"I told you, I can't do it more than twice", groans Raven as the puck falls back down with a sharp thud. "You do it."

Octavia arches a brow, gesturing towards herself. "Me? So you want me to show you the extent of my phantasmagorical talent?"

Raven seems to be holding back a fit of laughter. "I'm already surprised by the fact that you just said the word "phantasmagorical" without choking or biting off your tongue. And that you would hold such a word in your everyday vocabulary."

"Well, to me, it looks like Octavia's just scared of failure", Clarke declares matter-of-factly.

To which Octavia replies violently. "I am NOT! I'll show you right now." She picks up the puck with the tip of her stick, looking at it strangely and shyly like she expects it to grow a pair of wings and fly away. "How do you…" She gives it a quick shake, sending it swirling awkwardly in the air, a poor six or seven inches above the stick. The move consists of circling the puck with the tip of the stick, without hitting it of course, and then catching it on the blade. It sounds easy at first, especially after seeing Raven's successful attempt. But the trickiness is unveiled as soon as Octavia tries to catch the puck - it simply hits the edge of the blade and falls pathetically. "Awww come on! I thought it'd be heavy enough to land alright!"

It seems Raven's laugh cannot be contained anymore. "Yeah, why don't you tell it that, maybe it'll listen to you! Land, you stupid puck! Land!"

Clarke, never the big laugher, lets out a feeble sneer. "Why don't you take my stick, Octavia, maybe you'll be luckier."

She means to pass over her stick, obviously wider and flatter, as Octavia pulls a face. "Why don't you try with mine, Clarke, we'll see if you can manage."

Charlie swings by, pointing the opposite side of the ice.

"I swear, you bitches have been bickering for the last ten minutes, when Woods' been doing this behind you the whole time."

At once, they all turn around to watch Lexa literally juggling a puck, doing crazy flips and tricks and then shooting it, smirking as it travels from mid air to the net. Her next move is a small wave - proud, full of the knowledge that a third of the team has been watching her little circus in awe.

The sound of Charlie's reaction brings Clarke away from her thoughts. "Oof, that was smooth, I'll give her that," Langton says with a fake wounded expression.

Annoyance spreads in Clarke's entire body. "Well, it was both unnecessary and haughty."

Raven turns to her, surprised. "Huh? Did you just say she's a hotty?"

The remark contributes to making Clarke even more frustrated. "No! She's not! I said she's haugh-ty. Haugh. Ty."

"Sounds the exact same to me", Octavia points out. "Have you got something to tell us, Griffin? Involving… I don't know, checking out Woods' ass?"

"You know what I meant!" Clarke cries out as a last resort, sighting in annoyance. "God, now you won't leave me alone for the next five months."

"Oh, more than that."

"Yeah, we all have a good memory, never forget that."

Octavia snorts in laughter. "Ha, never forget that." Then she adds, noticing how three pair of eyes are now staring at her: "'Cause she said memory. You know…"

"O, please don't", Clarke strongly suggests, trying to play the exasperated card, yet unable to get rid of her small smile.

"This is getting weird", observes Raven. "I'm out of here." She calls a teammate for a pass and sprints away.

"I think we've traumatized the poor thing", says Charlie, shrugging away the awkwardness.

Clarke notices how a gang of about six girls has constructed itself like a human wall around Lexa. "She's playing with them. Poor Wayne, look at her face, it's like she just found her soon-to-be wife. She has that dumb smile Octavia had when she first met Lincoln."

The dark-haired wingman lets out a sharp cry of dismay. "Hey! For the record, he gave me Lindt chocolates on the first date. LINDT. Not the Dollar store crap, but LINDT, ladies and gentlemen."

"If only he knew that you'd marry chocolate in the blink of an eye", Clarke deplores. "Poor guy."

Clarke cannot tell if the murderous glare Octavia gives her is real or counterfeit, but one thing she knows is that Charlie believes it – and looks genuinely disturbed by it. "Christ, if you could see yourself, Blake. It's like you're trying to shit a sea urchin while maintaining a civilised conversation. Just chill out, okay?"

