Hello to you guys! This week was a pretty busy one, but I still managed to write a bit everyday so yay! I've decided to try something you might like – I'm always listening to music when I write, and I thought I'd introduce one of the songs that were playing in the background during this chapter. It's called K. by Cigarettes after sex – ambient rock, has an euphoric feel to it, very interesting creation. I find that there is something personal and emotional about this song, and urgency mixed with despair and nostalgia. If you give it a try, you can tell me your impressions in the comments section. Now, without further ado…

There's only one practice remaining before their first away game, and coach Reeve seems to want to use it in its entirety.

Between various speed drills, puck control exercises and stick handling manoeuvers, players are working their ass off to improve their game and perfectionate their technique.

Reeve has also summoned the goaltending coach, Luna Rivers – a three-time championship winner and former member of the Floukru Typhoons. It feels nice to be counselled by such a patient trainer, always listening and giving out relevant advice.

Luna has brought performance equipment – a new type of blocker that's just been released by CCM, and Clarke is happy to, as Luna would say: try it out, see if it fits.

They work on the goalie's close game, Luna exemplifying various situations in which a player might stop, might make her wait, or might bypass her. Then they bring in the puck shooting machine, orienting the shot on Clarke's blocker for Luna has told her many times that although her catcher is a force to be reckoned with, her blocker is her biggest weakness.

Goaltending against a machine has its perks – there is something robotic, mechanical about the shots, and the disk is always perfectly flat, and the angle is mediocre if not non-existent.

The whole experience is rewarding, as Clarke's reflexes have been improving over each of the sessions, but there is a lack of genuineness in the machine – and soon, Luna literally grabs Lexa (who was just passing by, really) by the sleeve.

"Well, would you look at that - a new captain already? That's really fast, and I know Reeve, she ain't fast with these things. It means you're good, right?" Luna asks, in a voice that leaves no room for refusal nor argument (her everyday tone, really).

Clarke is delighted with the sight of an intimidated Lexa – wide eyed, jaw dropped, desperately looking for an answer. "Hum, sure, ma'am", she allows with a quick, polite nod.

It's weird, seeing her like that – it's almost as if she's 12 and meeting somebody's mom. She's dropped both her stick and her shoulders, crossing her arms behind her back, waiting for orders and hoping she'll make a good impression.

"Could you do me a favor and shoot a couple of pucks on miss Griffin over there?" the coach requests, pointing at Clarke who acknowledges her with a nod.

"Of course", Lexa immediately agrees with so much class that it becomes evident to Clarke that the forward's very responsive to authority.

Pucks come flowing towards Lexa's feet, tossed by Luna who then tells her to aim at the blocker.

She executes the task nicely, and most of the time, the shots prove to be hard yet casual.

Eventually, Clarke notices how Lexa's jaw is unwound, how the aggressiveness she has once seen in her green eyes is now missing – she's merely carrying the task of training her goalie. And with that change of climate, it's not a competition anymore.

It's teamwork.

Clarke is comforted by that thought, and her muscles ultimately get rid of their stiffness.

A whistle of appreciation is produced by Luna when Clarke manages to stop a deviating puck by trapping it between her shoulder and the post. A nice move, really, but what's most impressive to Clarke is the fact that Lexa is now smiling at her. At first, her brain has trouble registering it, but she sees the way the forward is circling around, examining the result of such a feat (the puck is fully stuck against the post), and there is no mistaking the glint in Lexa's eyes for anything other than awe.

Later during practice, while stretching on the ice, Clarke notices Lexa coming towards her. It looks as though the move has made an effect on her, for she still has that baffled, taken aback expression (she tried to hide it, but Clarke is quick at reading faces).

"So… How the fuck did you do that?" Is the first thing Lexa says, while trying to maintain a calm, even voice (and failing).

To which Clarke answers almost confidently: "Dunno, I guess I just scootched it."

"You scootched it?" Lexa repeats, frowning a bit.

"Yep."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh, you usually do that?"

