Yes, of course." Clarke hears shifting, the whirr of the hospital bed adjusting. "Are those for me?"
"Yes," Raven responds, determinedly cheerful. "Your favorite. I can put them by the balloons? Who the fuck sent you balloons?"
"My employers. I have no idea if that's in character or not. But-can you put them over here? You can move the orchid."
"Clarke," a new voice says, quiet. Anya is standing just there, eyebrow slightly raised.
Clarke tries to muster the energy to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping and fails. She shrugs instead. "I'm coffee-bound," she says, and all the way to the elevator, through holding it open for a man with a quiet smile and a cane, reading the directory posted on the sliding doors, pressing the plastic button with the tip of her finger until it lights up-all she thinks about is her orchid, tucked behind balloons and moved out of Lexa's view, cast aside and forgotten.
/
Clarke has been standing in the cafeteria staring up at the menu for twenty minutes when Anya steps up to the counter next to her. "I got it," she says, and hands over enough money for two coffees. "You up to eating?"
Clarke takes the coffee. "Thanks. Did she ask for me?" She can't help the hopeful pleading cant of her voice, desperate and pathetic, and it makes her wince. Anya actually looks sorry for her.
"She asked when she can go home."
"I don't want to rush things." Clarke frowns. "Not until all her doctors agree. And she'll need to be back here for follow ups, more tests." She tosses her coffee, untouched, into a trashcan and starts rummaging through her purse for her phone. "I gotta get the house ready-fuck, laundry and food and she hates dust, it makes her sneeze-"
Anya's hand closes, gently, around Clarke's wrist, and Clarke goes quiet. Anya shook her hand when they met. They got roaring drunk on Lexa's orders after a year of dating and may have high-fived, Anya's fingers brushed hers when she wished Clarke good luck and handed her a drink at their housewarming, their shoulders bumped at Lexa's graduation when they stood and cheered. Three times, maybe four. And now maybe five times, Anya has touched her.
"She doesn't want to go to the apartment," Anya says, quiet and soft. "I'm taking her home with me."
/
Clarke shows up with the blanket she gave Lexa for Christmas two years ago and two bags of pad thai. Anya doesn't look surprised to see her. "Raven wanted to order Chinese. She owes me five bucks and an orgasm."
"Gross," Clarke says, and hands Anya a bottle of red wine.
Lexa is settled onto the couch in a pile of pillows, the television remote, a comically large mug of tea, and a vaguely irritated expression. "They won't let me get up," she says. "My legs are fine."
Raven's voice floats back from the bedroom. "The doctors said rest, bitch! Don't make me come out there with my cane again!"
Lexa sighs.
"I brought you some things," Clarke says, hefting up the blanket. "There's shirts inside, those socks you like."
Lexa smiles, distant and polite. "Thank you, Clarke."
"And uh, food." Anya appears, holding paper plates and utensils.
Lexa sighs. "I can make my own plate. I've been feeding myself since I was five."
"Shut up," Anya suggests. She piles noodles onto a plate, sticks a fork into it, and passes it along. "Think of it as a regression, except I don't care anymore if you drink milk every morning."
There's a spot on the couch, just next to Lexa. Clarke hesitates. She sits on the floor with her back against the reclining chair. Raven comes out of the hallway and flops into it, her foot poking the small of Clarke's back. "Feed me," she demands.
"Yes dear." Anya hands over another plate.
Raven shovels a forkful of noodles into her mouth. "Feed Clarke," she says, muffled through the bite.
"No."
Clarke rolls her eyes. "I can feed myself."
They settle into their spots, Anya flicking through the channels to find something they can all focus on instead of talking to each other. Clarke watches Lexa out of the corner of her eye: the way she's picking at her food, how sometimes she's watching Clarke back.
Raven shifts in her chair. "You had a big lunch," she offers.
"Yes," Lexa agrees, too quickly.
Clarke stands. "You don't like it," she says, more harshly than she intended. She softens it with a brittle smile. "Let me get you something else."
She goes into the kitchen and braces her hands on the sink, her plate tossed roughly into the trash. Lets her head dip between the bow of her shoulders and takes deep even breaths.
