36 Months Ago

It's July 2010, and Clarke Griffin is just about to start her twelfth year at her high school. Everything has been running well thus far; she gets along with everyone in her year, her Facebook page for her art has just hit 1,000 likes, prospects for the school she wants to go to are looking bright, and her grades are very, very high. "Smooth sailing," as she calls it.

Right now, her and her best friend, Lexa Woods, are going on their last bike-ride of the summer break down to Valley Lake. This summer has consisted of hardly anything but bike-rides, smoking pot, painting, and going to the occasional party or two. Clarke can hardly complain, but she's ready to go back to school and finally work towards graduating. Lexa is not doing badly for herself, either - already one of the most talented young violinists in their city, she has scholarships lined up and ready for her for when she graduates. "It's pretty alright," as she calls it.

Clarke sparks up a joint the minute they get there, sitting cross-legged near the water. Lexa leans her bike up against a tree and sits next to her, reaching for the joint once she takes a hit and takes a drag of it, herself.

"Year twelve," Clarke murmurs, blowing smoke out into the air. Whatever strain Clarke has bought must be strong, because she can already feel the familiar, pleasant light-headedness. "Think it'll be horrendously difficult?"

Lexa shakes her head. "We've been keeping up fairly well, haven't we?"

"I guess."

Clarke sees Lexa glance at her through her peripheral view, and she knows that Lexa is not convinced. It's always been an issue with them - there are never any secrets when it comes to emotions between the two of them.

Lexa speaks. "What's on your mind?"

Clarke shrugs, holding smoke in her lungs for a longer period than usual, then exhales deeply. "I don't know. I'm worried for post-graduation. And success. Whatever it is that entails."

Lexa leans back on her hands, watching Clarke speak. "I understand. But you'll be fine. You're going to be a famous artist."

Smiling sheepishly, Clarke passes the joint back to Lexa. "You really think so?"

"Tell you what," Lexa says, "If you aren't famous by the time you're twenty, I'll plug your art when I'm a famous violinist, and playing in the Philharmonic, or something."

Clarke snorts, looking out to the water. "And if I am famous?"

"You plug my violin artistry to all of your adoring fans." Lexa puts out the joint, placing the last half into a Ziploc bag and laying it on the ground beside her.

Clarke gently poke Lexa's side, causing her to jump in surprise.

"Ah! Wha –"

"Lexa Woods," Clarke says, a mischievous grin on her face as she reaches to start tickling Lexa, "Next on Oprah, we've got America's fiddle-playing sweetheart performing a song for us. Cue the cheering fans. The fanfare. Indoor fireworks."

Lexa starts to giggle uncontrollably. She seizes Clarke's arms, trying to get them away from her, but Clarke is relentless. "Please! Stop!"

"How does it feel to be famous, Lexa?" Clarke continues, and the two end up wrestling in the grass, Lexa starting to go red with laughter, Clarke chuckling away at the torture of it all. "When are you playing a solo next? Is it true that you're dating James McAvoy? Wouldn't you say he's a bit too old for you?"

"I yield!" Lexa yells, rolling away from Clarke. "I yield!"

Maybe it's the weed, maybe they're stressed silly about school starting again, but the two can't stop laughing, both on their backs, holding their stomachs. Clarke is incredibly pleased with the development of their friendship in just two years – her and Lexa had met halfway through their tenth year, when Lexa had just transferred schools. They've been inseparable ever since. It would be impossible to find one without the other.

Lexa rolls to face Clarke, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm a little insulted," she says breathlessly, "James McAvoy? Really? He's so old."

"He has…nice eyes," Clarke says, positioning herself so that she's facing Lexa. "I dunno. It was the first name that came to mind."

"Either way, he's almost thirty."

"Age is but a number."

"You're full of it."

"You love me." Clarke smirks.

"I guess."

The banter slows down, and through the haze of what they've just smoked, a flash of something goes through Clarke's mind. She grins, lightly placing a hand on Lexa's cheek.

Lexa furrows a brow. "Clarke?"

"Can I try something?"

"Erm. Try what?"

Clarke's eyes move to gaze at Lexa's lips, aware of every movement she makes, but at the same time, feeling as if she has lost all control of her actions. This is what I want right now.

She slowly starts to move forward, but Lexa backs away at the last second, right when Clarke's lips have started to brush against hers.

"How high are you?" she says, laughing nervously and sitting up.

Clarke's lips feel like they're burning from where they touched Lexa's lips. Must be the weed. She lies there for a few seconds, rolling on to her back and focusing on the sky, trying hard to suppress the disappointment brewing in her stomach.

"Pretty high," she says breezily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Shall we go back?"