Clarke pauses, struggling to comprehend. "Do what? Scootch pucks against the post or- "

"Make up words, I mean. 'Cause that might be a special talent you have right there."

"Well I clearly need many talents, you know, being "not cut out for hockey"."

Clarke meant it as a joke, but Lexa looks away, stifling an embarrassed laugh, then gives her one of her signature looks – confident grin, left brow arched defiantly, green eyes gleaming with unsaid thoughts. "That was just me trying to be witty, I guess."

"Yeah, like when you call me princess like I'm six years old and obsessed with Cinderella."

"Oh you don't like when I call you princess, princess?"

"No I don't… I'm trying to find a nickname for you. Preferably one you wouldn't like."

A shit eating grin spreads across Lexa's face. "Well the Polis guys had a nickname for me."

"What's that?" Asks Clarke, playing along.

"Commander", Lexa replies, like it's not that big of a deal.

It brings mixed feelings to Clarke - equally apprehensive and exasperated. "Are you making this up?"

"No, I'm not."

"People actually called you Commander?"

"Polis was kinda all over me, if you know what I mean", Lexa explains, rubbing her neck – Clarke figures that it's what she does when she's uncomfortable.

"No shit? Hell, if people were calling me Commander I think my head would inflate until it'd be impossible to fit through a door."

"Well calling me Commander would certainly reduce it to its normal size, even smaller, the way I see it", the forward brags, squaring her shoulders almost involuntarily.

At that, Clarke simply scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Oh do shut up, Commander of assholes."

"That looks a lot like surrendering, princess", Lexa replies in a sing song voice.

The remark leaves a tart feeling in the back of Clarke's mouth, but she knows it's more annoyance than anger. "Oh yeah?" She gets up, invading Lexa's personal space. The brunette doesn't wince, doesn't give an inch – she must be used to face offs.

"That's cute. You're a fine goalie, Griffin, but we both know you're not a goon", Lexa declares confidently, dominating her with all her height and large shoulders.

It only takes one of Clarke's amused lip bites to make Lexa's brain derail out of control (she does a great job hiding it, however). "I once hit a chick who ran into my net", Clarke calmly asserts, cocking her head to the side just slightly.

"If you're trying to turn me on, Griffin, you're doing well", snarls the brunette, lifting an eyebrow suggestively.

Clarke's smile gradually disappears, and her gaze turns into a deadly stare. "Oh, we're not going there."

Lexa can only observe as she coldly picks up her stick and helmet. "Come on, Griffin, you're exaggerating. Loosen up a bit, will you?"

The goalie's sarcastic nod is what generates Lexa's eye roll. "Yeah, loosen up my pants, would you like that? Sounds good to me."

"Jesus, can't a girl joke around a bit?" Huffs Lexa, and she's still got that cocky smile on her face, which contributes to bringing a heat of anger to Clarke's cheeks.

"Ha. And here I was thinking you weren't that much of a jerk after all."

It's Clarke's turn to leave Lexa hanging, and the blonde can feel her staring at her back until she leaves the ice, both satisfied and furious. How the fuck did they manage to take a step forward and then regain it immediately in just about five minutes?

Her last thought before getting to the locker room is one of soreness over Lexa's disinterested glances. She tries to determine which is worse: the way Lexa is so nonchalant about displeasing her, or the fact that she didn't try to stop her from leaving.

She hits the board with her stick before jumping off the ice, and finds the action all too revealing of her present state of mind.

Fuck this shit. The totality of her equipment finds itself brutally hurled into her duffle bag as she battles the whirlwind of feelings assailing her.

Getting a chick should be easy for her, not frustrating, and definitely not emotional. She cannot seem to wrap her head around the fact that she was not only rejected but also put in her place by Clarke Griffin, and man does it suck - the ridiculousness of the whole situation brings a nasty pang to her chest. Calm down. As if it wasn't enough, she knows deep down that she shouldn't be making that much a fuss about it, but it's almost like she lost sight of her identity – Alexandria Woods should not care about such things. And besides, she's already got plenty of girls to choose from, doesn't she?