"I don't remember liking this," Lexa says, from behind her. Clarke can see her bare feet on the tile, the delicate bones and her skin a shade paler from socks and shoes. The flex of her toes as she shifts her weight. "I must have had Thai food before, but I don't-I just don't remember it."
Clarke stands up and busies herself with washing the few mugs left in the sink. "That's normal. Brain stuff, it's tricky." She takes a long time arranging the mugs in the drying rack. "You shouldn't eat it if you don't like it."
"It's not that you're not attractive," Lexa says, at the same time. She pauses. "It's not that you're not attractive," she repeats, while the awkwardness and unfamiliarity eats Clarke alive. "I mean, it's not…"
"It's not me it's you?"
Lexa ducks her head. "I know it sounds trite. But it's-" she steps closer, dropping her voice lower. "Do you know why I didn't join the army?"
Clarke blinks. "I didn't know you were considering the army."
Later, Clarke will think about this moment, on repeat, for four hours while she lays in bed. She'll think about how Lexa's face shuttered and how her eyes went blank, her smile distant and empty. She'll run scenarios on what she could have said instead, she'll strain to remember every second of the early days of their dating.
She'll dream about a lazy Sunday, sleeping in and sour kisses before they brush their teeth and coffee in their pajamas; dozing on the couch and bitching lazily about which television show to not watch while they fuck slow and lazy on the rug in the living room.
And she'll wake up and think the admission of one slice of something she never knew, that Lexa had ever wanted to join the army; that's when Clarke lost her.
/
Clarke opens the door. "Why are you here," she snaps.
Anya glares back. "Yeah, you're welcome. Glad to help." She shoves into the apartment, headed to the back bedroom.
"You know what I mean," Clarke mutters, trailing her. "Who's with Lexa?"
"Raven. She's trying to convince Lexa she loves Law and Order and kettle corn." Anya surveys the two duffel bags against the wall. "This everything?"
"It's temporary," Clarke says, a sharp edge working its way into her tone. "She won't need much."
Anya just looks at her. "Is it everything?"
Clarke deflates. "No, there's a toiletry bag. I'll get it."
Anya waits just outside the bathroom door. "I'm not jumping for joy about this. You might think I am." She shrugs. "I'd think it of me, too."
Clarke shifts on her feet. "We've never gotten along like-I mean, I don't have any siblings. So I guess I wouldn't know."
"Lexa isn't married," Anya notes. "So I don't have any sisters-in-law."
Clarke shoves the toiletry bag at her. "Great. Great fucking talk. Thanks a bunch."
Anya takes the bag. "I was getting used to the idea, though. And it's not-you guys have something. You did when you met and you did when you were together and I can't imagine it's gone just because a driver on a cellphone blew a red light."
Clarke holds the bag for an extra second before releasing. She's mine, she wants to say, jealous and possessive, her lizard brain. Lexa is mine. "We have a date tomorrow."
Anya shrugs. "If you say so."
/
Clarke picks Lexa up from Anya's like a teenager on a date. She smoothes her sundress on the front step. Anya opens the door and looks her up and down. "You pick that for her?"
"Obviously." It's a pretty blue that Clarke likes to think brings out her eyes. The first time she wore it for Lexa, it hit the floor in less than a minute of her exiting the bedroom and twirling; they missed their brunch reservations.
Anya never really looks soft, but she looks a little less like she hates Clarke than she normally does. "She's just getting dressed." She looks awkward. "She changed five times," she offers. "So that's good, right?"
Clarke fidgets in the entryway. "And she's-I mean, how is-"
"The headaches are getting better." Anya flickers her eyes back towards the bedroom, then leans in to drop her voice to a murmur. "Her firm made some noise about the leave, but I shut it down."
"She's not remembering any of the law stuff either?"
Anya actually looks sorry for her. "It's coming back, quick even." She winces. "Not that quick. Sorry."
"Oh." Clarke coughs slightly. "No, that's good, that's really good."
"She used to read case studies in high school," Anya offers. "And law school texts in undergrad. I'm sure it's just a process."
