A series of firm knocks sounded on Clarke's door, startling her from where she had been drying the last of her dishes. Could that be Lexa already? She hadn't heard her doorbell ring…
Throwing the towel back over the lip of the sink, she quickly smoothed her skirt as she made her way to answer the door. Flipping open the lock and pulling the door ajar, she revealed Lexa waiting in the hall, a coy smile already on her face.
"Your landlady let me in," she told Clarke, gesturing towards the stairs with her head.
Clarke stood frozen in the doorway, feeling stunned. Lexa was here, at her apartment door, in her elegant coat with her long, curling hair spilling over her shoulders. It was almost like a dream.
A scraping sound drew her attention to the threshold, were Lexa was pushing a tan suitcase towards her with her foot.
"Merry Christmas," she said. When Clarke made no move towards it, she urged, "Open it."
Clarke kneeled down next to the suitcase, looking at Lexa again before laying it on its back and popping the latches. Inside was a box full of tubes of watercolor paints, surrounded by a scatter of paintbrushes and charcoal pencils.
Clarke lifted the paints from the suitcase, turning them over in her hands in wonder. She had been yearning for a set like this, but had never had enough money.
"Lexa…" she breathed, at a loss for words. She glanced up at the woman, whose lips were tilted in a pleased smirk.
"I remember you saying you wanted better supplies," she said. A faint line formed between her brows. "I was assured these were high quality…"
"Yes, yes!" Clarke jumped upright, assuring her. "These are… they're amazing."
Lexa hummed in approval, her smile returning.
The silence stretched, threatening to become awkward before Clarke shook herself from her surprise, remembering her manners.
"I'm so sorry, I haven't even invited you in," she apologized, beckoning Lexa into her entryway. She quickly gathered up the suitcase and placed it against the wall as Lexa wandered further into her apartment, setting it on her bed before rejoining Lexa in the main living area.
"You have a lovely little place here," Lexa complimented, gazing around the small room with its mismatched furniture.
Clarke gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Well, it is little. But it's alright."
Lexa smiled at her. "Would you mind if I…?" She twirled her finger to indicate her desire to look around.
"Oh, no, go ahead," Clarke answered, and Lexa nodded her thanks.
Clarke made her way to her record player, picking out a record and putting needle to vinyl, all while keeping Lexa in the corner of her eye. She watched as the woman leisurely made her way around the room, her fingers running over couches and bookshelves as she walked. Clarke's heart beat in her chest, hoping Lexa's refined tastes wouldn't cause her to look too poorly on Clarke's secondhand furniture and cheap prints of famous paintings on the wall.
Lexa wandered into the kitchen and Clarke follows behind her, fidgeting as she stopped to scan the collection of drawings she had pinned to the wall next to the door.
A watercolor of a sunset, the orange fading to purple over a dark green forest. A tower, its cylindrical frame rising high above the surrounding buildings. A pair of hands outstretched.
Lexa stilled as her eyes caught on a sketch of herself. It was from the Christmas tree lot, when Clarke's fingers flew to capture Lexa as she looked back over her shoulder, to trace the lithe line of her back and swirl of her hair in the wind.
"It's not that good," Clarke spoke up, noticing her attention. "I was rushed, I mean... I can do better."
Lexa's lips curled in a small smile, disagreeing entirely. "It's perfect."
Her gaze drifted lower, to the only photograph on the wall. It was a small picture, showing a young girl of about five, her blonde pigtails held back with ribbons.
"Is this you?" Lexa asked hoarsely, her fingertips hovering over the cardboard frame. The round face, soft cheeks spread by a gap-toothed smile, reminded her too much of Tenley's own sweet grin.
Behind her, Clarke smiled to herself, remembering the time when the photo was taken. "Yes," she confirmed.
Lexa continued to stare for a moment, then turned away abruptly, heading back into the living room.
"Do you have anything other than paints in the icebox?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips to stop their shaking. She couldn't find it in herself to look at Clarke. "I- I'm feeling –"
"Sure," Clarke said, pulling the thick fridge door open and grabbing two beers. In all honesty, that was about all that was inside, but at least she had something to offer the woman.
