Chapter 7/12

Clarke woke to a gentle pressure on her shoulder. Her eyes opened to find Abby kneeling in front of her, the older woman's gaze tender as she took in what Clarke thought must have been a dishevelled, fractured woman.

"Clarke," Abby whispered, her face cracking into a sad smile.

"Hi," Clarke murmured as she sat up a little more in her chair. "When did you get here?" and Clarke looked to the clock on the wall to gauge the time.

"About nine," Abby whispered. "I was just about to get something to drink," and her voice trailed off in question.

"I'm ok," Clarke said.

"Ok," Abby said, her head nodding quietly before she stood. "I'll be back soon."

And so Clarke watched as her mother slipped from the room. And Clarke yawned then, and she felt her neck protest the motion, she felt her jaw click a little and she felt the satisfying crack in her spine as she twisted a little before her eyes fell to Lexa once more.

But Clarke was spared her spiralling thoughts when Abby returned, the door opening just enough that Abby could slip inside before it closed behind her.

Abby took a seat then, and Clarke knew her mother wouldn't voice much in the first few moments, she knew Abby would be content with remaining quiet, would be content with just watching how her daughter shifted in her seat, how she wouldn't quite meet her mother's gaze.

"I know what you're thinking," Clarke said, eyes meeting the eyebrow her mother raised.

"What am I thinking?" Abby said.

"That I look liked shit."

"You do," Abby smiled.

"Can you blame me?" Clarke asked.

"No," and Abby smiled a little before falling silent again, her gaze turning to Lexa's body.

"I'm ok," Clarke said in anticipation to whatever thoughts she was sure her mother wished to say.

"Are you?" Abby asked.

"As much as I can be," Clarke shrugged.

Abby nodded as she leant a little more into her chair and brought the cup to her lips.

"It's getting colder," Abby said as she took in the wafting of her cup.

"It is," Clarke answered as she glanced out the window and through the curtains to see the barest hints of snow falling.

Abby smiled once more, and Clarke thought, and she knew that her mother wouldn't dwell on the pain, on the hurt that existed in the room.

And so Clarke sighed a little, ran a hand across her face briefly and then smiled as words and thoughts and conversation began to form on her lips.

And perhaps Clarke welcomed the distraction.


Lexa's breaths came rapidly, they came tiredly and broken. She felt the sweat trickle down her forehead and she couldn't help but to snarl a little at the sting she felt burn into the corner of her eye. But she looked up as she saw the shadow fall across her from where she sat on the ground.

"What?" she asked, eyes glaring at the blonde who stood before her, hands on hips and a smirk upon lips.

"You're really this tired?" Clarke asked.

"Yes," Lexa responded. "Who was the one unpacking everything? Who was the one moving everything into place?"

"Oh, I don't know," Clarke hummed as she looked up into the ceiling. "You'd have to remind me."

"I wouldn't have to remind you if you helped," Lexa said.

"But I'd be denying you the chance to show off all those muscles you used to have," Clarke said.

"Yeah, Clarke," Lexa grunted. "Used to. I haven't played hockey in years," but Lexa couldn't help but smile as Clarke pouted.

But Clarke flopped down besides her with a groan as she stretched her legs out in front of them.

"I still can't really believe it," Clarke said simply, and Lexa turned to see a smile on Clarke's face as she looked out at the boxes and the furniture in various states of disorder.

"I can't, either," Lexa agreed as she nudged Clarke's shoulder with her own.

"Yeah," Clarke said as she turned to face her. "It's nice."

And so Lexa smiled, and she felt it spread more fully, she felt it settle and she felt herself content in this moment.


Lexa's mind turned slowly, it turned lazily, it drifted with each ghosting breeze that she felt brush against her cheek. She felt the press of Clarke's body against her though, she felt Clarke's warmth and she felt Clarke's exhale as it brushed against her neck.

And so her eyes opened to the dark of their room, to the boxes that remained unpacked and to the clothes that remained strewn across the floor. Lexa smiled as she sunk deeper into the covers though, she smiled as she rolled onto her side and she smiled as her eyes adjusted to the light that seemed to bounce a little more brightly off Clarke's hair.

It was odd, too. Lexa had never thought of herself as sentimental, never thought herself as willing to show her affections overtly. But perhaps she enjoyed the way she felt herself mould and bend with Clarke with each passing day. And she felt the quiet settle, she felt the cold kept distant, and she felt her heart as it continued to beat steadily within her chest as her eyes began to trace the gentle dip of Clarke's nose, the way her jaw curved a bit and the way her chin trembled just a little in her sleep.