"Right," Clarke agrees. "No, I know. Maybe after." Maybe after her job, then Lexa will remember that she sleeps on the right side of their bed and Clarke takes the left. And that she gets prissy when Clarke doesn't wake her up to kiss her hello, no matter how late Clarke gets back from the hospital even though she pretends she doesn't care.
"Hi." Lexa is dressed sharply casual, iron crisp pleats in her button shirt and slacks. A plain clip holds her hair out of her face.
Clarke can feel her face go soft. "Hey." They both grope for something else to say.
"Hello," Anya adds. Lexa elbows her.
/
It's a pleasant day, the sun high overhead but a rifling cooling breeze keeping it from being unbearably warm. The path up to the botanical gardens ticket booth is lined with big leafy trees, casting dapple shadows. They'd exchanged chitchat in the car on the way over: Lexa is hoping to return to work in two weeks, Clarke is scheduled for her first shift back the day after next. Anya's couch is uncomfortable and Clarke needs to buy new sneakers.
"I can buy my own ticket," Lexa says, breaking the odd silence. She starts to reach into her pocket.
Clarke rummages in her purse. "You're a member." She hands Lexa her membership card. There's a red ribbon tied around it. "It's not really a gift-I mean. I gave it to you last year."
Lexa takes it, looking at her picture and her name printed underneath. "For my birthday?"
Clarke adjusts her purse back onto her shoulder. "Our anniversary."
"Oh." Lexa clears her throat, quiet. "I'll wait with you in line."
"This way to the roses," Clarke says, steering them along a path.
Lexa frowns slightly. "Roses are-"
"Your least favorite. So you go there first."
There's a beat of silence. "If you say so."
Clarke's arms are tucked around her chest, keeping herself contained. They walk and look at the roses. "Where do I go next?" Lexa asks, an odd edge to her voice.
Clarke digs a folded map out of her pocket. "I think people have been telling you what you do since you woke up. Me included. So-" she offers the map. "Why don't you tell me?"
Lexa takes the map. She studies it for a moment and then smiles at Clarke just like she did on their first date, barely there and quietly steady and making Clarke's heart flip in her chest. "Tulips."
Clarke's arms relax, resting by her sides. "Tulips," she agrees.
/
Clarke starts sneezing in the bluebell patch. "It's fine," she says, waving away Lexa's semi-concerned look. She retrieves a travel sized pack of tissues from her purse. "I came prepared."
By the time they've exhausted small talk on what movies are opening that weekend and Anya's resistance to vegetable based meals, Clarke's eyes are constantly tearing and her nose is bright red. The carnations are bright and lovely and the succulents are strikingly green and flowering and Clarke sneezes six times in a row into her elbow in front of the rare orchids.
"Clarke," Lexa says, almost smiling. "Why did you take me here."
"I love flowers," Clarke says, weakly and thick through her mucus. "They're so..." she sneezes another four times. "... pollenated."
Lexa steers them towards the exit. "Do you usually lie to me? Is it a cornerstone of our relationship?"
Clarke grins, rueful. "I-we came here, on our first date. It's why I gave you the membership for our anniversary."
Lexa is quiet for a beat. When she's speaks it's a little hesitant. "You haven't-we haven't talked, about how we started dating."
Clarke hums, acknowledging. "We were friends first."
"I remember you," Lexa admits, making Clarke's stomach jolt. "I mean, I remember you being in class with me."
"Media studies," Clarke says. "The only two seniors in a first year gen-ed."
"Anya recommended it," Lexa remembers. "An easy A before I went to law school."
"To fill a hole in my schedule, before med school." Clarke wipes her nose again. "Raven gave me the idea, after we had coffee a few times. Said you kept flowers on the windowsill in your dorm room your junior year. So I asked if you wanted to go out with me, on a real date. And I took you here."
They slow to a stop, Lexa leaning on the fence railing in front of a field of flowers Clarke doesn't recognize. "And you're taking me here now."
"This is when I knew," Clarke admits. Lexa tilts her head, encouraging, and Clarke clears her throat. "You wore this-it was in the spring, just before summer. May, I think. Just before graduation. You wore a ribbon in your hair."
"It's fall now," Lexa points out. "We're lucky there's any blooms at all."
