St. Andrews Children's Shelter, Wembley, Polis - December 22nd 2018 - 13:00 CET

"Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring," Clarke pauses, her eyes widening dramatically as she stares at the two dozen enraptured children before her and adds in a low whisper, "Not even a mouse." She twists the large picture book so they can see before continuing, "The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in the hopes that Saint Nicholas would soon be there."

Clarke keeps her voice steady and tries her best not to be distracted by the heat of Lexa's gaze. But when she pauses again to turn the page, the blonde risks a surreptitious glance at the queen. Lexa stands a few feet away with the shelter's matron and though the two are conversing, the queen's eyes stay fixed on Clarke where she sits with the children.

Pink tinges the blonde's cheeks as she turns back, smiling at a small boy in the front row who cannot be more than eight. He has sharp cheekbones and steady gaze and strangely enough reminds Clarke of her mother. She reads the next line to him, "The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads."

The children gasp at the flying sleigh and giggle at Santa's jiggling stomach and when Clarke comes to the last line they all call out in unison, "Happy Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!" When she closes the book, the kids swarm her, talking over each other and asking questions. Clarke can hear the matron's rough chuckle at their delight as well as her following observation.

"The duchess is special, isn't she, your majesty?"

"She is, indeed," the queen murmurs softly.

"I dare say you've found a real partner in her."

Lexa's reply is lost as the small boy from earlier places his hands on Clarke's knees and sticks his face near her own. Clarke raises her eyebrows at the child's scrutiny, but the boy simply frowns and asks, "Is it true you're really a princess?"

The blonde grins, "Not yet. I'll have to marry the queen first."

"Are you in love with her?"

Clarke's eyes dart up. Both Lexa and the matron have joined their circle. The queen's face is placid, relaxed almost… too relaxed. It's that practiced detachment which tells Clarke that Lexa is waiting for her response. And the blonde can feel her cheeks warm as she turns back to the child, "I am."

"How much do you love her? More than this?" The boy opens his arms.

"Yes, more than that."

"More than this?"

Clarke laughs as the child tries to reach wider, "Yes."

"More than the size of Polis? More than the universe?"

"Yes," Clarke clears her throat, which feels suddenly tight. "More than even that."

The little boy sits back, expression glum, "I wish I could be queen someday."

"Not a king?"

"No," he shakes his head firmly. "I want to be queen. Then someone will love me as much as you love the queen."

Clarke's heart twists and she opens her mouth, but before she can formulate a response, Lexa has knelt down by the young boy so that they are face to face.

"What's your name?"

"Aden."

Lexa smiles, "Aden, do you know what it takes to be a queen?"

The boy jerks his head 'no.'

"Being queen is challenging, I won't lie to you. But I'll tell you a secret. Are you ready?" The boy nods eagerly. "The most important part is not the crown or the money…. It's the love. If you love and care for others and you love and care for yourself, then you are as much a queen as I am."

"Really?"

"Really."

Clarke leans forward and slides her hand into Lexa's before she is even aware of making the conscious decision. Her fingers weave through the queen's and when Lexa pushes up from the floor, Clarke stands, rising with her. The Matron urges the children to thank them before leading the pair towards the door.

"Is that your Christmas tree?" Clarke pauses, glancing at the sad, silver shrub that sits lopsided on a round table. It's boughs are bent, no ornaments decorate it's surface, and like the rest of what they have seen of the shelter, it is old and passed its use. Then another observation hits Clarke squarely in the chest. "There aren't any presents."

The matron nods, "Unfortunately, don't have the funds for holiday gifts. The budget is always tight and what we do get is always earmarked for certain things."

Clarke frowns, "What about the money from the charity gala? Surely there are sufficient funds for a few extra things here and there."

The matron shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the queen. But when Lexa indicates that she should continue, the older woman admits, "Almost all of our donations, the crown's included, arrive with some specification. Use for 'food.' Use for 'clothes.' We've received more donations for 'school supplies' this year than any other and even though our money for clothing the children has run short we cannot dip into that larger donation."

