Author's Notes: Trigger Warning: this chapter details a retelling of a pretty gory story. All that is near the start of the chapter. I'll put in page breaks to warn you what section to skip. There are mentions of possible suicide, murder, drug abuse. (Rest assured, not from our darling characters, they're fine.) Also at this point I've figured out how to characterize Lexa. Lexa's demeanor is much like mine, so I'm going to write me. Also, I know it's really conversation heavy, but there should be more in-depth story as Clarke gets to know Lexa better. Also. I have no clue if GPS is heavy on data usage. \_(ツ)_/ And, have yous heard of that arm-crossing experiment, how when one person mimics the actions of another, it's symbolic of an attraction to them?
When the girls went to check-out early the next morning, the young boy who had previously manned the front-desk was absent. Instead was a rough-looking man with a grease-stained T-shirt. When Clarke handed him the key, he asked, "How was your stay?"
"Lovely, thanks." Clarke replied. Whereas Lexa simply smiled.
That was when the man saw the number on the tag, "RYAN," he shouted out. That must be the boy, probably his son.
"I can't believe he gave you that cabin," the man apologizes, "we haven't rented it out in years. There was an incident a few years ago... " he pauses, "but I probably shouldn't tell you about that. We're usually around to make sure, but there's a lot of maintenance work to do lately, and Susan was busy with the baby. In fact, I should probably take the key out the cabinet. He always tries to pull this stunt. He thinks it's funny. Did he tell you about the incident?"
"Huh? No, he didn't…" Clarke responds.
"Oh, I'm surprised. That's unusual. Did he try and tell yous it was the only cabin available?"
"Yeah."
"RYAN." the man calls out again. Instead of the boy from yesterday, a lady with a baby on her shoulder pokes her head around the corner, "He's already down the field playing, a family came in yesterday with a few kids his age."
"Already?"
"Yeah. What do you want him for?"
"He gave these girls Cabin 13 last night." The man explains. THe woman laughs.
"Did he tell yous the story?" she inquires, pointing the question at the girls.
"No." They both answer.
"Susan." The man warns.
"Relax, Wayne, they've already stayed the night." The man resigns his argument, point in case.
"What story?" Lexa asks, shyly.'
Warning applies to following section.
"So about 3 years ago, three teenagers stayed the night. They must have been about your age. There was a lovely girl, bright and bubbly, hanging off the arm off this tiny, quiet young man, and a friend of theirs who was fairly non-descript. Anyway, we warned them about not drinking too much, because we didn't want the place wrecked- and they assured us they wouldn't. But come the next morning, they hadn't dropped off they key before check-out time, and they'd only payed for one night. We thought, hey maybe they're all just asleep, they'll probably come back this afternoon and pay for another night. Anyway, the cleaning lady was still doing her normal rounds, still thinking that lost had shot through that morning, so she goes in, and oh, it must've been simply horrible for her to witness what was in there, I don't think it's something I could ever recover from…"
"What was in there?" Clarke asks, not sure she wants to know.
"You sure you want to know?"
She isn't, "Well, you've got me curious now," she replies, honestly.
Susan continues, "Well firstly the girl was lying face-down on the carpet, in her own blood, her arms covered in gashes,"
The girls wince, but the lady goes on, "and then the boyfriend was hanging up by his neck in the bathroom, but his hands were tied up like he hadn't done it to himself."
"What about the other guy?"
"He was tied up in the corner, and died from an overdose of some sort of pills they couldn't identify."
"Who did it then?" Clarke asks.
"That's the question, isn't it?"
Lexa tugs on Clarke's sleeve and leans in to whisper in her ear, hastily, "Can we go now, please?"
"Yeah." Clarke tells Lexa.
"Well, thanks for the stay," Clarke tells the couple on their way out. Wow. They really shouldn't be leaving their son in charge of the bookings, she thinks to herself.
Warning no longer applies. What you missed: three people died somewhat violently in that cabin. The culprit remained a mystery.