Clarke shakes her head. "It had to be here. As soon as I asked you-" on the phone alone in the apartment they used to share, Lexa crashing with Anya and Clarke falling asleep on the couch because the bed is so big and empty and lonely without Lexa and the pillow still smelled like Lexa's shampoo. "As soon as I asked you, I knew it should be here."
"This is when you knew?"
Clarke looks out on the field of green growing things under the bright blue sky, not a cloud in sight. "We came here-and I didn't take any meds, so imagine the state of my nose then-and walked through every exhibit talking. And in the gift shop you touched a flower." Clarke smiles, distant and lost in the past. "I don't know which one, I'm terrible at knowing them. But you touched it and you closed your eyes."
She remembers it, Lexa's long fingers gently cradling the petal, the way her eyelashes fluttered on her cheek and the gentle rise of her chest when she inhaled. "And you looked at me, after. And you smiled. And I..."
Lexa is watching her, eyes shadowed and guarded. "And you knew?"
Knew I loved you, is what's on the tip of Clarke's tongue. A semester of sitting in the same room with you, a semester of Raven rolling her eyes because I was crushing on her old roommate. A month of friendship and one date, and I knew I wanted you. Knew you could be forever. "I knew."
Lexa looks out at the gardens, the buzz of the chatter around them-families and couples and people out strolling and smiling and it's all so mundane for the cracking Clarke feels in her heart. "I'm sorry, Clarke, but I don't know. I don't remember... this." She meets Clarke's gaze, her eyes oddly opaque. Her sunglasses slide on and break the moment. "I don't remember loving you."
/
Clarke drives her back to Anya's. "We could, uh. We could go back to our-to my place. I could make lunch."
"I'm tired," Lexa says, the first words she's spoken since she did up her seatbelt in the parking lot of the botanical gardens and looked out the window so Clarke could fight not to cry without an audience.
"You should rest," Clarke agrees. "Maybe. Maybe I could take you to dinner? Not tonight, I mean. Tomorrow or… or even later this week?"
Lexa is quiet for a moment. She taps her nails on the car door's armrest. "I think. I'd like to come get the rest of my things."
Clarke concentrates on breathing, just the way her eighth grade therapist taught her after her first panic attack, in science class the first day back after her father's funeral. In through her nose and out through very gently parted lips and thinking about the way she feels her chest lift and her diaphragm fill. "Alright."
"I'll text you?"
During their housewarming party, Clarke had thought about how her father would never meet Lexa, never make his stupid jokes or embarrass Clarke with childhood stories or share a beer with Lexa on the porch of the house they might buy. Never walk Clarke down the aisle or hold a grandchild. Lexa found her gasping in their bathroom and kissed her; her exhale slipped between Clarke's lips and filled her gasping chest. "My phone's always on."
/
Raven shows up at Clarke's door with a six pack. "We're not in college anymore," she says, when Clarke opens the door. "So it's six IPAs, not twelve Natty Ices."
Clarke lets her in. "Anya told you?"
"Mm. Octavia is working, or she'd be here, too."
Clarke waves a hand towards the kitchen. "You know where the bottle opener is."
Raven snorts. "Some of us are still working on post-docs. These are twist offs." She puts the case on the table and uncaps one before passing it to Clarke. She blinks at the blank television. "You're not watching the food network?"
"I'm not crying," Clarke says, taking a long pull. "So I don't need Ina."
Raven uncaps a beer of her own and sips, frowning. "So you're not crying, you're not watching feel good tv…"
"I'm packing."
Raven follows her down the hall to the bedroom. "You're packing."
Clarke tapes another cardboard box together. "Yes," she says, teeth ripping the packing tape off. "I'm packing."
Raven looks around the room. "Holy shit, you really are." She nudges her foot against one of a long line and pile of haphazard boxes, each stuffed to the brim with no rhyme or reason or organization. "This is… all Lexa's?"
"No." Clarke doesn't look up from where she's rolling up sheets and stuffing them into a fresh box. She waves a hand towards the opposite wall, where a neater smaller stack of boxes sits. "Those are. She, uh-" Clarke drags her hair back into a messy ponytail, missing half the strands. "She's a minimalist. I mean, that's what I used to tease her about. I bought her that stupid book, the one about purging your belongings."
