Definitely, Maybe

A/N ~ Since I might not be able to update for a few days and I wasn't entirely happy with the last chapter, I'm going to give you this one today. As an addional thank you for all your kind words and follows; please, for the sake of your health, imagine Clarke and Lexa having a kid and loosing said kid in a ball pit.

9.

Clarke groaned and rolled over to violently assault the snooze on her alarm clock the morning of Halloween. Fucking Halloween and fucking frat boys. It took a great deal of effort to kick off her tangled covers and not faceplant the pillow. What made it worse was how awake she actually felt; it was more the prospect of her promise looming. She wiped the last traces of the nights' sleep from her face, sat up, and almost had a damn heart attack. "Morning," Clarke muttered, fazed, frowning (and endlessly thankful she hadn't slept in a ratty t-shirt and old underwear for once). Lexa was never in when she woke up.

That was one of the few things Clarke enjoyed about the whole having-a-roommate ordeal. Their schedules were so different during the week that they didn't ever see each other in the morning; and on the weekend, well - Clarke just assumed Lexa got up even earlier than she did, because the very soonest she'd ever seen her she was showered, dressed (impeccably eyeliner-ed) and was coming in from grabbed the blanket again out of instinct, too many trails of sleep still clinging to her for her to be as freaked and annoyed as she usually would have been.

"Morning," Lexa replied, without much involvement. She was still showered, dressed and impeccably eyeliner-ed, going through a textbook. It was infuriating. She was all... Uncrackably Lexa, and there Clarke was, all bedheaded and sleepy in mismatched pyjamas, ensnared in blankets.

Clarke replied with an unintelligble grumble, reaching over to swipe her phone unlocked. It was coming up to twelve o'clock - not even considered a lie-in by most of her slob friends but a veritable coma by her standards. She had five new text messages. She thumbed with distate and disinterest through Raven's reminders about bringing some contribution to the party tonight, Octavia's group alert to meet her outside and go in together and Jasper's pointless happy Halloween. Feeling extremely self-conscious, Clarke hastened to throw her shower stuff and some clothes into a bag. So, what? She was just getting on with her day with me sleeping a foot away from her? Clarke wasn't sure she'd have been quite comfortable enough with her yet to do that. She shook it off, and she'd never been out the door quicker.

While students roaming around in pyjamas were a common sight pretty much everywhere in the college-dominated town, Clarke Griffin had never been one of them before. She didn't know why; pyjamas were comfortable and it was hard to say goodbye to them some days. But perhaps she had a little too much dignity to present herself in her Starry Night print t-shirt and stripy cotton trousers. Until now, apparantly. Fucking Lexa. The girls' showers in the dormitory block were crowded; Clarke stood around sorting out the bed-hair sitaution until the perpetually freezing (invigorating, an optimist would have said) shower at the end became unoccupied.

For some bizarre reason, the proudly un-materialistic Clarke had accquired the urge to look really, really good when she got back to the dorm, to spite her roommate. She ran into Lincoln on the way back, just coming out of his room. "Still going to the party tonight?" He wondered cordially. "I'm not going to have any alcohol, but I've kind of come around to the rest of it." Some people had hung fake cobwebs and paper skeletons on their doors.

"Unfortunately. Not managed to slip that noose yet," Clarke muttered. However horrifying that shower had been whilst under the icy downpour, she was determined to face it down like a worthy adversary, and she was actually grateful; it had woken her right up.

Lincoln grinned as he went off down the hall. "Don't be so grim - it could be fun!"

"Yeah," Clarke muttered to herself as she barged back into the dorm. "And hell could freeze over." She dumped the shower bag unceremoniously onto her bed and rescanned her phone's inbox with more refreshed eyes. Bring a contribution? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Alcohol, probably. Clarke still didn't have a fake ID. (Although by this point she'd made peace with the fact that it was only practical to accquire one in the near future.) Maybe she could just bring some dip or something and they'd all be too busy getting hazed to notice. "Hey," Clarke broke the silence. Lexa was sitting on the edge of her bed, lacing her boots up. "You know anywhere close I can get... party supplies?"