"So," Lexa's hand tightens around Clarke's, "what you are saying is that you have very little authority to use the money in ways that best serve the shelter?"

"None, your majesty. I don't mean to be rude and please forgive the inconvenience—"

"The truth is never an inconvenience. Thank you for bringing this to our attention."

Clarke breathes in and tries to bite back the smile tugging at her lips. Ours. Lexa had said 'our attention' as if she intended to find a solution with Clarke… No, the blonde reminds herself sharply, with Eliza. How had all of this become so confusing?

When the matron finally bids them farewell, Lexa leads Clarke into the courtyard. But the blonde barely pays attention as they leave the old building behind. Or as they pass by the weathered stone fountain. Even as they enter the arched passage leading back to the street, Clarke is busy worrying about this mess she has somehow gotten herself into. She is so distracted that her mind does not register Lexa's abrupt halt. Not at first. Not until the queen presses Clarke against the stone wall, stepping into the blonde with her head bent to whisper.

"Tell me the truth," Lexa's green eyes seem to search her soul. "Now that we're alone, you can. You don't have to worry."

And maybe it's because Clarke is already thinking about her falseness or how to explain this insane mix-up, but in that moment Clarke is certain she has been caught red-handed. "Lexa, I can explain…"

"Good," the queen smiles. "I want to know what you think."

"What I…." Clarke doesn't know what to make of that.

"What do you think we should do? About the shelter, the charity gala, all of it."

Clarke breathes out, closing her eyes for a second to calm her fast-beating heart. Then she meets Lexa's vivid gaze, "The ball was a wonderful way to raise money."

"But?"

"But, that's it. Money. I think we need to get more involved. Meet more children. And staff. We should try to understand the needs of the shelter rather than dictating their expenditure. I mean, we gift them for being a good organization, but then watch them with 'our' money like they're thieves. They cannot be both."

Lexa shakes her head slowly, eyes fixed on Clarke's, "You are magnificent."

"You're not so bad yourself."

"Did you mean it?"

Clarke swallows, holding Lexa's gaze as the queen steps even closer. So close that the lapel of her fawn suit brushes against Clarke's red coat. So close that they are almost touching.

"Mean what?"

"That you love me."

Clarke's breath catches in her throat. Then she inhales sharply as Lexa's gaze darkens, flitting lower. But any response remains lodged in her throat, trapped under her rapid pulse.

"Did you?" Lexa prompts again, leaning closer, her face mere inches from Clarke's.

"Yes," she whispers, the word a quiet plea against her lips. Clarke doesn't even know if it's true. In some rational part of her brain, she hopes that it's not. But the word still falls from her mouth easily, faster than any other confession she's ever made. And keeping her palms pressed against the stone wall at her back is all Clarke can manage. Because every fiber of her being is thrumming to life beneath Lexa's gaze, beneath the faint possibility that the queen might kiss Clarke again.

Like glowing embers igniting a raging flame. That's what it is like when Lexa finally bends down and captures Clarke's mouth. Because Lexa's lips are never as insistent, never quite as hungry as Clarke's seem to be. The queen holds Clarke's hips against the wall and brushes their lips together with the briefest pressure, pulling back when Clarke tries to take more. Clarke's lips follow the queen, like she would follow water in a desert — instinctive and utterly relentless. But embers always win, always outlast the flame. And Clarke finally relaxes against the wall, letting Lexa worship her with soft, slow kisses.

Her eyes are closed, body limp, when Lexa pulls back to murmur, "You're different."

"Hmm?"

"There is something different about you."

Clarke's eyes snap open, "What do you mean?"

"I just—" the queen pauses, shaking her head. A frown furrows Lexa's brows and she lets out a short laugh. "Nevermind."

Clarke breathes out, nodding. She straightens, clearing her throat. "We should—" she gestures awkwardly in the direction of the street.