Raven snorts. "And how did she take that?"
Clarke's hands pause. Her smile is a little rueful, a little wan, entirely subconscious. "She lectured me on classism."
"Okay." Raven is next to her now; Clarke's not sure when it happened, but her hand is warm and still on Clarke's shoulder. "Okay, Clarke. C'mon. Let's move her stuff into my truck. I'll text Anya we're headed over, you and me can do beer and bitching and Chinese some other night."
"Yeah. Oh, hold on, one more thing." Clarke crosses to the dresser. "I forgot, she keeps her old sweats. She pretends she's going to throw them out, but she likes them when she feels shitty." She kneels, tugging the drawer open. "I'll just toss them in the cab, the boxes are already sealed."
"I'll take them," Raven says, holding out her hands. "Light things are the cripple's burden."
Clarke goes to hand her the stack: two pairs of sweatpants and a threadbare hoodie. A pair of socks, balled up, thumps onto her foot and bounces, tumbling and rolling under the bed. "Shit. Take that out to your truck? And the first two boxes on top, by the door. Those are all clothes and toiletries, not heavy. I'll carry the books and kitchenware."
"Kitchenware? Clarke…"
"It's half hers," Clarke snaps. "We bought it together, we took turns cooking, she's the one who knew you can't scrape metal on the nonstick pans, okay?" She takes a deep breath. "It's half hers."
"Okay." Clarke takes another few breaths, eyes closed and face tipped up. She hears Raven leave, the click of her propping the front door open. "Christ."
She goes to her hands and knees, and then belly, reaching under the bed and fishing out the socks. There's an odd weight to them; they're Lexa's, her gym socks, and Clarke frowns while she stands. It's not like Lexa not to have them in the regular drawer. When she unballs them and flaps them out a small black box falls from the toe, bouncing on the mattress.
Her hearing dulls into a fluctuating whine, a dull roar of pitched white noise.
"Hey," Raven calls from the front of the apartment. "Are you going to help or what?"
Clarke looks at the ring in her hand. She can't remember taking it out of the box, or even opening it, but she must have because it's sitting in the center of her palm. It's smooth and plain, grey but feels heavier and less delicate than silver. No stone but Clarke thinks Lexa knows she'd rather have something that doesn't catch on her clothes or equipment. It's slim too, and in the box underneath there's a safety pin made of something sturdier than cheap thin metal and shining like it's expensive, so Clarke can pin it to the inside of her scrub top when she's at work.
"Clarke?" Raven appears at the doorway. "What're are you-" She draws up short, taking in the scene.
"There were socks," Clarke says, hollow and flat. "Under the bed."
Raven approaches her slow, knees slightly bent, arms outstretched. Clarke watches her, almost bemused. "I'm upset, not a wild animal."
"Yeah well. They don't cover this in engineering school, so forgive me being slightly awkward." Raven straightens, sighing. "This sucks, okay? I'm sorry and I can't fix it, but I am sorry. Is there something I can do?"
Clarke feels like she's having an out of body experience. "There's an inscription." She turns it in her fingers, extending it slightly so Raven can almost see. On the inside of the band, in small plain font. The date of their anniversary. The entire ring is at once overwhelmingly romantic and undeniably plainly functional. It's so very Lexa. It's perfect.
Raven takes it from her, slow easy careful. "It's…"
"She's moving out." For real moving out, not just crashing with Anya for a few days.
"I know."
Clarke sits on the bed. The receipt is crumpled in her fingers. Lexa always kept all the receipts. Clarke crumples them up and tosses them in the backseat of her car, Lexa keeps them in file folders organized by date. Kept them in file folders organized by date. "-included the receipt," she's telling Raven. "In case I didn't like it, wanted it altered or exchanged." The date on the receipt is for a month before the accident, maybe a little bit more.
Raven sits next to her. "Would you have?" She turns the ring over in her fingers, drawing Clarke's gaze to it. "Wanted it altered or exchanged?"
"No," Clarke says quietly. "It's perfect." Raven puts it back in the box and Clarke shuts it with a neat dull thump. "Last month she bought me a ring. And today she's moving out."