Lexa finished lacing. For a moment Clarke thought she was going to be left deviod of an answer; that was before literally the only turn of events Clarke would never have imagined unfolded.

"I was just going out anyway." She stood up, taking her coat from it's hook on the back of the door.

Absurdly perplexed and somewhat intruiged, Clarke shoved her phone and wallet in her pocket and shrugged on her leather jacket. "Okay." Wow. Lexa nodded, and with Clarke still entirely fazed, and surprisingly, not in a bad way, the two of them went out their shared door, together for the first time. "So," Clarke started, when they were halfway down the hall. "Where are we going?"

"I'm going to get lunch from Ton DC." Lexa replied, and Clarke felt the I'm too forecefully. "There's an Iceland nearby. It's not more than five minutes from here."

Clarke nodded. Lexa had a certain way of walking. She hadn't noticed before; somehow, crowded under a flimsy Wal-Mart umbrella in a furious rainstorm in the headlights of the oncoming darkness kind of commanded its' own attention. Although Lexa did too - and that carried over into the way she moved. Commanding and purposeful and somehow kind of regal. No - that wasn't the right word. Clarke was beginning to doubt there was any right word for Lexa. "What's Ton DC?"

"It's a resturant about a minute off campus. I'd have thought you'd have heard of it." Clarke wasn't sure if she should be offended (or maybe just try and get out more). Although maybe it was some kind of grounder hangout.

"Nope. Are they any good?"

"Yes. Lots of variety, lot of it's not overprocessed." Lexa still managed to sound as if she was explaining something Clarke ought to know already; like she was some salesman hating and humouring his job. And that was infuriating - there was more to her, and Clarke knew it. She'd become sure of that the night that the window failed at being a window. After all, cold exteriors were only that: exteriors. (And even if they did run deeper, people who were composed entirely of unexplainable ice didn't tend to keep crumpled old poloroids in the darkness of their stationary drawers.)

"Oh, cool," Grounder or no, Clarke was beginning to like the sound of the place. "I'm kind of a health freak." Apart from the occaisional whole pizza thrust on me by my friends and the disgusting mountains of comfort food you've watched me devour.

"It's not being a health freak, it's having common sense." Lexa nodded at a passing grounder sporting a hipsterish beard that, through the magic of the grounders, didn't look hipsterish on him at all. "Whatever you eat affects you either way."

"That's what I always say," Clarke realized, keeping pace with Lexa as she rounded a corner, the little square opening up to her dominated by a large wooden building whose sign was a broken 'Washington DC' one. She smiled at that. Political. She shouldn't have expected any less. "Obesity's bullshit if you have any self-respect or brain cells."

Lexa nodded. The Iceland was squashed inbetween a post office and an old-fashioned carpenters'. She was in the doors and scanning the aisles for something to contribute to the party (she still didn't understand what that meant) when she realized Lexa was still beside her. She didn't object - she was just thinking it was nice (and entirely unnecessary) of her to come in with her when Lexa leaned past her and started picking various items of her own off the shelves.

Fine. Clarke grabbed a few cans of Pringles off the shelf and the two of them moved toward the queue. "So what party's this?"

"Oh, it's just something stupid," Most of the time Lexa seemed like she couldn't care less about Clarke, or anything the slightest bit trivial. (God forbid anything the slightest bit trivial about Clarke.) And then she went and actually asked questions, unprompted. Clarke thought she was growing used to the unpredictability of her roommate. "It's this this costume party at this frat; my friends are making me go."

Lexa looked her right in the eyes. (Okay. Maybe she wasn't.) Under the drama of the makeup, her eyes were as intense as she was as a person. It was entirely unnerving, and it was so something illogically difficult to look away from, like an eclipse or a train crash. "I hadn't thought of you as someone who did things they didn't want to do."

I hadn't thought you thought of me.

