"Sign this," Clarke said angrily and thrust a sheaf of papers at the cop in the hospital bed, slamming a pen down on the rolling bed-table as Lexa pointed out she has nothing to sign with.

"Whoa," the brunette whistled, "it's just a concussion, Clarke. It's not like I got stabbed or anything."

But Clarke just glared at her from the side of the bed, and Lexa sighed.

"Okay, what are these," she asked as she picked up the pen with her unbandaged hand.

Clarke sighed, "First of all, you didn't just get a concussion. You got a concussion when you fell backwards after some punk-tweaker sliced your arm open with a broken piece of glass. And second, those are the papers you need to change your 'Next of Kin' to me." She sat down on the stiff vinyl-covered chair next to the bed.

Lexa was silent for a moment, pen frozen in the air as she stared back at her girlfriend, mouth open in shock or maybe awe. This seemed like a big moment, far too big for the joke she'd been trying to make of it, for the light tone she'd put on as she tried to set Clarke at ease.

"Clarke,-" she started, but the blonde interrupted her.

"They called your mother, Lex. You never designated a next of kin so they called your mother. I had to wait in the emergency room for three hours until you woke up and asked for me. No one would tell me anything," she said, frustrated, pissed off. "I had no idea how you were, and no matter how much your partner and the chief argued with them, they couldn't tell me anything because I'm not family or your partner."

Clarke finally meets her eyes, and there are tears clouding those sky-blue irises.

"They called your mother instead, Lex. Legally, she's got more rights than I do. Until you designate someone or are otherwise legally bound to someone, they're going to call your mom to make decisions when you're unconscious."

Lexa looked over at her girlfriend, seeing how lost Clarke looked, how scared. With a furrowed brow and a flourish of the pen, she signed the paperwork.

"There," she said, "I'll have Gus file this and it'll be done, you'll be my official next of kin. I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into, Clarke Griffin."

Lexa patted the bed, "Now, come up here and keep me company. Someone's gotta make sure I don't fall into a coma. Might as well be you."

And though her tone as teasing, she knew her girlfriend could hear the feeling, the meaning underneath the words. "Come on," she said again, and gave Clarke a gentle smile.

Slowly, carefully, and clearly against her better judgement, Clarke climbed up and into the hospital bed. She sat there, clearly uncomfortable and worried about hurting the cop, or worse, some doctor or nurse walking in and catching them.

"I'm sorry, Clarke, I really am," Lexa said from where she lay, reclined against the raised head of the bed, "I just never thought of it, it's never come up before."

She watched as Clarke nodded, as Clarke slowly relaxed until she, too, was half-sitting, half-laying in the bed. Lexa brought up her uninjured arm to link fingers with her girlfriend, to squeeze gently. A little reminder that she was okay, that she was still there. That nothing could take her away from the woman she loved.

Yes, loved.

It still surprised her sometimes, that she'd fallen for Clarke. That she'd fallen in love with Clarke.

She hadn't thought she was capable. Of anger, of fear, yes. Of determination, of ambition, of course. Of pleasure and of fun and of excitement. Always.

But love?

Not her.

She'd thought she was above it, beyond it. She'd thought the ability beaten out of her long ago. In the earliest years of her childhood. In dark rooms, with big fists, hands that should have loved and cared for her instead of hurting, instead of leaving bruises and cracked ribs and one time, the worst time, a broken arm. She thought it'd been stolen away from her as she hid in closets and plugged her ears, trying not to hear her mother scream or her father yell.

Oh, she'd been a fool. Thinking herself cold and hard and beyond the gentler parts of life, of living.

And then there'd been Clarke.

And hadn't she taken Lexa by surprise. Hadn't she just appeared one day, bringing with her all the colors Lexa thought she'd left behind, all she thought she could live without.

She'd been so wrong.

"My mother," Lexa asked after a few moments of quiet, "did she come?"

She expects the answer to be no, and isn't upset when Clarke confirmed with a shake of her head.

"Probably fighting off last night's drunk or working toward tonight's, it's no matter. I wouldn't have wanted her here anyway," she said, and her girlfriend didn't bother to point out the obvious lie. She knew-she was the only one who knew-the part of the police officer who still wanted, who still wished. They'd talked about it, one night not too long ago, Lexa's secret wish that one day her mother would wake up and want to bea mother more than she wanted her next drink.

"I'm sorry, Lex," Clarke whispered, but Lexa just smiled at her softly, her green eyes dark.

"Hey," she asked as she turned to her side and moved closer to the woman next to her in the hospital bed, "what was that other thing you said, legally binding?"

"Earlier?" Clarke responded, "it just that the next of kin thing isn't always followed. Especially if it's not a relative. So it can be overruled if there's a dispute between that person and someone with a stronger legal tie to you, like a parent or child or spouse."

Lexa let the words swirl around in her head.

