Clarke has started working at a gas station to help pay for med school since she cut herself off from her mother. After the accident she had tried to stick around but she just didn't have the energy anymore. Not for dealing with everything and trying to do residency. So she left. A few months later O had followed but that was more chance than anything.
The first night she was working at the station this brunette with the greenest eyes and the sharpest jaw comes in and she was utterly infatuated from the moment she saw her. When she works on Wednesday the girl walks in again. And Friday. And those days every week after that. She buys two big bags of ice and one small one, every single time. Always chomping on red gum, sometimes lazily sometimes rolling it between her teeth, pressing the occasional bubble through her lips before snapping it back into her mouth. Her shoulders back but slouched a little like they are tired or it hurts to hold her back too straight. They probably are, dip shit.
Baggy sweats hang off the girl's slender hips crookedly higher on one hip. The number 2 on her right thigh, nike swoosh on the left. The waistband thick from being rolled once sometimes visible from a partially tucked in shirt. The backs of the cuff bunched over the heel of her shoes frayed from being stepped on and soaked with what ever form of god forsaken water decided to fall from the sky that day. Sometimes Clarke really hated Seattle, most of the time rain was that reason. The insides of the pants usually have a cut through the cuff so the material doesn't bunch too much over her shoe. The waistband of her shorts hardy visible under the hem of her t-shirt.
It doesn't matter. Different day. Same look. Sweats. T-shirt. Sometimes a hat. Never a headband. Her small silver necklace with a pendant sometimes in her shirt sometimes not. Same fucking gorgeous girl. Clarke has come to look forward to the brunette's stops. If nothing else she is nice to look at. Clarke has made up a game to try and come up with the girl's story. How her day went - usually she can't tell. Even with nearly nonexistent smiles, but smiles nonetheless, the girl offers seem emotionless-stoic almost. She is a wonder and Clarke can't figure out why.
It's been three weeks and the girl strides across the gas station toward her just the same. Hand reaching into her pocket for her card, to make sure it's there - she always checks both pockets for a moment and usually lingers her hand on whichever one it's in. Her phone sits tucked into the waistband of her pants but above her t-shirt even though she has pockets.
She has an unusual gait. Long strides. Because long legs, holy shit. Slight bounce in her knees and on the balls of her feet. It's fluid and confident with a small rigid element similar to her boss's but some days is a little stiffened by what Clarke assumes are aching quads and burning hamstrings. Tight glutes. There's a slight hitch in the bounce of her right leg at her knee and hip, a ghost of a limp that's worse some days than others.
The girl's even voice plays in her mind with the faint shadow of a southern accent before her most recent bubble is sucked back into her mouth. Two large bags of ice and a small one please. Ma'am. It's always Ma'am, though Clarke has a name tag and she's pretty sure this girl - woman - whatever - is older than she is. "Two large bags of ice and a small one please. Ma'am." A soft smile plays at the right corner of her mouth, slightly scrunching her cheek up on it's high bone just below her glowing green eyes framed by long black eyelashes.
Her hairline is wet, a stray drop of sweat drips down below her ear. Clarke marvels at the shirt speckled with damp spots as it clings to, from what she can tell, a fairly defined abdominal region - strictly from a medical perspective, of course. The outline of a wet sports bra starting to seep its way into what was probably a fresh shirt. The buttons click below Clarke's fingertips before she turns to the girl returning her soft smile with a much less lopsided one. "That'll be seven dollars fifty seven cents. Will that be all tonight?"
She dips her head forward quickly "Um, yeah." She says firmly yet a little past indecisive and swipes the card that had previously been taping on the counter in a now familiar rhythm through the machine. The back of the girls collar is scattered with a darker colored grey and the ends of her wavy ponytail look like they've been dipped in a pool. Loose bangs flop over her face as she tilts her head down to type in her pin. They are habitually huffed from her vision as she sticks her cracked bottom lip out to blow them up. Unsatisfied at the hair still sticking to her forehead and tickling her nose the green eyed beauty wipes them back with her hand as she proceeded to run it over the top of her head and wraps her thumb and forefinger around the surprisingly pink hair tie before running the circle down her long wavy ponytail to free it from her damp neck. As she flips it a little to the side she wipes lingering sweat from her neck and onto the thigh of her pants.
"Thanks." Two taps on the counter with the corner of her card before sliding it back into her pocket. Her scar littered forearm flexes as the card hits the counter. She checks the military style watch on her left wrist before looking back at the cashier. "Havea'goodone." It seems sincere and Clarke gets a feeling that this girl of few words and a lopsided smirk of a smile means what she says. The run together greeting paired with a more even smile that lifts her eyebrows just enough always does weird things to Clarke's stomach. Calm your shit Griffin. For fuck's sake.
She watches the girl walk out, shoulder blades pressing slightly together through her sweat spotted shirt, arch of the sports bra plain between them. She presses the door open slowly and her forearm flexes again just a little and she can see a small pull of the girls triceps just peeking out of the sleeves that have been shortened by the hasty bunching of them on top of the girls broad yet slight shoulders. An intricate tribal tattoo peeks out from under the same sleeve and frames her muscle nicely.