"Right," Lexa blinks, stepping back and sliding her hands into the pockets of her trousers. Clarke turns down the passageway and tries not to notice how her body reacts as Lexa falls into step beside her, how it thrums steadily. They walk side by side without touching and Clarke focuses again on calming her heartbeat, only managing to breathe deeply once they've stepped onto the sidewalk and back into the wintery sunshine.

The black limo stands stationary next to the pavement, its green flags flapping happily in the breeze. Raven and Murphy wait beside the car, the latter leaning on its hood. And while the brunette's expression is one of amusement, Murphy looks rather like spoiled milk. His vexed expression twists into one of relief as Clarke and Lexa appear and he steps forward with a casual bow.

Raven bobs up and down with a smirk, "How did the visit go?"

Lexa glances at Clarke, "It was very… educational."

"Sounds thrilling," Murphy remarks dryly. But Clarke's gaze is fixed on Lexa, trying decipher what the queen means by that. You're different, she had said in the archway. Could she possibly suspect?But Lexa only arches her brows at Murphy before continuing and each word from the queen relieves a bit of the tension in Clarke's shoulders.

"The opposite of thrilling, actually. The children don't have any presents or a real Christmas tree for that matter."

"Unless we do it!" Clarke gasps, turning to Lexa,

"What?"

"We could go to a toy shop and pick out the gifts and then wrap them ourselves—"

"That's hardly necessary, your grace," Murphy interjects.

"—and bake cookies! We'd have to bake cookies for the children."

"Bake? You want us to bake?" Lexa looks at Clarke skeptically and the hesitancy in her voice is clear.

Clarke laughs, "Don't worry, I'll teach you."

"Eliza, this is quite an ambitious task…"

"But we do have the rest of the day free, so…"

Lexa raises her eyes to the sky and then smiles softly, shaking her head. "So we had better get started."

Clarke lets out a delighted shriek and throws her arms around Lexa, pulling the queen into a hug. It lasts only a few moments before Clarke realizes that she is pressing herself completely against the monarch. Her mind flashes back to the tunnel and the kiss and she has to step away before her face can flush as scarlet as her coat.

"Sorry," she mutters, tucking her blonde hair back into place.

Lexa's lips tilt up, "It's alright."

And it is the queen this time who pulls her closer, fingers lacing through Clarke's to lead the blonde into the back of the limo. Clarke smiles as she shifts in, oblivious to the bickering which has begun outside the vehicle.

"Let me have the keys," Raven murmurs. "Last time you forgot which side of the road people drive on."

"That's because you tried to grab my—"

"Don't say inappropriate things in front of royalty, Murphy."

"—while I was driving!"

"Fine," Raven sniffs. "You can drive. The nearest toy store is Frederick's on Main Street. Do you think you can manage that?"

"I'll do my best, Reyes."

Main Street, Wembley, Polis - December 22nd 2018 - 13:45 CET

"When, in all of your 'free time' which I never saw, did you take horseback riding lessons?" Bellamy demands, twisting towards Eliza as they walk down the snow-covered pavement. Madi swings between them, using their arms as monkey bars.

"I never said I took lessons. It's not that hard, Bell."

"Okay, yeah, 'not that hard,'" he mimes quotations. "You were riding figure-eights around us while Madi kept threatening to dive bomb from the horse every time we passed a large pile of snow."

The little girl pitches herself forward on their arms, "They looked like marshmallows!"

"Just admit it," Eliza laughs. "Your ego is a little wounded because you aren't a natural like me."

"That is not the reason—"

"Uh-huh."

"Clarke, c'mon."

"Nope, I'm not giving you this one. I won it, fair and square."

"Look, I'm just saying—"

"That you should work with a better baker. You know I agree," a low, sultry voice brings the trio to a halt on the sidewalk. A tall, brown-haired woman leans against the side of a cafe, a steaming beverage in her hand. Her entire figure is draped in a fur-lined coat like something out of a magazine. Eliza frowns, glancing from the newcomer to the sour look on Bellamy's face. The woman's sharp gaze is fixed on him and the glint in her eyes makes Eliza bristle. Still, years of breeding win out.