Octavia just nods, barely trying as she crosses her arms and lets out a huff. "You know what would make me like you again, Griff? If you went over to miss stick-in-the-ass and told her to stop fooling around and actually fucking practice."

There's a weird tingle in Clarke's stomach as sees the scene play out in front of her eyes like a movie. "Do you think she'd hold a grudge? But I mean, even if she did, she's in our team, now, she can't just charge on me like a mad bull."

The laugh that escapes from Lington's throat is forced and, oddly, it sounds like she's half worried (keep in mind that it takes a lot for Charlie Langton to be half worried). "Well… She could. But it'd be very entertaining to see, don't you think?"

"It would. I'd also die, but what do I care? Anything for a good show, eh, Langton?"

"I did not say that, Griffin", Charlie calmly assert, fumbling with her ponytail, "but really, fuck this. You're the boss of this team. She is not. Why don't you just, I don't know, set the record straight. Show her a little Griffin magic." Accompanying the words are two thumbs up meant to encourage her, added to Langton's signature smile. Clarke finds herself helpless against such a killer combination. "Fine", she surrenders, "but back me up if she decides to murder me or anything?"

Both girls shrug and share a look of goodwill. "Sure."

When did she become so bold? It isn't like her to be going over to Alexandria fucking Woods and put her in her place. But man, is it a thrill.

The first thing she notices about Woods is her demeanor. How she seems to take any space there is to offer, how she stands tall, shoulders straight, legs pulled apart from one another, like she's showing that she's up for anything, that she can take it all. Her helmet isn't fastened. Instead, it's slightly pulled up, resting higher atop her head, for the simple purpose of seeing better (the visor isn't helping) and looking badass at the same time. Half of the time, she's nodding confidently while chewing on her mouthpiece, which is nearly entirely out of her mouth – and while Clarke finds it rude, other girls seem to be delighted (go figure). Clarke's arrival results in all the girls losing interest in Lexa and directing their attention on Clarke, smiling at her, waving and bumping her on the head with their gloves.

"What's up, Griff?" Izzie Wayne says, and frankly, Clarke is happy to pull her away from Woods, seeing as to she might avoid putting all her hopes and dreams in a playboy (or is it playgirl?).

"Not much, you? I see you're getting acquainted with our new pal."

She likes the way the word "pal" sounded, the strictly business vibe she gave to it, and how she made sure to say it loud enough for Lexa to hear. Who knows? Maybe she'll be more successful than she thought. "Woods, is that it? I don't think we've met."

When named, the player's eyes light up and she motions forward to join them. "Actually, yes. We talked on Monday- "

"Oh, yeah, about that save, yeah, I remember now."

The effect is immediate. Wayne almost screams in excitement, patting Clarke repeatedly on the shoulder. "Oh my god, that was in-sane, Clarke. You had us all going crazy on the bench, I talked about it to literally everyone I know. How did you do it?"

"I faced quicker shots, I guess you just get used to it." She can't prevent the smirk from spreading across her face, deepening, even, at the sight of how irritated Lexa has become in a matter of instants.

Soon, Wayne is called over by one of her teammates, and excuses herself from the conversation, leaving Clarke to face a sore Lexa, who shoots her an unsure glance – unsure of how mad she should be, unsure if this means war or not, unsure if Clarke even meant to get on her bad side. "What was that, Griffin?" It's the result of the mixture of feelings painting her face, the dominant one composed of arrogance and grouchiness.

If Clarke knew better, she would back down. But she gets her fun out of testing people, sometimes, even if she's not too proud about it, or wouldn't brag about it at the very least.

"That was some sort of payback, I guess. Or, if you'd prefer, that was me playing this little game of yours. I believe it's called look at me, admire me, kiss my feet?"

Lexa's face distorts, now filled with plain annoyance. "You know, I liked you, for a second, Griffin. And now I don't."

"Shit, that's scary. In fact, I might as well hide in the locker room away from your mightiness."