"So if you were my wife," she tested the word out on her tongue, "no one would be able to keep you in the dark, or out of my hospital room?"

The blonde nodded slowly.

"Okay, then let's do it. Marry me," Lexa said quietly, a gentle smile to let Clarke know that she was serious, that she wasn't teasing or making fun.

"Lex," Clarke was breathless as she looked into the police officer's eyes. The hand that had been playing with Lexa's fingers stilled.

This wasn't something they'd ever talked about; it'd been hard enough to admit they were a relationship with each other, to admit that they were in love.

But this, this wasn't anything on their radar.

"Look," Lexa spoke again, "I like what we have. I don't want anyone else." She brought her hand up to Clarke's warm cheek, "So let's do this. Let's get married. If it means that you get called whenever something happens to me, and if it means that you're taken care of should I be killed in the line of duty, I want to do it."

Clarke just took a deep breath.

"Lexa," she tried to respond, but the words caught in her throat. "Lexa, I-this isn't just-"

Lexa's voice was soft, but strong when she spoke.

"Clarke, I love you. You're it for me," she said, "and that doesn't change if we never get married, but if getting married means that you're protected, means that you'll never have to wait in an ER with no answers again, then we do it. We get married. And nothing changes, you still snore and I still refuse to rinse the dishes before I put them in the dishwasher, and we go on with our lives, Clarke."

"I love you, Clarke," she whispered and gently traced the line of her girlfriend's cheek with her thumb, "so marry me."

It took four days.

One for Lexa to be discharged, and then three days for the waiting period after they made their appointment.

The days passed quickly, even though they didn't talk about it. Not until two nights before their Friday appointment. Not until Lexa asked if Clarke wanted to invite her mother.

And then, for a few tense, cold hours, neither of them were sure they'd make even it to the judge.

"No, why on Earth would I want to invite her," Clarke had shouted, waving a wooden spoon in the air as she let the pot of sauce simmer on the stove. "I haven't talked to her in years, Lex, you know that."

They'd argued back and forth, until Clarke asked if she should invite Lexa's father, if the cop was so keen on having parents there to witness the event and all. And then they'd stopped talking.

For most of the night.

Until Clarke brought a hot pot of tea into the living room where Lexa was sitting, very deliberately not watching some show or another on their tv.

"Hey," she said, "I'm sorry. I went too far and I'm sorry."

She put the tea down and sat on the table, not quite sure she'd be welcome on the couch.

Lexa didn't say anything at first, just looked at her, eyes wet and mossy. But then she did speak, her voice was steady, her jaw firm.

"You did," she answered.

And Clarke ached at the sound, because she knew, she was the only person in Lexa's life who knew everything. Who knew about the past, the scars. Who'd witnessed the nightmares, who'd sat and watched over her as she tried to get back to sleep.

"Lex," she said, and poured everything she felt into the words, her love and her regret, "I'm sorry." Clarke held out her hand, palm up, and hoped with her whole heart that the woman she loved, the woman she was going to marry, would take it.

After a moment, she did.

The marriage was easy. Lexa's partner and Raven appeared as witnesses.

The only surprise came when the judge asked if they were going to exchange rings, and Lexa pulled a velvet box out from her pocket.

"Here," she said, and took out a ring with hands that were just the slightest bit unsteady.

The look on Clarke's face was worth the embarrassment of shaking hands, though, as the blonde whispered furiously that she didn't have a ring prepared.

"No trouble," Lexa said with a grin, "I came prepared." She held up another ring, identical to the first.

Twenty minutes later, it was done. They were wed.

They hadn't planned on telling anyone, no more than their two closest friends, the witnesses. But it turned out that neither Raven nor Anya could keep the damn mouths shut, and so the quick drink they'd been planning on having after the ceremony turned into a raucous party at the very bar where they'd met.

Cops and artists.

Beer and cocktails and a cake someone had brought from a nearby bakery. Decorated with a pair of frosting handcuffs and a paintbrush, no less.

The two brides sat off to the side while their friends drank and danced and laughed.

"We could sneak out of here," Lexa whispered, and hooked a finger into one of the belt-loops of Clarke's jeans, pulling her girlfriend-her wife-up against her.

"We could," Clarke agreed, and Lexa could hear the amusement in her voice, "but I'm still curious where you got these fancy rings from." She held up her hand and watched the way the lights of the bar reflected in the gold band. "Because last time I checked, you were at home with me the past several days, barred from driving due to that concussion that started this whole thing. So," she said, "how'd you do it, Officer?"

"Truthfully," Lexa said with a smirk, "I had Anya go and get them. Gave her my credit card and told her to get whatever the exact opposite of what she'd buy herself was. We're just lucky they don't have skulls engraved on them, to be honest."

Clarke laughed loudly, and bent down to kiss her wife.

"Let's get out of here," she whispered.

Lexa was only too happy to comply.