"I'm sorry," she smiles politely. "Do we know you?"

The woman sneers, "Funny."

"I wasn't trying to be."

"We'll see if you feel so clever when you lose the competition."

Eliza's eyes narrow before shifting towards Bellamy. "Should I know her?" But he just crosses his arms and smiles smugly like Eliza has just delivered some savage insult instead of asking a simple question.

"Echo Azgeda," the woman smirks, pushing off the wall. "I can remind you though." She raises her steaming mug like a salute, as if Eliza is supposed to know what that means. But it's Madi who lets out a feral little growl and lunges forward only to be caught by Bellamy's strong arms. Eliza's eyes widen on the coffee cup. Clarke's apron. When they first ran into each other, Clarke's apron had a stain on it. So this woman…

The duchess returns the smirk, "You're not going to do anything."

"Oh?" Echo challenges, coming to stand in front of her. "And why is that? Because you have your little guardians with you? Please, like I—"

"No," Eliza states simply, completely calm. "You're not going to do anything because even your gesticular admission about spilling coffee on me borders on intentional sabotage, which if reported would result in your immediate removal from the competition…" Eliza pauses for emphasis. "And I don't think you want that. But do let me know if you change your mind. I'm happy to file a complaint."

Echo smiles tightly, "Didn't know you were such a bitc—"

"Look," the duchess cuts her off. "Just steer clear, okay? I'd rather have the satisfaction of beating you in the competition. But if you continue to harass me or my friends, I won't hesitate."

The woman just raises her eyebrows before stalking away, brushing past Bellamy. He frowns, opening his palm, and then sighs. A small piece of paper flutters in the breeze with clear, black digits scrawled across it.

"Seriously?" Eliza mutters, trying to stuff down the annoyance which shoots through her.

"She is persistent, I'll give her that," Bellamy chuckles and Eliza doesn't miss his backward glance.

"Whatever," Madi grumbles, breaking free of Bellamy's other arm. "You should have let me at her."

"Then both Clarke and I would have been kicked out of the competition."

"But Octavia said—"

Bellamy groans, "I'm not sure I want to know what my sister told you. Next time Octavia gives you advice, just remember that I said—"

"I know, I know! Ninety-five percent of what Octavia says is bullshit—"

Eliza coughs, trying not to laugh at Bellamy's horrified expression. His mouth gapes open until he finally splutters, "I'm pretty sure I did not say that."

"Well, it's what you meant. Octavia also says you should be able to 'read between the lines' and—"

"Hey," Eliza bends down, whispering conspiratorially in the kid's ear. "I think they're selling candy-canes up ahead."

"I've never had one," Madi shrugs. "They look weird. Why would you eat something that people use for walking? Who walks with canes that small? Santa's elves?"

Eliza laughs at the rapid-fire questions which spout from the kid's mouth, then replies with a wink, "It's always good to try new things."

"I guess… can I get one, dad?" the kid glances up at Bellamy and her expression transforms into an angelic smile.

Bellamy rolls his eyes, sighing, "Why can I never say no to you?"

"Because I'm the best!"

"You mean I'm the best, right?" Bellamy calls after Madi as she scampers down the pavement. He sighs, "I have to find a new babysitter when we get back to Chicago. I think Octavia is intentionally turning my child into a heathen."

Eliza laughs, linking her arm with his as they keep walking. "Don't make her grow up too fast. A bit of wildness never hurt anyone."

"Really? You're always saying that my house looks like a pigsty whenever you come over."

"Eh, I think there can be beauty in chaos."

Bellamy glances down at her, "This vacation is relaxing you way more than I thought it would. Even back there," he jerks his head towards the cafe, "with Echo, I mean. I've seen you turn five different shades of red when you're angry, but the way you just explained to Echo how she would be completely fucked… I've never seen you do that before."