As she picked up the bottle opener, she slowed, hearing the sound of sniffles behind her.
She turned, looking towards Lexa. The woman had perched on the arm of the couch and was now hunched over, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Her shoulders shuddered with suppressed sobs.
Clarke's heart clenched at the sight. She set the beers down, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure what to do. Though she had only known the woman a short time, she knew that Lexa always did her best to keep her emotions composed. What could have happened to make her break down like this? It felt wrong, almost painful to see her cry.
Clarke stepped forward tentatively, laying a hand on Lexa's shoulder and rubbing slightly. Lexa let out a soft noise of surprise, flinching slightly and turning her face away. But even as she did, her opposite hand drifted up, seeking out and covering Clarke's own.
As the tears she couldn't suppress dripped down Lexa's face, Clarke sidled up next to her, getting as close as she could without touching her. She brought her other hand up to join her first, her thumb running soothing circles over Lexa's knuckles.
There was a long, still moment, only broken by Lexa's quiet sobs, until finally her tears slowed. She turned her face towards Clarke, briefly pressing her cheek to the girl's hands still on her shoulder before looking up at her.
"I'm sorry for that," Lexa said, her eyes red-rimmed and shining.
Clarke's heart went out to her. She wanted to do whatever she could to make Lexa feel better.
"I'm going to make some coffee," she told Lexa, giving her hand a tiny squeeze before pulling away. "Then, would you… like to talk about it?"
Lexa looked down, and Clarke was pierced by the fear that she would pull away. But she looked back up, and her eyes were soft.
"Yes, I think I would," she murmured.
Clarke let a tiny smile steal over her face, then went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As it percolated, she came back to the doorway, gripping the frame and leaning into it with her shoulder.
"When I'm upset," she said, drawing Lexa's attention, "I like to go up to the roof to think. Do you want to go?"
Lexa smiled at her. "That sounds lovely."
Clarke returned the smile with a duck of her head, then returned to the coffee pot to pour two mugs. She made her way back into the living room, waiting until Lexa had shrugged into her coat to hand her hers. Quickly pulling on her own jacket, she led the way from her apartment up the stairs and onto the roof.
She settled in her usual spot against the block of ducts, leaving Lexa to wander near the edge of the roof, staring into the street below. Cradling her coffee in her hands, she waited in silence for Lexa to speak.
It took a while for Lexa to find the words as she paced back and forth, but eventually she began to talk. In slow, trembling tones she told Clarke about what her lawyer had told her that afternoon, of what Roan had done and what it would mean for her and Tenley. How he meant to take her daughter away from her.
By the time Lexa stopped talking, Clarke's cheeks were wet with sympathetic tears, her coffee on the ground beside her, forgotten.
After a moment, she spoke up. "Is there any point in, I don't know... fighting it?"
"The injunction?" Lexa looked at her, then shook her head. "No."
Clarke felt like a heavy weight was pressing on her chest. She wracked her brain for any way she could help, coming up empty at every turn. "I feel – useless," she admitted. "Like I can't help you or offer anything –"
"It has nothing to do with you," Lexa told her.
Though Clarke was sure she had only meant to reassure, the comment stung. What if she wanted it to do with her? Did Lexa think she didn't care? That if there was something she could do, she wouldn't jump for the chance?
Lexa paced for another few steps. "I'm going away for a while," she said.
Clarke started at Lexa's words, her anger abruptly replaced with dismay.
"When?" she asked, trying to hide the pounding of her heart. "Where?"
Lexa scoffed lightly, smirking. "Wherever my car will take me." Her expression fell to seriousness. "West. Soon."
She looked down at her coffee, swirling it in its mug.
Haltingly, she continued. "And I thought... perhaps, you might like to come with me."
Clarke looked up, meeting Lexa's green eyes in the dim light reflected from the streetlamps below.
"Would you?" Lexa asked softly, almost timidly.
Warmth bloomed in Clarke's chest, filling her with a joy she had never felt before. Whatever her feelings for the woman were, she knew that she desperately wanted her in her life. And to know that Lexa wanted the same…
"Yes," she said steadily, a smile spreading across her face. "Yes, I would."