"You do not want to play with me, Griffin." She said her name with such anger, such disdain.

"Oh I'm the one playing now?"

"You're extremely funny." Lexa bites her tongue, darts shooting out of her eyes as she spits the mouthpiece in her glove. Uh oh.But it's too late, now, and Woods is sliding closer, heat spilling out of her whole body, and Clarke can smell her perfume, her sweat, her minty breath. Stay calm.

"What are you trying to do, Woods? Make a fool out of yourself on your first week? Why don't you give me a taste of that check you gave my pal Briggs over there, see how it work out for you."

"Oh, so that's what it's about, then? Me doing my fucking job and preventing a goal instead of playing softie? I'm not a figure skater, Griffin."

Clarke is offended by those words. What's wrong with figure skaters? Lexa must be one of those who think that anything besides hockey is useless. The thought makes Clarke highly frustrated (as if she wasn't frustrated enough).

"It's a matter of principle", she declares, elegant.

At that, Lexa scoffs insultingly. "It's hockey, that's what it is. Maybe you're just not cut out for it."

Then she leaves, letting Clarke alone to reflect on what she might've said, might've done differently. She finally comes to a conclusion – nothing. Lexa is one of those people who need to be smacked on the back of the head.

"So what? She's an asshole. It's not like it's news to anybody." Charlie gesture towards the entire locker-room. "And I think you were brilliant, honestly."

"Yeah, well, she didn't gain any respect for me. I think she hates me even more, and I don't think I want to be on Alexandria Woods' enemy list."

Raven lets out a dry laugh, pats Clarke on the back. "Honestly, I'm starting to think that you'll be the first one to give her a run for her money."

Clarke stares quizzically at her friend. "A run for her money? Mind if I ask you…" She glances at Charlie and Octavia who seem to be avoiding her gaze. "What you mean by that?"

There's a small silence, during which the three girls share the look of "should we tell her?"

Then Charlie gestures towards herself, informing the others that she will be the one ensuring the task. "Well, Griffin, we've been observing her, and right now, you're more on the "to-fuck list", if you know what I mean…"

"What?" Clarke practically screams.

"Hey, no need to get worked up… We just think she wants to fuck you, is all."

Clarke roughly stands, tossing her shoulder guard on the ground with impressive violence. "She does NOT. Okay? You're just… Obsessed with these things! I'm sure Woods doesn't even think about me in that way! About any of us, for that matter!"

Raven shifts uncomfortably on her seat, unsure how to utter the next sentence. "Clarke, why do you think she left with Wayne on Wednesday evening? To go to the fun fair and ride the Ferris wheel?"

The tirade makes Clarke drop on the bench, troubled. "But that's risky, isn't it?"

Charlie nods. "Well, I'm guessing it's not new to her. She won't get caught."

"Poor Wayne, I hope she doesn't expect anything out of her…" Clarke mutters under her breath, untying her laces with the hands of an expert.

Octavia winces, uncertain. "Clarke, we're talking about Wayne. Hell, she'd try with me, and she knows I'm with Lincoln. The chick's desperate to get laid."

Disgust starts to paint Clarke's features – disgust over Lexa, over the fact that she's taking advantage of someone, over the way she strolls around, careless, happy with herself. It makes Clarke want to punch her. "She really is a shitty person…" She concedes, shaking her head in incredulity.

"Congratulations for noticing! it's not like we told you right from the start, or anything", snorts Langton, squirting a small jet of water in her mouth with one quick press of her Gatorade bottle. "If it makes you happy, I promise I'll punch her in the throat if she tries to drag you in her bed."

Clarke arches her eyebrows, falsely surprised. "Well thanks, Langton… I appreciate it, I guess."

Noises are heard from outside the room, and they appear to be generated by a small group of people. Immediately, Woods lifts her head and collects her equipment, foraging aggressively in an attempt to find something in her bag – a wasted effort. "Coming, little man!" She exclaims, lifting the bag. She's about to get up, only, she's caught short by the arrival of a toddler. He must be around three, not only because of his height, but because of the small run he breaks into- he's so fast it becomes unclear whether he's just excited or about to fall over. The white Avengers t-shirt he's wearing has a red stain, and Clarke's guess is spaghetti sauce.