She rolls her eyes, shoving him lightly. It does little more than knock them both off course. They laugh and keep walking. Bellamy twists his free arm to read his faded leather wristwatch and then glances down the street after Madi.

"That's the third time you've checked the time," Eliza points out.

He stiffens and then lets out a rough laugh, shrugging, "I just want to save time to see the Beaufort fountain. Around three o'clock if we can."

"Fine with me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she smiles, meeting his soft brown eyes. Their shared gaze lingers a bit longer than necessary and Eliza finds her cheeks growing warm. She clears her throat as they continue walking and despite the dull pang in her stomach, Eliza tries to ask the next question with a casual lightness. "So… are you going to call her?"

"Who?" Bellamy frowns, confused for a moment. "Oh! You mean, Echo. No."

"Why not?"

He raises an eyebrow, "You mean other than the fact that she's been nothing but a bitch?"

"What if she was nice? Just for the sake of the argument. Would you call her back?" Eliza presses, not looking at him.

"I don't know…" Bellamy shrugs, "I guess. It wouldn't hurt, right?"

"Right," Eliza bites her lip, failing to ignore that swift pinch in her gut this time.

"Would you want me to? Call her back, I mean….if she was nice?"

"It's not really my place to say."

Bellamy stops walking and because her arm is linked to his, Eliza is forced to pause as well. He shakes his head, frustration plain, "But you brought it up, so you are saying something. I just don't know what."

"I'm not!" Eliza extracts her arm from his, turning to face him. She crosses both over her chest, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

"This is about yesterday, right? When we both talked about— about moving on—"

"No," Eliza laughs sharply, throat closing. "I just wondered about Echo since she's so obviously interested in you."

Bellamy crosses his arms, mirroring her gesture. "And how does that make you feel?"

"What?"

"I just want to know why you brought this up."

"I told you—'

"No, you deflected. There's a difference, Clarke."

"Forget it, okay?"

"I can't!" Bellamy steps forward, lowering his voice. "You've always been so clear about our friendship, but this week…"

"What about this week?" Eliza's heart jumps into her throat, beating wildly.

"Excuse me," a cheery voice breaks through their bubble, snapping the tension like a brittle sheet of ice. "Are you Clarke Griffin?"

Main Street tumbles back into focus, the noises of the crowd and the whir of passing cars. And it's only then that Eliza realizes how singular her world had become in those brief moments. She blinks, twisting towards the voice which turns out to be a young man with a camera and a notepad.

"Sorry, who are you?" Eliza asks, glancing around to make sure he is actually talking to her.

"My name is Brian Wilson, I'm with the Wembley Review. We're doing a piece on the baking competition and I would love to get a few words from you. Rumor has it, you're the one to beat."

"Really?" Eliza glances at Bellamy but then looks away quickly. "That's flattering."

"You own a bakery in Chicago right?" The man places his pen to the paper, waiting for her response.

"Yes, it's called The Dropship. We do all sorts of baked goods, but our specialty is cake," Eliza rattles off the information Clarke told her.

"Wonderful. And what would you say is the biggest influence on your success?"

Eliza opens her mouth, unsure of how to respond. Her eyes slide again to Bellamy and his own brown ones stare back, unwavering. She finally breathes out, "He is… Bellamy Blake." She turns back to the reporter, "We're a team. And I couldn't do any of it without his support and assistance. Truly."

"Great," the reporter jots this down and then raises his camera. "I'll just need a photo and then you won't see me until the competition. If you just stand—"

"I don't really like to be photographed…"

"Oh, well maybe a group one then? That's it, if you just squeeze in there."

The reporter motions Bellamy into Eliza's side, directing him to put an arm around her. Eliza stiffens, but mimics the gesture and leans her head awkwardly against Bellamy's shoulder. His jacket smells like oranges… and cinnamon… and faintly of hay from their ride this morning. Her throat tightens, but a loud huff rips from her all the same when a smaller figure barrels into them.