Stupidly uncertain of how to reply (an entirely new and unhinging sensation) Clarke's eyes caught on the alcohol shelf and latched onto it as a new topic of conversation. "I think I need alcohol."

"What did I do?" Lexa murmured with a wry eyebrow quirk. She still wasn't smiling. But, Clarke thought - baby steps in the right direction.

"Do they ID in here?" Clarke, worming past Lexa and going over to retrieve two bottles on two-for-one offer (classy), thought the situation hopeful; the surly teenage cashier looked half asleep. Despite Lexa's delayed answer, she hurried back over to the queue, where her roommate promptly took the bottles from her.

"Here," Lexa put them on the counter with the rest of her stuff, and Clarke was still standing, perplexed until she dug into her wallet and came up with a fake ID of her own. What the...? Clarke supposed everyone had them; she just never thought of Lexa as everyone. The health talk - whatever. She really needed to stop subconsciously assuming things about people. Lexa handed over the cash without any hesitation; and the cashier handed over the items without any hesitation. After she'd paid for her deject little tubes of Pringles, Clarke hurried after Lexa out the door, handing over the money.

"Why'd you do that?"

Just the look on Lexa's face as she tucked the money into her wallet made her feel like her question was obsolete. "Why wouldn't I do that?"

"Because," Clarke said, taking back her drinks back and transferring them into the bag with her Pringles. "It's not like we're friends, or anything," We all know how you feel about those.

"No," Lexa agreed. Above, the clouds were, inevitably greying. "But I don't dislike you." The wind was stirring the ends of her hair; she looked like someone in a painting - someone just a little bit unreal. Clarke wondered just how strange things had to be for that statement to feel like a compliment. "I can respect you." Well. From Lexa, that was practically a marriage proposal, so she guessed she had to take what she was given.

"Thanks." Clarke sounded far more sarcastic than she meant to. Awkward silence.

"I'm going to get lunch." Lexa turned toward the resturant - Ton DC - without any more preamble. Clarke was about to head back to campus, and find some of the Ark crew to laze around with until tonight, but she decided last minute that last minute decisions were usually the best ones to look back on.

"Wait," She caught up to her, as she had that night in the rain. Lexa turned with an expectant look. "Room for a second?"

-0-

"I'm not saying we should storm the white house or whatever -"

"We won't need to. The wage gap'll close itself in a few years." Lexa was saying, her voice somehow carrying over the hum of clinking cuttlery and chatter.

Ton DC was actually really nice. The bar was clean, the tables and interior actual wood rather than cheap, fooling-absolutely-nobody plastic. The food was insanely good. And she was pretty sure she was the only non-grounder in the place. She also liked the fact that there wasn't a plastic pumpkin anywhere in sight. The little table in the corner, tucked away from the bar and the stairs, where she sat opposite Lexa, was exactly the table she'd have chosen had Lexa not automatically went and sat down there. Lexa was talking. Involvedly, actually talking with her. It was more of a lets-put-the-world-to-rights debate. But still. Hopefully, unlike the Night of the Retarded Window, after this they wouldn't be so awkward.

(Because Clarke felt as though they'd broken through that barrier now.)

"If not, I'll bring the flaming torches." (At least Clarke hoped.)

Lexa made that facial expression that was kind of pre-smile if Clarke was being generous. "I'll bring the angry villagers."

"It's a deal." She agreed. The whole - however long they'd been in there - Clarke had been perfecting the art of deflecting silence. She had no idea why; she just couldn't shake the feeling there was more going on with Lexa, and it wasn't like she had anything better to do. (And Lexa's hair was seriously awesome enough to wholly distract her from the words costume, halloween, and frat.) "Are you going to eat that?"

"Be my guest." Lexa pushed her demolished plate across the table at her. Clarke wasn't sure if that was crossing some weird social boundary; but she had dressing left on her plate, and if Lexa didn't want the remainder of the bread, she wasn't going to see it go to waste.

The shadow of the party situation had lifted, a little.