"Please just take him, Lexa, I'm so tired." A woman says, entering Clarke's line of sight. She's definitely that – tired. There's no way in hell that her disheveled look and pale skin is due to anything other than exhaustion.

The action is quick. Lexa scoops the boy up lovingly, planting a loud kiss on his cheek. It's simple, really, and there's no reason to freak out, Clarke tells herself. But then, why the sudden lightness in her stomach? And the tenderness that seems to burst out of the moment, almost unreal – because Lexa doesn't do soft, doesn't do gentle, yet she's holding this boy on her lap, a protective arm wrapped around him.

Raven whispers in her ear, "well, that was unexpected."

She wants to listen and find an answer, but it's impossible to pry her eyes away from the astonishing scene playing out in front of her. Lexa has seemingly left the building. The only person left is this soft, playful imitation – an impersonator, probably, a copycat, surely, because that's not her, that couldn't be her. Clarke watches, helpless, as Woods is whispering in the toddler's ear, probably something funny because he's now giggling, shaking his arms in all directions. "Alright, let's go now", says the woman standing at the door, probably his mother. The boy whines and his giddy smile quickly turns into a pout.

"Just give him my helmet or something, Anya, I'm sure you don't want him throwing a fit."

The boy is desperately trying to reach for Lexa's equipment, eager to try it on. "Okay, here's the deal. We're gonna go, now, mumma wants to go to the mall, remember? I'll let you wear my helmet if you behave."

"Come now, Aden. I think aunt Lexa has candies in her car." His mom gives him an encouraging smile, holding out her hand for him to hold while glancing at Lexa, giving her a look that means "please tell me you do have candies in the car".

Grinning, Woods puts her helmet on Aden's head as he climbs in her arms, and together, they leave, and Clarke cannot eliminate the bewildered expression that, she is sure of it, will cling to her face for the next half hour.

And just like that, there she is – Lexa Woods, giving mixed signals, both unpleasant and charming, and messing up Clarke's head. Only then does Clarke realize that this girl is not as easy to pinpoint as she thought, and definitely, definitely not predictable.

With September comes the first game of the year. And it'd be no big deal, really, if they weren't playing the Azgeda Frostbite. Physical is completely redefined by the team – the main sound during Azgeda games being that of checks and bodies hitting boards, and sharp shouts of discontent often leading to gloves being dropped.

Clarke has learned, over the course of her career, that Azgeda players like to charge the net, sometimes even hit the goalie in the process – and the coach mentally fist pumps when they get away with it. They're nasty, sending goons after the opposing team's fastest players – delivering major forechecks at the right moment, and freezing the offense with various pinching and trapping moves.

A goalie's pregame ritual being important, Clarke ensures focus and concentration to her game by sitting alone in the corner of the locker-room, listening to rock music with over-ear headphones. One could then know, just by looking at her, that she's the team's number one player, that she has to be at her best every single night without exception.

At the moment, her earphones are blasting Led Zeppelin's Heartbreaker and she's shaking her head to the beat, losing herself to the sharp riff and Robert Plant's moving, accented vocals while watching players going by, eager to jump on the ice. Well, it's been ten years and maybe more since I first set eyes on you.The best years of my life gone by, here I am alone and blue.

Raven gives her a look of anticipation, some greater than life force keeping her from disrupting her ritual. Then they get called. It's time.

The spotlights are blinding and the announcer's voice starts presenting the players to the audience, who bursts in applause when Clarke's name is called second to last. But the highlight of the show is clearly the way fans jump to their feet when Lexa's name resonates in the whole arena, welcomed by the crowd. It makes Clarke both happy and vexed – the audience is excited to see a new player, yet she's probably not their favorite anymore.