"Hey, it's me", she salutes as she opens the mahogany door of the century-old house she shares with her sister.

"Oh hey, Lex. How was it?"

A mumble of intelligible words comes tumbling out of Lexa's mouth, and Anya cannot help but ask her to reformulate.

"It was okay, nothing special", repeats Lexa, disposing of her sticks quite sharply, and Anya's head pops in once again, her kid held up against her shoulder in an attempt to keep him from escaping to who knows where.

"Did you get into a fight or something?" the older woman asks, travelling to the kitchen to stir a pot absentmindedly. She then tastes its content, which appears to be soup or broth, and nods with a content smile. "It's weird though, you told me you liked your team not too long ago-" she continues, but gets interrupted by a short tempered Lexa who rubs at her forehead frustratingly. "I didn't get into a fight, and the team is fine. Alright?"

"Jesus, someone shove a broom up your ass?" Anya inquires, sprinkling some spice into the pot.

"What, did you expect me to start chit chatting with you about unimportant stuff? You know I don't like talking about it."

And Lexa seems on her way to the second floor, but Anya is not nearly done. She strokes Aden's head, who starts babbling incoherent sentences. "Listen, I'm finishing this up, then it's time for his nap (she points at the toddler who's dozing off in her arms). That means you can put on your big girl pants and spit it out around a nice glass of Chianti."

Lexa tries to stay mad and fails miserably – her sister appears to always know what to say to appease her hot temper. A smile creeps up shyly on her face, and she surrenders, nodding and making her way back down to the living room to turn the TV on.

As soon as Anya comes back from her son's bedroom, fist pumping victoriously (he rarely falls asleep right away), they uncork a bottle of red and drop down to each extremity of the couch.

"So. What's up, baby sis?" Anya asks, taking a first sip of wine and turning the TV on mute.

Before replying, Lexa makes sure to serve her one of her best "seriously?" looks, arched eyebrow and all, for she hates the pet name.

"I guess it's an addition of dumb things, is all", Lexa replies, then shrugs.

"Is it the away game?"

"Unlikely."

"Being named captain, then?" Anya suggest, running out of ideas.
"No, that I'm used to", the hockey player explains with small hand gestures. "It's just… I guess the team doesn't know me enough. And with the amount of shit they've heard about me, I'm guessing they all hate me. But it doesn't bother me."

"Then what does?"

"I don't know, I can't really point it out." Lexa tries, and it was a convincing attempt until she lowers her eyes, and the tension in her shoulders doesn't lie, doesn't escape her sister's knowing stare.

"That's bullshit. Is it the chick you brought home while we were away to the parade?" Shoots Anya, crossing her arms intimidatingly.

Lexa's reaction is priceless. Her eyes widen to the maximum size humanly sustainable and she bucks backwards in surprise – so hard she hits her head in the process, and winces in pain. "I didn't…" She starts, then trails off, knowing she's got no chance of convincing Anya. "How did you know?"

"Lex, I know what sex smells like. You could've at least opened the windows in your room or something."

"Fuck, I thought I'd been subtle", she mutters under her breath.

Anya pauses, smiling softly. Truth is, she's always been torn between tolerating and respecting her sister's life choices, or knocking some sense into her and bringing up the fact that one night stands are not a sensible way of life. Then again, she figures it's only her opinion and if that's what fits Lexa best, she won't judge (although she doubts it can bring her true happiness or fulfilment).

"So, is she giving you any trouble?" Anya asks gently, not wanting to rush but starting to be genuinely interested in the topic.

"No."

The answer is clear and undoubtedly true judging by Lexa's assertive, convinced expression.

"Wow, hell of a change from the last one", remarks Anya, accompanying the sentence with an eyebrow raise and a sip of her glass.

"Who, the funny Tennessee one?"

"Yeah, the one who asked you to choose her over hockey. Man, that was ridiculous."

"I think it took me less than a quarter of a second to make the choice", affirms Woods, nodding calmly as if remembering the event.