Lexa simply stares at Clarke, trying to process what's just happened, but her mind is too far up in the cloud for her to form any logical lines of thought. She still feels a little silly, still giggly, and she nods. "Sure."

It's not much.

But it's where it all begins.

31 Months Ago

The second time it almost happens, months later, it happens.

It's at Wells's Christmas party, and they're both shittered from the punch and in the bathroom together. It's around one in the morning. Clarke's realizing how drunk she is as she relieves herself on the toilet, and Lexa has made herself comfortable in Wells's bathtub.

The past few weeks of school had been stressful – they'd already been assigned huge papers, homework assignments, and projects. The idleness of winter break is a welcome embrace for both of the girls.

As for Clarke and Lexa, things have been more or less the same.

More or less.

There have been more casual brushes of hands than normal, more kisses on the cheek that are a little too close to lips, more held gazes from across the room; something has changed between the two of them, and Clarke has spent the past few months desperate to act on this.

"Do you think we've all actually been reincarnated?" Lexa squints up at the showerhead.

"If we were, I bet I was, like, Van Gogh in an earlier life." Clarke finishes up on the toilet and moves to wash her hands. "And you were Mozart."

"That doesn't make sense," Lexa huffs, squeezing a squeaky duck sitting on the bathtub ledge. "You're already an artist, and I'm already a violinist. I don't think people could be reincarnated into people who were already the person that they were before they died. Also, is Mozart really the only violinist you know? You're so musically uncultured, it actually kills me."

"Uh, there's Beethoven…and Bach…and, ah…" Clarke shakes her head, drying her hands off on a towel. "Get out of the tub, Lexa. Since when do you know all about reincarnation?"

"How funny would it be if you were Joseph Stalin in another life?" Lexa says, starting to giggle.

Clarke rolls her eyes, placing a hand on her hip. "Please."

"Moustache and all."

"You've been studying for history a tad too much."

"No such thing, Sir Stalin."

None of this is actually funny from a sober perspective, but the whole show of Drunk Lexa is funny in itself, and Clarke can't help but laugh.

Lexa fumbles her way into a standing position, and starts to make her way out of the tub, but stumbles once she's out. Clarke moves quickly to steady her friend, and the two stand there, staring at each other.

Clarke is still holding Lexa's arms.

Lexa swallows nervously, eyes nervously flitting from Clarke's eyes to her lips.

The tension is palpable, and Clarke doesn't know if she can stand it any further.

Lexa is the first to break the silence. "Clarke –"

Clarke silences her by pressing her lips against Lexa's, moving her hands from Lexa's arms down to her waist. It takes Lexa a second, but her hands are immediately on either side of Clarke's face, kissing her back, hard. Clarke feels a rush of heat move through her body as she pushes Lexa back against the wall. She is about to take it a step further, moving her right hand slightly underneath the hem of Lexa's shirt, and Lexa breathes in sharply at the sensation, moving her hand on Clarke's face further back to take hold in her hair –

Then someone is knocking on the door.

The two girls jump apart, looking at the source of the sound, then at each other.

"Hey! I need to pee!" Patrick's voice sounds from outside. "Hurry up!"

Lexa clears her throat, smoothing down her shirt, and Clarke runs a hand through her now-rumpled hair before opening the door. Patrick's hand is in a mid-knocking position, and he drunkenly pushes past Clarke and Lexa.

"Took you long enough," he grumbles, "What is it with girls and going to the bathroom together? Why does that happen?"

Clarke shrugs, leaving the bathroom, and Lexa follows. "Trolls, you know? Bathroom trolls?"

"Whatever. Dave's starting a game of sociables out in the living room," Patrick says before closing the door, hiccoughing. "And Wells is hosting a beer pong tourney."

"Thanks, Patrick, but I think I'm heading home, soon," Clarke says. Patrick shrugs, and closes the door behind him.

The girls stand in the dark hallway in silence. Lexa turns to Clarke. Clarke still feels like her heart is swelling up a little from their - exchange - just now.

"I'm not gay."

Clarke raises an eyebrow. She's drunk, but not drunk enough to not see the slight fear and confusion in her best friend's eyes. "Okay."

"I'm not!"

"Okay!" Clarke raises both of her hands. "It doesn't have to happen again. Whatever."

Lexa pauses. "I mean –"

Clarke groans, not quite having the patience for her friend's indecisiveness at the moment. If she's being honest to herself, she's willing to take Lexa into the bedroom on their right hand side and continue where they left off, but she knows that's a mistake. That kiss was a huge mistake. Lexa is very obviously panicking a little, and Clarke doesn't want to be the source of that. They can figure it out later. Or never.