As soon as the puck drops, Clarke is scanning the rink to see if Nia's on the ice, and when she spots her, solid and menacing, her gaze hardens, freezes into place. There she is. Probably the coach's little intimidation show. But it doesn't work like that, no, it takes more to disturb Clarke's focus.

Nia stays on the ice for three more plays, then her line is replaced by Ontari's – faster, younger, stealthier. The Strikers' coach reacts quickly by giving Lexa her cue, matching her up with first line wingmen Lucy Marks and Jamie Hurd. Raven and Octavia soon jump on the ice, replacing the previous pair of defensemen.

Woods loses no time in setting the first period's best play, feeding Jamie Hurd the perfect drop pass that leads to a splendid shot. The goaltender cleverly deviates it with her blocker, and the rebound is seized by an enemy defenseman, who then proceeds to lead the next play.

Adrenalin courses through Clarke's veins as she makes her first save, shuffling to the left in a simple yet sharp leg block that sends the rebound against the board to be recovered by a teammate.

The next plays are slowed down by forechecking, and it appears that even their biggest defencemen cannot hope to compete against Azgeda's giants. Most of them are at least six feet tall, towering over the Strikers and moving them away from the puck with big shoves.

During a break, Raven stops spontaneously beside Clarke, and snows her in the process – not that she'd intended too, though. "Watch out for screen shots, Griff. They like to put the small annoying ones in front of the goal."

"Thanks. You be safe; they hit hard."

The buzzer signals the end of the first period and locker room talk is vivid when Clarke joins her teammates on the benches.

"Got myself a nice hit, right there." Charlie informs proudly as she points to her right shoulder. "They're so nasty, I can't put up with one of their goons. I think her name is Nia…? Man, this bitch is tart tongued."

"What did she say?" asks Lexa, curious. She rarely takes part in the bickering, and it surprises Clarke to see her involved in a conversation. It's almost like she's genuinely interested in the topic. Huh.

"Erm… Something about her and her mates sandwiching me in between them, and that my bones will crush."

"Do you want me to do something about it?" Lexa offers, like it's an open suggestion. Clarke's about to think, hey, that's nice of her, but then she wonders if Lexa's just looking for a reason to get into a fight.

"I didn't know you were the fighting type, Woods", Clarke observes.

Lexa's shoulders tense, both eyes darting up to stun Clarke with their green, vehement intensity. "I like to defend my guys, princess. Or is that too rough for you?"

Clarke chooses to ignore the nickname but it still rings inside her head, rings, and makes her blood boil, her neurons clash and vibrate, her temples drop to their lowest temperature. "No, I just think it'd be reckless to go up against taller, stronger opponents."

"Yeah, exactly, means they shouldn't go up against me." Retorts Woods, smirking like she's impressed with her own performance – how quickly she thought of the comeback, and the perfectly arrogant snort she emitted.

Clarke is left testy by the reply, yet she almost, almost lets out a dry laugh. And she tries to convince herself, to tell herself that a dry laugh is sarcastic and fake, but she figures it's a laugh all the same. A laugh, for fuck's sake – and the person who caused it is none other than Lexa Woods. Lexa, who tells her she's not cut out for hockey. Lexa, who leaves with Izzie Wayne after Wednesday's practice to go who knows where, and probably take her backwards on a table - she doesn't care if Izzie likes her, doesn't care if it's more to her than just sex, she just wants, does, takes. The thoughts finally drive some sense into Clarke, and soon, she's warming up in anger once again. "You're five fucking seven, Woods. Unless you want to get a black eye or lose a tooth, you might want to reconsider your plans."

Is it the tone, the words, the delivery? Nobody knows. But something makes Lexa's eyes darken, her smirk disappear, her jaw twitch (again, holly fuck, it's both scary and exhilarating).

"Well you, Griffin, might want to listen to me very carefully, because I'm only saying this once."

Clarke nods, not wanting to fuel the anger in her eyes. Her voice is calm and deadly, like a robot's.

The forward pursues, and does not flee Clarke's glance. Not once.