"Wait for me!" Madi squeezes between the two and pokes her head out, grinning.

"You're a little to short for the frame, I'm afraid."

Bellamy bends down, "Wanna climb on my back, squirt?"

Madi hops on, more than willing. And when Bellamy stands, sliding back into Eliza's side, the little girl throws an arm around her shoulder too. The duchess melts beneath the affection and a genuine smile pulls at her lips as Eliza glances up at the two of them. The reporter snaps his photograph and then shakes their hands, even Madi's at the kid's insistence, before heading up the street.

Back on the ground, the young girl spins and grabs onto Eliza, "Come on! I heard someone talking about a huge toy store down the road!"

"Really?" she asks curiously. "I've never been to a toy store before."

"Clarke—" Bellamy starts, looking up from his watch with an expression of tender exasperation.

"She meant that she has never been to a Polisian toy store before. Right, Clarke?" Madi's fingernails pinch Eliza's skin and the woman nods.

"Exactly."

Madi pulls on her hand again, but Eliza glances back, "Look, about before—"

"It's fine," Bellamy shrugs, his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. "We both got a bit carried away."

"Yeah," Eliza swallows, holding his gaze for a moment longer. She finally turns back to Madi and makes her smile spread wider. "Lead the way."

The kid pulls her down the street at a breakneck speed with Bellamy trailing slowly behind them. And even though Eliza tells herself not to, she glances back more than once, her eyes searching for his tall, dark figure amidst the crowd.

"Stop worrying," Madi insists, tugging on her hand. "He won't call her."

"What?"

"Eliza, you look just like Clarke looked after she drank some bad milk—"

"Hey!"

"—and you have ever since we ran into that Echo lady."

"I have not!"

"Yeah, whatever," Madi rolls her eyes. "We both know you like my dad."

"I—" Eliza stops, a flush rising to her cheeks even as her mouth works double-time."I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure. You don't smile at him all the time."

"I don't—"

"And you didn't make moon-eyes when he was having trouble with the horse—"

"I didn't—"

"Okay, Eliza," Madi crosses her arms, looking very much like an annoyed Bellamy in that moment. "You 'didn't.' But I'm just saying the phone thing is not a problem."

"I— Wait, what do you mean 'not a problem'?"

Madi grins and pulls something flat and shiny from her jacket pocket.

"What is—" Eliza gasps, mouth falling open. "Is that Echo's phone?"

"Yep."

"Oh my god, Madi, what—" Eliza shakes her head, eyes wide, as the little girl tucks the phone into Eliza's pocket. An uncontrollable blaze of satisfaction rushes through the duchess so quickly that it makes her dizzy. Eliza takes a breath, closing her eyes for a moment. This is completely unethical. Wrong in so many ways… "Madi, you — stealing is bad, very bad. Okay? Repeat after me, BAD. Got it? — but also wow… "

"What are you two gabbing about?"

Eliza whirls around as Bellamy's deep timbre resonates behind them. He walks the last few feet, catching up with them and giving the two a suspicious look.

"You know, girl stuff," Eliza shrugs casually.

Madi nods enthusiastically, "Yeah, dad. Clarke's got it covered. I wanted to know about periods. What did you call it, Clarke? Menstrooo—"

"Menstruation."

"Right, menstruation," Madi says the word slowly, then smiles up at her father who has turned a particularly uncomfortable shade of yellow.

Bellamy clears his throat, "Right. Good. That's good. Carry on, Clarke. I'll just— keep walking to the store."

Eliza bites her lips, fighting off a smile, and opens up one hand behind her back as Bellamy continues at a much quicker pace. Madi's small hand slaps down over her open palm, a hidden high-five. The duchess glances down at the kid and whispers quietly, "Just for the record, lying is also very bad."