Preferably never.

"Right. Let's go play a round of beer pong and head home." Clarke extends a hand to Lexa, and Lexa shrugs, taking it.

"I'm pretty drunk right now. I could probably kiss lots of other people. It's what drunk people do," Lexa adds.

"Sure, Lex," Clarke says, making her way out to the beer pong table. "Whatever you say."

25 Months Ago

This goes on for weeks. Months. Every time the two girls get drunk, they end up pressed tightly against each other, hands running down each other's backs – a tangle of inebriated passion. Mouths melding against each other as if they've been doing this for years. Holding each other until they aren't sure whose body is whose, anymore.

They never get very far, though - Clarke is too afraid to take things any further than stray hands up shirts, in fear of Lexa pulling back, and Lexa -

Well, Lexa is just afraid. She never initiates any of their kisses, but freely goes with it whenever Clarke does initiate things. Clarke frequently asks"Is this okay? Is this okay? Is this okay?". Lexa says "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."

Then they see each other at school the next day, and pretend that nothing's happened the night before. Clarke pretends that she didn't spend all of last night wishing she could lock herself and Lexa in a bedroom, and Lexa pretends that she's still just a straight girl having fun with her best friend. "I was so drunk last night" is a common phrase shared between the two of them.

But both of them wonder. Lexa begins to realize that she's never really been attracted to a man before. Clarke begins to realize that she's never wanted to kiss anyone as much as she constantly wants to kiss Lexa. But neither of them speak about it. They go about their days as normal. Lexa goes to Clarke's house and watches her paint. Clarke goes to Lexa's house and watches her compose music and practice her violin. Everything is normal.

Normal being used in the loosest form possible. Normal being completely not normal but we're trying really hard to pretend. Normal being Clarke lying in her bed, wondering why Lexa wouldn't acknowledge what's been happening between the two of them, thinking of their drunken nights together (often letting her imagination run wild and continue what Clarke would never continue in real life).

It's summer again, and the year is coming to a close. Clarke is sitting on the swings with Wells. It's finally warm enough to be able to wear shorts and a t-shirt in the evening.

"Okay, so let me get this straight." Wells says. "You're not."

Clarke's about to hop off her swing and punch Wells for that one, but she just snorts. "I guess not."

"So, like, you're bisexual? Does that mean you're into the threesome life, now?"

Clarke glares over at Wells - she loves him dearly, like a brother, but he's acting like a really dense straight boy right now. "It doesn't work like that. I just like girls in the same way I like guys. That doesn't mean I want to do both of them at once. God."

"Sorry, sorry. How did you - I mean, how did you figure it out? Like, did you see a photo of Megan Fox one day and you kind of went "woo-hoo"? Or?"

"Jesus, Wells!"

"What! I'm new to this."

Clarke is mostly grateful that her best friend is cool with it all, cool enough with it to crack dumb jokes like the ones he's cracking right now, but she's still a little exasperated. "I don't know. I just kind of realized that I wanted to kiss girls as much as I want to kiss boys."

"What girl? Lexa?"

She almost falls off of her swing. "What?" she splutters, her face going bright red. "No. She's my best friend - along with you, of course - and if you're implying that every girl who likes girls is into their female best friend -"

"Calm down, I'm not. All I'm saying is that you and her mysteriously disappear during parties and re-emerge looking a little ruffled up."

Alarmed, Clarke turns her head to Wells. "Have people noticed? Lexa doesn't want people to notice -"

"No, but I have. Like you said, we're best friends. It's a little hard to not notice when your beer pong partner never is around to play beer pong anymore."

Clarke runs a hand through her hair. "Sorry. I don't know what's up with her. I'm - I'm trying to figure it out. It's fine, though. We just fool around sometimes. No big deal."

"You got far too taken aback for it to not be a big deal."

"It's not a big deal."

"It's okay if it's a big deal. But I'd suggest dealing with the big deal before your feelings get out of hand, as they always do."

Wells is right, but Clarke would never admit that.

The first time Lexa initiates things is when they're at Clarke's home, alone, after their last high school party, ever. Clarke's mother is on a flight back from a doctor's conference, and won't be back until very, very early the next morning.

Clarke initiates the kiss.

Lexa? She initiates everything else.

The year end party was boisterous, fun, drunk, everything that a year-end party could possibly have been. Clarke and Lexa remained inseparable, getting their asses kicked in beer pong, speaking to their mutual friends together, Lexa with a hand possessively around Clarke's waist, Clarke sitting on Lexa's lap on the couch as they laughed with Wells about a few of the ridiculous antics that the graduating class had been up to all year.