Lexa tucked a hand under her head as she continued to watch Clarke sleep, and she smiled a little as her breath ghosted against the other woman's face, her nose scrunching up a little. She reached out then, and it wasn't a conscious thought, wasn't a realised motion, perhaps wasn't even noticed, but she reached out with a hand, her finger just barely brushing a hair from Clarke's cheek before she brought her hand back to the safety of her side of the bed.

And she liked this.

She enjoyed this.

She wanted this.

And she loved.


Lexa slowed the car as the lights began to change. It took her a moment to ease the car to a stop, the road more ice now, and she eyed the way cars started passing in front of her, she eyed the way many had snow chains, she eyed the way some took a little longer than usual to accelerate. And she thought it odd that she enjoyed moments like this, she found it unusual that she found it interesting to see how people seemed to react to danger, how they seemed to react to more hostile environments, how they even seemed to take more care.

She reached for the radio then, fingers just a little numb in the cold, and she smiled as a tune reached her ears and she felt her fingers begin to tap against the steering wheel mindlessly.

But the lights changed, she saw them snap to green and she looked both ways quickly before beginning to inch forward with the traffic.

And maybe it was her times spent playing hockey, maybe it was the years she had spent chasing the flash of a rubber puck, the fleeting dance of a player as they tried to pass her and the sixth sense she had developed, but she knew she sensed something.

Lexa's head snapped to the side as she saw a car lose traction, as its wheels began to spin helplessly. And it took her a moment to register the path it began to slice over the road, it took her a second to understand its destination, how it spun and spun.

Lexa braced herself for the impact, she braced herself for the sound and the crunch of metal against metal.

And she couldn't help but wince as the car slammed into a traffic pole, she couldn't help but flinch just a little as she saw its airbags punch up to meet the unfortunate driver. And perhaps she was a little thankful she drove with snow chains.

Lexa pulled her car over then, eyes glancing rearward to see others bringing their cars to a pause. And so she opened the door, hand already groping for her phone as she began the careful walk to the car, eyes searching for signs of injury and pain.


Signing contracts sucked. Her hand cramped and her eyes itched from the number of lines she had read. But Lexa wasn't a quitter, she wasn't someone who gave up at the slightest sign of discomfort. And so she took a sip from a long gone coffee, she grimaced as she set it down and she thumbed through the next couple pages as her eyes darted to the clock that hung on the wall.

"So," and Lexa looked up to see Anya eyeing her carefully.

"So?"

"So," Anya repeated. "You talk to Clarke yet?"

"No," Lexa said, eyes narrowing as she took in the way Anya shifted a little closer before leaning a hip against her desk's edge.

"Why not?" Anya questioned.

"I don't know," Lexa said as she leant back in her chair, chin raising as she shuffled the papers away from her for the moment.

"That's a lame excuse," Anya said simply.

"It is," Lexa nodded.

"Want my opinion?"

"Not re—"

"—I'm giving it to you anyway," and Anya reached out and grabbed the closest chair she could find. "I think you should talk to her before asking," and Anya held a hand up as Lexa began to question her. "I know you're going to say you know what her answer's going to be, and I have a pretty good idea what her answer will be too," Anya continued. "But shouldn't you guys discuss things? Finances? Living arrangements, adult stuff?"

"We already live together," Lexa said.

"True," and Anya crossed her arms as she began tapping on Lexa's desk with a finger absentmindedly. "What about this then," and Anya's lips broke into a smirk. "You're going to have to sneak around if you don't tell her, you're going to have to go out, buy the ring, hide it, right?"

"Right," Lexa nodded.

"What if she doesn't like the ring? What if it isn't the right one? What if she asks first?"

Lexa grit her teeth a little. Just enough that she could imagine them cracking.

"And all the sneaking around you're going to have to do," Anya continued. "She'll think you're cheating on her, she'll think you're sleeping around," and Anya shrugged. "That wouldn't be cool."

"No," Lexa nodded a little. "It wouldn't be."

"Do you really want to put Clarke through that? Do you really want her to think you're breaking her heart?"

"That's mean," Lexa said.

"What can I say?" Anya shrugged.

"Not that."

Anya laughed then, just a little, but enough that Lexa knew she felt her own lips twitch a little.

"I'm just saying, Lex. I think it'd be better if she knew you were going to do it so that it's not some massive surprise."

"Isn't that the point though? For it to be a surprise?"