There's a small silence, and Anya suddenly imagines her sister being single at forty – she can't help it, and can't cope with it either. She blinks away the small wave of emotion and settles her attention on her glass, opening the wine with a few quick spins. "That's good then. If she's not too hard on you, I mean."

"Yeah, but she's way too into me, the poor thing. I'll have to end it soon, you know, pull off the band aid… I should make them sign a contract of some kind, just to make sure they don't expect anything."

Anya decides to risk it all – it's now or never. "Or you just find the right one", she suggests, shrugging like it's no big deal, except it is, it is a big deal. Especially to Lexa, who now stares at her quizzically. "What do you mean?" She asks, knowing exactly what her sister means, yet hoping she'll reformulate, change her mind, retreat.

"I'm just saying - you're twenty-two. Maybe it'd be nice, to, you know…" She stops herself at that, unsure if it's safe to continue.

"I'm not interested in that anymore", Lexa coldly snaps, her intense glare piercing through Anya's defences.

"But that was four years ago!" Anya exclaims a bit too loudly, and she suddenly remembers that her son is sleeping two doors away from them, so she repeats it again, still managing to make her whisper sound harsh. "That was four years ago!"

"Time won't change anything", states Lexa, her tone even, her jaw tightly wound. "Besides, you know I'm not that type of girl – all lovey dovey and shit…"

"Oh my god, Lexa, do you have any idea how big and fat that lie is? I could literally see it a mile away, smell it, even, like a hound dog-"

"Shut up", complains Lexa, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her index and thumb.

"Do you remember the valentine's day you spent with her?" the older sister points out, shoving her finger in Lexa's direction accusingly.

"I'd rather not", replies the hockey forward with a grimace.

"You were all like, this is love, blah blah blah, I'm walking on sunshine, shit, everything was rainbows and unicorns and you were like a lost puppy whenever she wasn't there…"

"Okay, I wasn't that bad, you're just amplifying the whole thing", Lexa counters frustratingly, emptying her glass and setting it down on the table in a rapid, inconsiderate movement.

"You used to say you were gonna marry her!" retorts Anya.

Memories come flowing back to Lexa, and it's the worst thing she could ever ask for at the moment. She relives everything – the star gazing, the bonfires with their friends, the wild, unbridled sex in parking lots that always ended with them collapsing, both out of breath, both blinded by lust and ecstasy and all the crazy, messed up things you feel coursing through your veins when you're young and in love. "I was sixteen, Anya! We all say dumb things when we're sixteen!"

"Go ahead, try anything you want. It doesn't change the way you felt about her."

"It wasn't love, Anya. Love goes both ways. This was all in my head, some hallucination, some obsession…"

"And it made you feel happy, Lex, you silly thing! can't you see you've never been as happy ever since? As happy, as content, as well…"

It hits her hard in the chest - like a gunshot, in a way.

It's been four years since she last felt giddy, lightheaded, since she's last seen the world with bright colors, since she's last woken up with a dumb, lovely smile on her face. She misses it – not necessarily the person who brought it, but instead, this feeling that could last forever, if well preserved, this feeling that heats up from your chest to the depths of your guts, that makes you feel whole, grand, invincible.

"I'm not like that, An. I don't think any of it is for me."

Then, a cannonball. "Who is she?"

"What?" Lexa asks, deeply distraught.

"It's a girl, isn't it? The reason why you're so pissed off. I figured it couldn't be that, but then I've seen you pissed off before, Lex, and you wouldn't talk about it like you're doing right now. So, who is she?"

"Wow, that would be an impressive deduction if it were true", Lexa speaks calmly, with detached words.

"You are actually blind, huh?" Anya inquires, getting up to plant a loving kiss on her sister's cheek.

Not allowing her the time to think of a reply, she gets up, gesturing towards Aden's room. "I'm gonna go check on him. You think about what I just told you."

And Lexa does just that – think, until she realizes it'll bring her nothing but self doubt.

That's it for now, I hope you liked it! I'm currently writing the next chapter and I'll update it as soon as possible!