Now, Clarke and Lexa usually left parties together, but always when it was dwindling down, when everyone was saying goodbye, goodnight - this time, they left early. Lexa had come up to Clarke as she poured herself another drink, pressed herself against Clarke's back, and whispered -

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Clarke had almost dropped her drink with the surprise of it all, already feeling the heat coming back and spreading all throughout her body, feeling her ears turn slightly red. "Uh, sure," she mumbled, taking a sip of her drink and placing it down on the counter. Someone will finish it off for her later.

By "out of here," Clarke was thinking out of the living room and into the bathroom somewhere, but Lexa was putting her shoes on (and having a little trouble with it in her current state) at the front door. Clarke, dumbfounded, followed her lead, and Lexa grabbed Clarke's hand and led them outside.

Clarke lives less than a five minutes walk away from Wells's house, and when they get there (after walking in complete silence), Clarke unlocks the door, kicking her shoes off as Lexa does, and follows her up the stairs. Her heart is pounding.

Lexa doesn't bother turning the lights on in Clarke's room, and Clarke shuts the door behind her, flopping on her back onto her bed. Her ears are ringing, and she's not entirely sure if it's from the booze, or from the adrenaline threatening to have her heart beat out of her chest.

"That was a fun party." Lexa's voice sounds from the foot of Clarke's bed, and Clarke sees the shadowed figure of her friend standing uneasily before her.

"Yeah," Clarke says awkwardly.

"Daniel asked if we were together. Isn't that funny?"

Clarke swallows. "Yeah. Funny."

"I mean, I'm not gay, but if I were, I think we'd be really, really compatible, Clarke," Lexa continues, still standing. "You're a fantastic kisser. I'm sure you're fantastic in other things in that department."

Clarke knows, she just knows that this is trouble waiting to happen, that she should tell Lexa to go to bed, sober up, not allow anything further to happen - but Clarke is the last person she would ever call the patron saint of self control when it comes to Lexa Woods.

"Come here," she whispers hoarsely, "Please."

She watches Lexa's dark figure as she slowly leans forward, crawling onto the bed and over Clarke's body - literally crawling, which is pretty much the sexiest thing Clarke has ever seen, and only after a moment's hesitation, Lexa moves forward in a near-bruising kiss. Clarke already feels a moan pushing its way up her throat as they kiss, open-mouthed and wet with Lexa's tongue running along the tip of Clarke's, Lexa between Clarke's legs and pushing her hips into her, and Clarke feels like she is about to burst at the seams as the warmth in her body pools in between her legs, her hands firmly gripping the back of Lexa's neck.

But Clarke will not allow herself to take it any further - not until Lexa does. The thought of it makes her want to squirm because she wants Lexa she wants Lexa right now, but she has to know that Lexa wants Clarke, too.

Thankfully, the wait is not long. She feels Lexa's lithe fingers, still a little cold from outside, make their way up Clarke's shirt, fingertips brushing against the outline of Clarke's bra.

Lexa pulls away from Clarke's lips for a moment, stopping her movements. "Is this -"

"Yes," Clarke breathes. A thousand times yes. As many "yes"es it would take for Lexa to understand how okay this is. She sees the dark figure of Lexa nod and moans, deep inside of her throat, when Lexa's fingers move underneath Clarke's bra, brushing against her nipple. Lexa moves to place her lips in Clarke's neck, sucking until it leaves a bruise, and soothing the ache with her tongue, and Clarke is beginning to see stars underneath her closed eyes.

She brings her hands up and underneath Lexa's shirt, and Lexa pushes off of Clarke to straddle her, crossing her arms around her front to take the shirt off, and reaches for Clarke to do the same. Clarke cannot believe that this is happening. If this is a dream, she hopes that she does not wake up soon. She takes off her shirt, reaching up and around Lexa's back to unclasp her bra expertly, and it slides down Lexa's arm. Clothes continue to get shucked off of Clarke's bed, and soon they are left wearing nothing but their panties.

Neither of them have enough time to think about what they are doing as they are back to kissing each other with fervor, touching every inch of bare skin that they can get to, letting out moans and low-voiced "fuck"s and their breathing growing heavy to the point where Clarke thinks she might pass out.

Lexa is the first to slowly start to lower her hand down to Clarke's hips, running her fingers along the fabric of her underwear. Clarke moves her hips up as an encouragement - yes, this is okay - and Lexa moves off of Clarke's body to slide the fabric down Clarke's legs. Clarke rises, taking Lexa by the waist, and whirls them around so that she is on top, and Lexa's underwear comes off soon after. Clarke settles herself in between Lexa's legs this time, and she feels Lexa's wetness on her stomach. She is already close to the edge.