"Yeah," and Anya nodded again. "When you do it should be a surprise. Not that you do it," and Anya looked up in thought for a moment. "Do you really want to be like some of those poor fucks on the internet who get filmed proposing only for the woman to say no and end up leaving them in front of a crowd? All because they didn't talk things out first."

"Not really," Lexa agreed, her smile spreading a little more freely now.

"I rest my case."


"So I said to him not to touch my stuff, right?" and Clarke swept a strand of hair behind an ear. "But then he ate my apple."

"That's not good," Lexa said as she fumbled for her keys.

"It's not," Clarke grumbled as she paused at the door.

"Here," Lexa said as the lights on the car blinked once before the doors unlocked.

"It was annoying," Clarke continued as she slumped into the passenger seat. "But they're kids. What can I do?"

"Not much?"

"Yeah, I can't really yell at them or something."

"No," and Lexa laughed. "That wouldn't be good."

"So," and Clarke trailed off as she glanced out the window.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"Lake," Lexa said simply.

"How romantic," Clarke gasped in jest, a hand coming to her heart as she batted her eyelids.

"I wanted to talk," Lexa began as she began pulling the car out of the car park. "And it's sort of important."

And Clarke went quiet then, and Lexa was sure Clarke was eyeing her suspiciously.

"What kind of talk?" and Lexa was sure Clarke started glancing around the car in search of something.

"Well," and Lexa worried her lip. "It was Anya's idea and she talked me into it, so don't be angry with me if you absolutely hate it."

"Go on," and Lexa sensed Clarke cross her arms.

"Marriage," Lexa said. "You and me," and she winced as she tried to think of a better way to articulate the words she wanted to voice.

"This is the worst proposal I have ever heard."

"No," and Lexa glanced to the side for a moment to see Clarke glaring at her. "I'm not proposing," and she looked back to the road. "Hold on," and she sensed Clarke's eyebrow raise. "You've been proposed to before?"

"That's not the point."

"Ok," and Lexa took in a deep breath as she tried to focus on her words and on the way she drove. "Can we talk about this when I'm not driving?" and she worried her lip. "I want to get it right."

And so Clarke sighed, and Lexa thought she felt Clarke loosen a little in her seat.

"Ok."


Lexa's skates cut over the ice easily, and she knew Clarke waited for her to voice, to speak of whatever she had tried to speak of in the car. But it was odd. If only because she knew Clarke would say yes, she knew Clarke would want to get married in the future. But perhaps it was odd because she felt nervous, she felt unsure. And perhaps it was because she thought the conversation they were to have was important, would define where they would go, how their futures would evolve together.

"I've been thinking about it for a while," Lexa began as she looked to Clarke besides her.

"Marriage?"

"Yeah," and Lexa nodded to herself a little.

"Me too," Clarke said simply, and Lexa knew Clarke had anticipated where things were going, where the conversation may be headed.

"I don't know if I'm ready just yet," and she glanced to Clarke to see her nod in understanding. "But I know I want it."

"Me too," Clarke echoed, and Lexa saw her beginning to smile more freely.

"We've both got careers, we've only just started our lives together—"

"There's still time," Clarke cut in.

"Exactly," and Lexa felt a sense of quiet relief begin to rise. "I don't want to rush things, but I know what I want."

And perhaps Lexa still felt a little exposed, a little vulnerable.

"I want those things, too," Clarke whispered as she wove an arm through Lexa's own.

"Good," Lexa said then, and she nodded to herself, she tried to force her thoughts into calmer waters.

"Good," Clarke whispered as she brought them a little closer together as they continued to glide across the frozen lake, other couples and children and families happy to do the same in the little daylight left.


It was dark by the time Lexa found herself sitting on a bench, eyes happy to move from the stars and to the fires that dotted the lake's edge.

"It took a little longer for the lake to freeze enough," Clarke said.

"It did," Lexa nodded.

"It's lucky some of the kids didn't get hurt this year," Clarke continued.

"It was," Lexa said as she glanced to a family that huddled by a fire, their laughter wafting over the wind happily.

"You know, Lex," and Clarke bumped their shoulders together. "Now that I know you're thinking of marriage I'm expecting a huge proposal."

And Lexa laughed a little, but she couldn't help but feel just a little nervousness begin to creep in, begin to settle into the pit of her stomach as she turned to find Clarke looking at her expectant and sure.

"I'm just kidding," Clarke laughed. "Anything you did, any way you did it would be enough," and Clarke leant her head on her shoulder.