They drive in silence for a while. Clarke isn't usually one to enjoy silence, unless the right occasion presents itself, such as getting lost in a piece of artwork or anytime she is really trying to focus. She much prefers conversation when she is in company.
"So… Lexa?" She asks, breaking the silence.
Lexa turns to her, "Yes, Clarke."
"Uh. So… What's your major?"
"Are you trying to make small talk, Clarke?"
"I suppose."
"Peace and Conflict Studies." Lexa responds to Clarke's earlier question. Clarke must looked shocked.
"You don't seem to believe me. Why not?" Lexa asks.
"I don't know. You just seem too much the quiet type. Like you would be more comfortable in a non-communication based arena."
"You'd be surprised how many people actually listen to what I say, and take me at my word, Clarke."
"Hey, I believe you." Clarke responds.
"I didn't say that you don't."
"Yes, you did. You insinuated it."
"No, I implied it."
"Same difference."
Lexa rolls her eyes. "What's your major?" she asks.
"Nursing. I originally applied for medicine, but didn't get accepted. I suppose I'm glad, my mother wanted me to do it more than I did. I can still get where I want with nursing."
"What is it that you want to do?"
"Paediatry."
"I see."
"Yeah."
After a while, Clarke poses another question, "Do you believe in ghosts, Lexa?"
"Don't you?" The brunette responds, as though "yes" would be the obvious answer.
"I don't know."
"How long do you suppose this trip will last?" Lexa asks.
Clarke, in between mouthfuls of trail mix, responds, "As long as you want it to. I've been saving for this trip for years; I usually just fly home. I want to enjoy it. Raven was going to come with, initially, but then she got that internship."
"I heard. So that's why you invited me?"
"I suppose."
"Oh, okay."
"Come on!" Clarke teases, "You're glad to be here, admit it."
"I guess. It beats the alternative."
"It'll be fun." Clarke assures Lexa.
"It'll be fun." Lexa repeats, and she might actually believe it.
They stop-over briefly for lunch in Janesville. Once again, Lexa orders the same as Clarke, Clarke doesn't understand why. Does she not like making her own decisions?
When they get back in the car Clarke, slides down in her seat, "Ugh."
"What?" Lexa asks, concerned.
"It's so hot. I'm tired of driving." She had already been driving for six hours that morning.
Clarke stays like that for a while, occasionally groaning at the ceiling, whilst Lexa stands outside, leaning in the door, awkwardly. "Would you like me to drive? I mean, I could, if that's okay."
Clarke shoots up, "Yes, please. Ohmigod. Thank you."
Lexa smiles and walks around to the driver's door.
"Where are we headed to?"
"Minneapolis."
"Okay. Do you have a map or anything?"
Clarke laughs. She probably should have gotten a map. Perhaps they can purchase one next time they stop. She considers that she could look one up on her phone, but she knows that chews up data like a bitch.
"Uh, just follow the road signs." That's what she had been doing, anyway.
"But I can't see any."
"Didn't you pay any attention on the way into town?"
"No." Lexa replies, mildly embarrassed, which isn't helped when she stalls the car the first time she starts it.
"It's been a while," she explains.
"It's fine. Look just go up past that island, and do a u-turn." Lexa follows Clarke's instruction.
Clarke then points to the left, "now take this street, and this one… now at the end turn left on to the main road and follow it."
"Okay."
About 20 minutes out of town they approach a series of roadworks, with about half a mile of backed up traffic. Clarke sinks in her seat, and starts moaning again.
"Clarke, must you be so vocal?"
Clarke responds with another groan. Lexa sighs.
By the time they have passed the roadworks, Clarke seems to have fallen asleep. Lexa gazes at her fondly, before she remembers that she is driving, and should be watching the road.
After another hour, or so, a red light pops up on the dash. They're running out of gas. Lexa isn't necessarily accustomed to drive on multi-lane motorways, and crossing about to take exits. She isn't sure which exit she should take, either. But they need to find a gas station, urgently.