"You're wet," she murmurs, moving to attach her lips to Lexa's breasts, running her tongue over Lexa's nipple.

"I - oh -"

Clarke pushes into Lexa's centre, and Lexa's breath catches in her throat. Clarke smirks and continues to press herself against Lexa, moving up to kiss her again.

She's never done this before, but it feels - good. They fumble a little, awkward at times, but they know each others bodies, and their own.

"Can I - can I go down on you, Lexa?" Clarke murmurs, and through the darkness, Clarke sees Lexa bite her lip and nod.

"Yes. Please."

Clarke nods at this, and slowly starts to trail wet kisses down the length of Lexa's toned body, careful to be slow.

She has slept with boys before, and they have gone down on her, but never has it been satisfying. Clarke uses this knowledge, with the knowledge of the things she does to herself, and slowly moves her tongue along the length of Lexa's slit, moaning at the taste and the wetness she finds. Lexa shudders, letting out a sharp cry, fingers gripping in Clarke's blonde hair. Clarke latches her lips on to Lexa's bundle of nerves, beginning to run her tongue along it, gripping Lexa's thighs as Lexa's breathing grows more and more erratic, her legs starting to shake. Clarke keeps going. As long as it takes for Lexa to reach. She doesn't care how long it takes.

And it doesn't take long.

"Oh. Fuck. Clarke - fuck!"

Lexa climaxes and Clarke almost does just by listening to her cry out her name, tug on her hair as she arches her back, and when Clarke lifts her head, Lexa's sweat-slicked chest is heaving, her eyes still screwed shut, and Clarke takes the moment to wipe her mouth off on the side of her arm, laying down beside Lexa, her breathing just as uneven. She feels her heart swell again, this time with happiness instead of anxiety, and she thinks that this could be the beginning of something great between the two of them. Something Clarke has been waiting for all year.

Without warning, Lexa is on top of Clarke in an instant.

"My turn," she breathes.

Maybe this is something better than what Clarke expected.

Clarke wakes up and stretches, feeling a pleasant kind of soreness in her muscles. She looks over at the clock to see that it's near ten, and looks over to see that Lexa is not there beside her.

She feels slightly panicked, but the panic subsides when she hears someone moving about in the kitchen. Letting out a yawn, she gets out of bed and puts on a pair of pyjama shorts and a t-shirt that's just a little too big for her (Lexa's shirt that she left here agesago), and proceeds to head down the stairs.

There's a faint smile on her lips as she moves. Last night was–well, last night was clumsy, and a little drunk–but last night was otherwise perfect. Clarke remembers Lexa burying her face in Clarke's shoulder before they fell asleep together, still a little sweaty, and still a little breathless.

Clarke is formulating the right words to say to Lexa- she knows that Lexa probably is feeling anxious about things - and she wonders if she's allowed to kiss her good morning today.

She turns the corner.

"Hi–"

It's not Lexa in the kitchen, but Abigail.

"Hi, Clarke!" she says, moving forward to hug her daughter hello. "I've made waffles, French toast, and some bacon. There's hot water for tea, if you'd like."

"Morning, mom, thanks," Clarke says, looking around the kitchen to see if maybe Lexa is sitting at the table - but she isn't. The panicked feeling she had felt before comes bubbling back up. "How was your conference? And, uh…have you seen Lexa?"

"The conference was good. Productive. Lexa? I actually saw her right as I got home, around five. She was just leaving. Does she have a new job, or something?" Abigail pours some of the hot water into her own mug. "She sounded like she was in a hurry, running down the stairs and all. Maybe she was late."

"Uh, no," Clarke says in a faint voice, feeling the panic start to wilt and her heart beginning to sink into her stomach and tears starting to well up in her eyes as she realizes what's happening. Clarke sits at the empty table. "I guess she's gone. Um, thanks for breakfast, but, uhm, I'm not all that hungry. I'm sorry."

"What? French toast is your favourite!" Abigail exclaims, turning to see that Clarke is almost in tears.

She quickly turns the stove off and puts her spatula down, racing over to kneel next to Clarke. "Clarke? What's wrong? What is it? Did you and Lexa have a fight?"

Clarke's tears flood over her eyes at that moment and buries her head in her hands, shaking her head. "No. It's–it's nothing," she mumbles, sniffling and looking up, giving her mother a watery smile. "Look, I just–I need to go upstairs. I'm sorry."

Abigail raises an eyebrow, but knows better than to bother Clarke any more about it. "Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

Clarke says a quick thank you and runs upstairs, throwing herself on her bed face-down and allowing the tears to completely take over.

Lexa is gone.

You've fucked it all up.

Big surprise, there.