"I watch my guys' back. Alright? And I couldn't care less, whether (she shrugs, shakes her head from side to side) there's an eight-foot-tall asshole who's coming at me, or if the biggest chick in the league wants to drop gloves. I'll take the check. I'll fight the bitch. Anything it takes, Griffin, anything for my guys. We're family, now. You might not like it, because of my attitude, or the way I talk, or the way I think of myself, I don't fucking care. Because on the ice, when someone does as little as rubbing my player the wrong way, I don't joke around, I act on it. If there's a jackass who decides to crash your net, Griffin, I'll have your back, whether you like it or not."

A shiver runs deep down Clarke's spine, and she's out of focus, now, fuck, because the way she imagines it, Woods is better than she thought, a loyal comrade, a protector. And it plays in her head, makes her feel all sorts of weird things, like tingles her in the stomach, and soon it's everywhere – images of Lexa dragging the offending player out of her net, pushing, shoving, then asking her if she's alright with a half smile (shit, it seems her mind is now capable of imagining smiles on Lexa Woods' face).

As the buzzer resonates again, she has trouble averting her gaze away from Lexa and her strong legs carrying her around the ice, jumping around to backwards skating effortlessly, Lexa and her cocky smirks, Lexa barking orders and insults to players surrounding her, Lexa – never scared by the giants, and the crowd, and the pressure. It's her, only, only her.

She scores at the eighth minute of second period, and it might just be the most exciting thing Clarke has ever witnessed. It's an ordinary play that leads to it – the opposing team loses possession in an awkward turnover. Then Lexa has the puck and she's almost flying away with it as all noise dies down, and Clarke only hears the crushing noise of her skates scraping against lacerated ice. Alexandria Woods on a breakaway, on her first match with the team. What a show, she thinks, and she's not even surprised to feel so emotional, because the moment is truly otherworldly. She barely sees anything at that point, but rather hears the crowd's amazement, and the cheer, the cheer, when the red light flashes. Later, she'll want to see the play, the way Lexa deked the goaltender with a quick change of direction, then brought the puck up, up, and yanked it in the net backhandedly. A beauty.

When they get to the lockers, they still have a one nothing lead, and Clarke's forehead is dripping with sweat, as she had to stop 27 shots to keep the opposing team off the scoreboard. She passes behind Woods to get to her things, and she didn't really plan on doing anything, really, but the spur of the moment can make many things happen – and she gives the forward a quick pat on the back. It isn't very personal, considering she still has her gloves on. Still, it makes Woods turn around, and she looks pleasantly surprised.

Third period is a challenge. She faces shots that, if a tad more precise, could've easily gone to the net. Then Ontari leaves the end board, and passes each and every Strikers player, dangling the puck expertly on a picture-perfect coast to coast. Her hands are quick, and Clarke's T-push proves itself to be too feeble. The puck circles around her pad, and there, it's in.

She knows it's not her fault, knows the defense did a poor job, just like she knows that her movement should've been more accurate. And it kills her, in between plays, when she just circles around and gets a quick drink of water, noticing the scoreboard (the little "one" right under "Azgeda") and thinking, thinking, thinking. What could she have done better? What can she do better the next time?

As if on cue, Octavia passes by and drops a few words of encouragement, which helps Clarke move on to a clear record.

There are four minutes remaining when a slashing penalty gets called on the Frostbite. Everybody knows it's now or never. If they want victory, they just have to put in the effort, reach over and take it.

Coach Reeve has learned her facts about Lexa. She now knows the full extent of her talent, and she puts her on the powerplay with her regular line, along with the first pair of defensemen. The first minute is spent juggling the puck around, tightening the trap, peppering the goaltender with quick shots, and making sure to recover the rebound every time. The strategy works beautifully, and soon, a pass from Octavia to Lexa then fuels Jamie Hurd who goes for the one timer, aimed at the spot right under the blocker. The shot, a cannonball, lands in the net and fills the arena with cheers and applause as the buzzer is heard. There's barely a minute remaining on the board.