"Clarke." Clarke doesn't stir.
"Clarke." She repeats, a little louder, reaching over and shaking Clarke's shoulder. But still, Clarke doesn't wake.
"Clarke!" She practically shouts. Clarke nearly jumps out of her seat.
"What the fuck?"
"We're running out of gas, Clarke. The red light has come on." Clarke seems to be awake now.
"Oh, shit. Okay. just take this exit up here."
"But I'd need to change lanes. There's a truck right there."
"Just put your indicator on now. He'll slow down for you." Lexa does as she is told.
"Okay, good?" Clarke checks.
"Yeah, good." Lexa takes the exit down, and there is a gas station almost immediately on their right. Lexa pulls in, and Clarke gets out to fill up.
When Clarke gets back, she asks Lexa if she is right to keep driving.
"Yeah."
"Sure?"
"You just keep sleeping, Clarke. It's fine."
"I'm going to ignore that I'm fairly certain you're sassing me, and do exactly that, thank you." Clarke replies.
When they reach Minneapolis, it's late (8.00) and the residue of the lasting glow of sunlight rests heavily on the horizon, almost completely succumbing the sky to the veil of night.
Clarke suggests Lexa goes and buys some groceries, whilst she fills up the car, because "a girl can only manage so much gas station take-out." She reminds her "to not get anything that will go bad if it's not refrigerated." Clarke takes the car across the road to fill-up.
When she is paying for the gas, she notices a shelf of maps behind the desk clerk. She isn't sure why the maps need to be stacked behind the safety barrier.
"Do you have a road map that spans all the way from DC to Washington State?" she asks.
The clerk checks the maps, "Uh, no. Not a singular map. It would have to be massive to be able to read all the major roads on," the clerk whose name tag reads "Daveed" replies.
"Oh right, of course."
"But we have got this book." He says, taking a large book off the shelf, "It's got detailed road maps of every state, and it's got a list of popular tourist attractions that marked on, as well."
"How much?" It does sound like a good book.
"59." Daveed replies. That's pricey.
"I'll take it." It will be worth it. Clarke has no idea what lies between here and home, and this book has all the tourist attractions marked as well?!
"Ok, that and the fuel, comes to 139.45."
Clarke pays with her card and then drives back over to the grocery store to wait for Lexa.
It isn't long before Lexa comes out carrying 2 full bags of shopping.
They drive around for a while looking for a hotel with vacancies. Eventually they find one.
The managing staff says, "We only have one room left. You're lucky. You got here just in time, I was about-"
Clarke cuts him off, "We'll take it. 2 nights please." Lexa looks crossly at Clarke, as though judging her for cutting the man off.
They go back out to the car and grab their bags and the groceries.
"That was a little rude, Clarke." Lexa speaks.
"I'm tired."
"That's not really an excuse." Clarke shrugs.
When they unlock their room, they notice a tiny kitchenette in one corner, the bathroom next to it, and a lone double bed in the centre of the room. Both girls stand awkwardly in the doorway. They both seem to be internally questioning whether the other would be comfortable with this arrangement, whilst having no qualms with the situation, themselves.
Eventually, Clarke breaks the silence, "I call dibs on the left," she says, walking inside, throwing down her case and collapsing onto the bed. Lexa follows her inside. She props down her case, and takes the bag of groceries over to the bench. She then doubles back, and picks up the bag, Clarke previously dropped.
"How can you possibly still be tired? You slept most of the way here."
Clarke ignores the question, or doesn't hear.
"Clarke?"
"It's just boring."
"Well we are doing stuff tomorrow. Going to your museums, remember?"
"Yeah."
Lexa starts heating up some food in the microwave. She brings over a plate to Clarke.
"Vegetables?"
"If you want to call them that, Clarke. They came in a frozen box, with meat, again, if that's meat. It's the closest thing to a premade meal I could find."
"It's fine, Lexa. Relax."