Madi just raises her eyebrows at Eliza, her gaze trailing towards her father before dragging back to the woman.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Eliza mutters before dragging the kid into her side and beginning to walk after Bellamy's retreating form. She raises her voice louder, "And so the lining of your uterus will shed once every month…"

The duchess chuckles, watching as Bellamy's shoulders stiffen, and winks down at the devious, endearing kid at her side.

Main Street, Wembley, Polis - December 22nd 2018 - 14:00 CET

Frederick's Toy Emporium is as grand as the name advertises, standing three stories tall and spanning nearly a block of Main Street. Clarke and company occupy the first floor, frozen barely through the entrance by the sheer enormity of the shop.

"So," Raven braces her hands against her hips, scanning the colorful maze of toys before them. "How are we doing this?"

Murphy crosses his arms, "Yes, what are your orders, Heda?"

Lexa sighs, "I told you not to call me that."

"Heda?" Clarke glances between them. "What's a heda?"

He smirks, "It's her majesty's codename. You know 'Heda has left the building. Heda is enroute. ETA ten minutes.' That sort of thing. It's for security purposes."

"Do I have a codename?" Clarke asks curiously.

"Yes, but it's complicated."

"How can it be complicated?"

Murphy turns to stare at her, "We used to call you Princess, but this week everyone has taken a liking to Wanheda and now no one knows which to say."

Clarke clears her throat and glances at Raven, beginning to feel exposed under the man's sharp scrutiny. She claps her hands together and says matter-of-factly, "We should divide and conquer. Grab a cart and just fill it with whatever looks fun!"

Lexa squares her shoulders like a soldier preparing for battle and marches over to retrieve a trolley. It's endearing, really — the queen's determination. But Clarke can tell Lexa is uncomfortable; there's a sharpness to her eyes, a vigilance, as the two women weave their way through the stacks of toys. Almost as if the queen believes one of the many large nutcracker dolls might come to life and attack at any moment. It's only after ten minutes of Clarke rambling happily about different board games that Lexa's shoulders relax and her mouth softens into a smile. She reaches out tentatively from behind the cart.

"Have you ever played this one?"

Clarke twists around, eyeing the colorful box. "Risk? It's a behemoth game. Takes hours. But everyone has played it at some point… You haven't?"

Lexa shakes her head as she reads the back of the box. Clarke reaches out and tosses an identical copy into their cart. "This one's for us then."

The queen smiles and pushes the cart after Clarke as they continue down the aisle. A sharp inhale leaves Lexa and the queen abandons the cart, and Clarke, in favor of a box of wooden swords. She hefts one up, holding it in both hands before her. "I always wanted one of these!"

Clarke laughs, "You never had a toy sword? Seems like something every budding monarch would own."

"My parents never liked weapons, real or fake." Lexa shrugs, bringing the sword down in an arc and spinning it in her hand. She glances up at Clarke with a goofy, child-like grin.

"Surely, they wouldn't have objected to a young girl's daydreams about defending her country."

Lexa smirks, "Oh, I had plenty of those. I called myself the Commander… I even used to make Anya pretend to be my second when we were kids."

"Really?"

"Yes, but we only had butter knives. These would have been much better."

"Of course," Clarke nods, her tone teasing. "A wooden sword is infinitely more suitable for defense than a butter knife."

"Actually," Lexa twirls the toy back into its box. "As my father wisely taught me, diplomacy is the best tool… though not quite as much fun."

Clarke smiles, "Why don't we grab a few of these for the shelter? And maybe a few princess tiaras as well."

The queen snorts as Clarke throws in a couple of the pink, sparkly crowns. The blonde sticks her tongue out at the monarch and when Lexa only arches her brows in response, Clarke rolls her eyes. The two weave up and down three more aisles, reaching the back of the store with their cart piled obscenely high. They round the last aisle and Clarke lets out a crow of delight, running ahead. Space has been cleared in this corner of the store and a white plastic sheet with multi-colored dots spreads across the floor.

"What is that?"

Clarke spins around, mouth open in disbelief, "You've never played Twister?"