And so Lexa let out a breath that she thought too loud, too deep, if only because Clarke poked her in the ribs and nudged under her chin a little with her forehead.

But perhaps Lexa couldn't quite stop her thoughts from turning to the future, from turning to things that could happen. If only because images of families, of futures and children flit through her mind in that moment.

"I saw someone crash today," Lexa began. "It wasn't serious," and she felt Clarke settle closer to her as she murmured.

"No one got hurt?"

"No," Lexa answered. "They didn't have snow chains on though," and Lexa pictured the way the tyres had spun and lost traction on the road. "It could have been bad," and Lexa worried her lip.

"But it wasn't?" Clarke asked as she looked up.

"It wasn't," Lexa said. "But," and Lexa looked away in thought, she looked away and she tried to figure out exactly why she had begun speaking. "It just made me realise that sometimes you never know what's going to happen," and she eyed Clarke carefully, memories of years past, of pains and hurt and loss that still sometimes woke during uncertain moments, coming to surface slowly.

"I'm ok," Clarke whispered.

"You mean the world to me," Lexa began. "And this morning just made me realise that sometimes things aren't always in our control," and she paused a little.

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't live life, though," Clarke challenged.

"I know," Lexa said. "But sometimes living life means knowing when to let go, knowing what to give up to be able to survive."

"Where are you going with this, Lex?" Clarke asked tiredly.

"The crash made me realise that if I ever end up in a crash, if I ever end up messed up," and she paused. "Life should be about more than just surviving," and Lexa swallowed harshly.

Clarke leant away a little though, enough that space was created between them, enough that Clarke could meet Lexa's gaze.

"Nothing's going to happen," Clarke said, and Lexa smiled at the conviction she heard.

"You don't know that, Clarke," she said. "Just—" but she looked away for a moment. "Just give me a year," and Lexa turned back to Clarke. "Give me a year. And if I'm still gone, if all I'm doing is surviving with the help of a machine then I give you permission to pull the plug."

"Hey," and Clarke swivelled from where she leant against Lexa so that she faced her fully. "Where's this coming from?"

"You," Lexa said simply. "But I'm serious," and Lexa squeezed Clarke's hand. "If something ever happens then I don't want to live my life not living, not being able to wake up to your face. I don't want to not be able to hold you. I don't want to not be able to hear your laugh and to see your smile."

And as her words trailed off she thought her words just a little rambling, just a little unsure. But she was sure Clarke understood, she was sure Clarke recognised her words and their meaning.

And Clarke met her gaze for a long moment. And Lexa thought it quiet, she thought it worried, unsure, uncertain, afraid and perhaps just a little fearful. But she knew she saw the love in Clarke's eyes, she knew she felt the understanding in Clarke's eyes. But perhaps above all, she knew Clarke loved her.

And she was sure.

"Ok."


Clarke hated the sounds of the machines. She hated that quiet whirring, that quiet breathing that seemed too constant, too well timed, too false. She hated the way it seemed too loud. But perhaps most of all, she hated that it wasn't Lexa.

"I hate you," and it surprised her when the words left her mouth. "I hate you," and she couldn't tear her eyes from Lexa's body, couldn't pull her gaze from where she held Lexa's hand in her own. "I hate that you made me promise. I hate that you made me agree," and she felt her tears begin to fall.

And she did hate it. She hated feeling trapped. She hated being forced to let go before she was ready to give up. And she hated that she still had time. But not enough.

"Why?" and Clarke squeezed her eyes shut. "Why did I have to love you, Lex?"

And maybe Clarke hoped to hear a response. Maybe she hoped to hear that voice once more.

"Maybe if you said something, maybe if you made me angry before you left then I wouldn't feel guilty about not listening, about not keeping my promise."

But Clarke knew she would never and could never have done anything else.

"If I didn't love you so much maybe it would be easier. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. But I do. I do and it hurts more each day. It hurts to wake up, it hurts to fall asleep only to dream of you. It hurts to wake up to you here. It hurts to not feel you against me, it hurts not to know how your day went," and Clarke grimaced.

She squeezed her eyes shut again and she shook her head for a too long minute.

"Please," and her voice came out a whisper. "Please just give me a sign," and Clarke felt her lip tremble. "Tell me that you're still there, that you can hear me," and Clarke hated it. "Do something, do anything," and Clarke knew she started to cry more fully, she knew her pain had taken hold. "Please, Lexa," and she let her vision blur.

But it still hurt.

She thought it always would.

"You still have time."

But not enough.

"Please."