Lexa soon, sits down next to Clarke on the bed. She seems to have bought the same thing for herself. Clarke is certain that there would have been a variety of options.
Raven texts later that night while Clarke is in the bathroom. She still hears it and asks Lexa, "Can you check it please. It might be from my mom?"
"Where is it?"
"In the front of my bag." Lexa gets up and rummages through the side pocket on Clarke's bag, her fingers fumbling over a myriad of strange objects until she locates the phone.
"No. It's Raven. Why does she think I would murder you, Clarke?"
"Oh. It's just a crazy theory she has; because you're so mYstERioUS."
"I'm not mysterious."
"I don't know."
"Okay."
"Look, it's just because Raven never bothered getting to know you."
"I didn't bother to get to know her either." Lexa replies, quietly.
"It's not too late" Clarke assures, walking out wearing only a towel.
Lexa's jaw drops but she quickly bows her head and Clarke doesn't seem to notice.
"Can you send a reply for me?"
"Okay. what do you want me to say."
"Tell her, 'It's too late'"
To: Raven
Sent: 9.26pm
It's too late.
To: Griffin
Sent: 8.27pm
dont mess w me griff
"Do you want me to reply to that?" Lexa asks.
"Uh, just send whatever you want." Clarke answers.
To: Raven
Sent: 9.29pm
This is Lexa.
To: Griffin
Sent: 8.29pm
give the phone to clarke
To: Raven
Sent: 9.29pm
I cannot do that.
To: Griffin
Sent: 8.30pm
clarke stop messing with me. i know it's you.
"Don't respond to that." Clarke cuts in, reading over Lexa's shoulder.
"Do you want her to think I'm a murderer, Clarke?"
Clarke shrugs, "Don't worry, I know you're not."
"Not, yet." Lexa replies, her voice deadpan. Clarke laughs.
The next day they head out to the Weisman Art museum, first.
"This looks interesting," Lexa says as they pull into the parking lot.
"It looks like a cross between metal wreckage and Howl's castle," Clarke breaks, "I love it!"
"What did you think?" She asks Lexa when they leave.
"Well, it lived up to expectations."
It that meant to be good or bad? Clarke wonders.
"How so?"
"It was certainly, interesting." Lexa responds.
"In a good way?"
"I think so."
The next museum has far more classical art. Clarke spends ages admiring each painting, squealing at Lexa about the brilliant use of technique, here, or the creative brush stroking, up there. Lexa just nods along.
"This is a true masterpiece," Clarke explains.
Lexa agrees, but she is looking at Clarke.
When they get back out to the car, Clarke looks through the catalogue at other museums in the area, "There's a Russian art museum, the next suburb over." She suggests.
"Not another one, Clarke." Clarke is fairly sure, Lexa is secretly enjoying the museums.
"Yes, please, just one more? I haven't seen Russian art much before. Pleaasse" Clarke begs.
"Okay. One more."
Clarke squeals.
At this museum, Lexa seems particularly interested in the war exhibition. Clarke supposes her interest matches the nature of her major.
"You go on ahead." Lexa tells Clarke, "I want to read more about these pieces."
"No, I'll wait." She says, sitting down on one of the nearby benches.
Lexa takes her time, examining each piece, and reading the captions next to them. Each caption is almost like an essay, explaining the story behind every photograph and painting.
Clarke watches Lexa. She seems to be genuinely enjoying herself.
Clarke pulls out her sketchpad from her bag and starts drawing while she waits.
She starts by drawing the wall of war paintings, in blurred detail, a row of sharp squares across the wall on her page. Before she realized it, she is drawing long flowing brown hair, and an outstretched arm, with a finger tracing the lines of writing on the wall.
She is so absorbed in the detail, that she doesn't notice Lexa approach.
"You're an artist?" She questions, "I should have figured. All these museums, and all."
"Uh, yeah." Clarke responds, "I, uh, hope you don't mind…" her words trail off.
"No, it's good. You're very talented." Lexa replies.