She opens her trunk up catching its swing at the top with her hand, usually she reaches in and moves something before walking back over to the coolers. She hugs two bags to her sides below flexed arms and tosses them in before returning to sling the third over her shoulder. That one is usually plopped down as she leans forward, some days pausing to rest her hands on the edge of the trunk gripping it so her forearms flex. Clarke can't help but wonder if she is in pain, it looks like she is exhausted most days. That was something the blonde understood. If Clarke is lucky the back of the girl's shirt pulls up revealing a dark patch of skin, probably another tattoo. Even if Clarke isn't so lucky she can't help but appreciate the pull of the girl's sweats against her butt.
God you're a creep. Let the girl buy her ice in peace. She never looks away though as she watches the girl drive off in her old little Lexus.
She returns on Friday. Tonight she's wearing a hat that small tufts of hair wave out from under by her ears. It's old and faded, what was once probably navy blue is a lighter grey blue though darker in some spots than others. The white front panel is crisp though and the letters match the faded nature of the rest of the hat. UNC Lacrosse. Her ponytail pulled through it just like it was last week and the week before.
It's unusual, the hat. Seattle is pretty much the farthest thing from North Carolina, and the girl has a basketball sticker on the back window of her car. Probably her boyfriend's - or brother's - or dad's - or something. Most likely boyfriend's. Honestly Clarke doesn't even mind the UNC hat the woman was so breathtaking but the Duke grad in her cringed, if only a little.
The girl isn't chomping down on her gum today though but chewing on the bottom inside corner of her left lip. The lopsided smile is only a tweak of her lip. Her shoulders slump only slightly more than usual and her limp seems less like a memory. She isn't in constant relaxed motion today either. Much less present. She doesn't talk as she steps up to the counter this time like usual. Clarke breaks the un-habitual moment's silence with an extra warm smile. She looks like she could use that today. "You know... One bag of each is probably enough. One more won't make the water any colder."
"What?" The girls usually bright eyes seem dimmer as they come back into focus from where they were zoned just past her head. She looks outside at the incredibly dark night sky. It's the first time it hasn't been precipitating for weeks but the girl doesn't seem to care the sun was finally shining today. She looks exhausted. Her eyes don't have that usual quiet intensity about them. Clarke thinks she might actually see bits of real emotions deep in the vast forest of green with little flecks of gold. "Oh, um.. Some of it melts when I add the water. It isn't that cold out of my faucet. How'd you know what the ice was for anyway?"
"Just a guess." She winks. You winked?! Seriously, Clarke!? "You look like the kind of girl who likes a good ice bath." What the hell kind of girl is that? One who walks stiff and and wears sweats and a not quite sweaty t-shirt in January.
"Yeah, something like that." The girl huffs in an almost-not quite smile. At least her eyes get a little brighter if only for a second. "Three bags please, two big one small. The usual." She almost sighs as she rests her hand on the counter after wiping her face. What is going on with Ice Girl? She ok? Don't you dare ask her, Clarke. It's none of your business.
She reaches up to swipe her card. Clarke just shakes her head slowly and puts her hand over the machine to block the card's path though the girl isn't looking at her. Which is also sitting weird in her chest. The green-eyed wonder usually doesn't break eye contact. "Don't worry about it. This one's on the house."
"Oh, um. Thanks." She rubs the back of her neck below her ponytail. A small tint of pink works its way to her tan freckled cheeks and the tops of her ears point out under the bottom of the hat. Clarke's heart jumps into her throat as her stomach does somersaults. Jesus, she's blushing. How fucking cute is she!?
"Don't mention it."
She dips her head in a nod and a much smaller version of that even smile works its way onto her face for a brief moment though Clarke can catch sadness in her eyes. "Havea'goodone."
"You too."
Clarke watches her leave again as she starts to grab her stuff. She has to be at the hospital so early tomorrow… she has a feeling 4 am is going to come pretty quickly. It's already almost 11 and her replacement isn't here yet. Screw it. She starts to walk from behind the register and back to the staff room where she sees her relief. Some scrawny guy named Harrison. He's nice from what she can tell. "See ya Monday."
"Yeah, see ya' Monday."
She doesn't sleep very well. She hopes Ice Girl gets some. Though for some reason she doubts that happens much for the green eyed beauty either.
The alarm goes off just as she feels her mind finally quiet. She grabs her phone from next to her pillow and swipes across the screen. My life sucks. She closes her eyes for just a moment only to be woken by her phone going off.
CALLER ID: Jackson "Jax" Geminson
10 text messages
Jax
Where are you?
Jax
Rounds start in 15 minutes.
Where the hell are you?
Jax
Clarke? You ok?
Call me.
SHIT! I fell back asleep. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Clarke picks up the phone right away. "Fuck. Sorry Jax. I'm on my way, stall for me."
"Yeah, yeah. Just be safe. See you soon."
Never in her life was she more thankful she lived less than five minutes from the hospital. She threw on a pair of clean - ok, cleanish- scrubs and tied her hair up in a bun on her way out the door. She popped a piece of gum in her mouth as she threw the car in drive thankful O had left it and let her boyfriend drive her to his house yesterday. However she would be gone today, not around to wake Clarke up if she overslept and she kinda needed that today. Today was a big day. She was supposed to have her first solo - checkup or exam or whatever. She just hoped she didn't screw it up.