Clarke's lungs empty themselves in an abrupt expiration, and it's victory, that's what it is, bringing a comfortable warmth to her chest. When the game ends, the crowd stays for the three stars to be given out, presumably because they are satisfied with the team's performance. Jamie Hurd gets the third star. It isn't surprising, and her smile is radiant, and fun to see. The second star is awarded to Clarke, who performed very well – she made 36 saves. The moment the first star gets called, Clarke isn't surprised, and she watches as Lexa jumps on the ice, waving and throwing pucks in the stands. She's playing a role, obviously - she's the superstar again, sharing a few quick words with a fan then meeting a journalist for the interview.

Clarke is about to leave for the lockers, but her curiosity prevails, and she can't help but hear the announcer's words as they resonate through speakers.

"I'm here with the first star player tonight, Alexandria Woods. First of all, congrats on the win."

"Thanks a lot."

"Tell me about your impressions on this game – one goal, one assist, that's quite an impressive start of the season, isn't it?"

As Clarke turns around, she catches sight of the big screen and sees Lexa nod in a professional manner. "Yeah, for sure, hum, I guess that's what we tried to do tonight – sticking to the plan, taking the opportunities, keeping the puck in their zone as much as we can."

"Obviously, and that must send a message when a player like you who's known around the league, who's played in this arena a couple of times already, scores on the first game, puts up a nice show… Do you think that can be seen as a statement to the fans and the rest of the league, to show that you're here to work hard and deliver?"

Then of course, that's the moment where Clarke is convinced that she will get to hear Lexa's little charm show, her little game to win over the crowd. She could not be more wrong.
"Yeah, but I mean, there's always the team factor that plays a big part. Since I've been in town, I've felt very welcome and appreciated, and, I mean, that's a first-class organisation you've got right there. The team spirit is very present, I can identify with that and I'm here to do my best."

"Of course, and you seemed very comfortable with the team, I think the crowd can agree with me on that."

With that, the crowd cheers loudly, people standing on their feet, chanting her last name like it's their new national anthem.

Lexa smiles, bowing slightly, eyes glowing with gratitude. When the cheer dies down, she answers the question coolly. "For sure, and I'm happy with what the guys did today. Gotta give them credit, you know, they made the plays, my goalie, also, she made some big saves to keep us in the game."

"Alright, well thanks for your time, we wish you good luck for the rest of the season."

"Thank you, I appreciate it." Lexa replies with a quick nod, then she turns to sign the camera lens and leaves the ice with one last wave at the crowd.

Although they don't talk in the locker room, Clarke cannot keep her glance from settling to Lexa, her words ringing in her head. My goalie - she hears it again, and it makes her forehead heat up, her palms sweat, her chest heave deeply with each breath. The interview has made her confused, as it brought up a side of Lexa she didn't know - a side that praises her teammates, smiles at the crowd like she's genuinely happy to be here, happy to perform, happy to give.

Clarke watches as Lexa puts a jean coat on, pops a piece of gum in her mouth and covers her head with an old baseball cap (facing backwards, and boy does she pull it off).

"Hey Woods!"

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she regrets them.

"What?" Lexa doesn't seem irritated, yet she looks at Clarke like she expects her to behave, especially after their last conversation.

"Nice goal, tonight. I liked it." Clarke says, managing to keep it cool. Nice one, Griffin.

"Thanks."

There's a small silence, and Clarke thinks, that's all, but then Lexa's gaze burns into hers, and she nods slowly. "You made some good saves."

"Oh, thanks."

The next seconds are spent battling against her own mind as she fights the urge to say that's not what you said in the interview but she drops it, knowing it'd be pushing her luck. Instead, she says: "You didn't fight, after all."

To which Lexa replies: "I didn't feel like it. Maybe next time."

What Clarke doesn't know is that Aden turns five in the weekend, and the reason why Lexa didn't fight is because she doesn't want to get her face messed up for her nephew's birthday party (she realized it in the middle of the game). Knowing that information would've probably made Clarke feel weak in the knees, and for reasons unknown.