"No, but I doubt—"

"Take your shoes off," Clarke points at Lexa's feet, her voice lowering in challenge. "Right now."

"Excuse me? I'm not going to remove my shoes—"

"Lexa," Clarke growls.

The queen tilts her head, "Eliza."

Clarke stalks up to the queen, bringing them chest to chest. "Are you afraid?"

"I'm not afra—"

"Then prove it."

Lexa's eyes widen and she stares at Clarke for a long, drawn out moment. Then determination flashes across her face and she kicks off her black Louis Vuittons without breaking eye contact. Clarke laughs and bends down to remove her own straps before leading the queen to the plastic sheet. After explaining the rules, the two stand on opposite ends of the sheet and Clarke spins the hand of the Twister clock.

"Right foot blue," she calls out, leveling her gaze on Lexa.

Two aisles over, Raven can hear peals of laughter emanating from the back corner of the shop, but her mind is too distracted to make sense of it. Murphy, as ever, is being a complete twat.

"I know you're hiding something," he drawls, using a ping-pong paddle to wack a stuffed teddy into their cart. He cups his hands over his mouth and makes a loud whirring sound, "Goal! Ten points to Team I'm-Not-An-Idiot-Raven."

The brunette rolls her eyes and swipes her hand down the shelf so that three more stuffed bears fall into the trolley. "You're not an idiot, Murphy. You're just a paranoid fuck who thinks everyone is out to get him."

Murphy smirks, "That's not what you said last night—"

"Ugh, this is why we have a strict 'no talking' policy, Murphy. Because you open that big, fat mouth of yours and ruin it."

"Again, not what you said last—"

"Oh, grow up."

"I'm just stating facts, Reyes," he shrugs. "You're hiding something and I bet that it has to do with your precious little duchess."

Raven sneers, "Really? That's what you've got?"

"So you don't think that her grace has been acting rather odd lately?"

"Not particularly."

"Oh? Has she always been this… different?"

"Has the queen always been so… ordinary?" She tosses back at him, throwing a box of crayons along with her comment. Murphy catches the box deftly and drops it into their basket.

"Look, I know—"

His words are drowned out as they round the corner and a shriek followed by rough laughter draws their attention. The queen and the duchess tumble backwards landing on floor in a heap with their bare feet sticking out.

Clarke heaves in a breath, her chest shaking from laughter and water streaming out of her eyes. She lies sprawled over the queen, back pressed against Lexa's front. And Clarke can feel Lexa shake beneath her as the queen's ragged breath sweep across her earlobe. The blonde tilts her head over the queen's shoulder, trying to gain control of her own lungs.

"Having fun, your grace?"

Clarke glances up to see Murphy and Raven staring down at them, looks of perplexed amusement painting both of their faces. She flushes and reaches a hand down to lower her cream pencil-skirt from where it has ridden up her thighs. Lexa lets out a loud exhale as Clarke tries to sit up and then the blonde's breathless 'sorry' sends them both back into fits of laughter.

Finally, the two manage to roll off of each other and to their feet. Clarke slips her shoes back on, biting her lip before turning around. Out of instinct, she straightens the lapel of Lexa's jacket and then swallows as the queen brushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Clarke clears her throat and then glances at the overflowing carts, "I think we have more than enough toys for the children. Shall we?"

Lexa places a hand on Clarke's back, letting the blonde lead the way out of the maze as Murphy and Raven follow with the carts. And maybe it's because of that touch or her keen awareness of Lexa's proximity, but she doesn't hear the familiar voices growing louder. Not until she rounds the corner and her gaze is assaulted by the three very familiar faces who have just entered the store.

Clarke freezes at the end of the aisle, eyes widening as they meet Eliza's identical blue gaze. Lexa, Raven, and Murphy pull short at Clarke's abrupt stop and mercifully remain hidden within the tall stacks of toys. But in that moment Clarke forgets how to breathe. Her gaze slides to a smaller pair of dark eyes, wide and panicked in Madi's flushed face.

In the next four seconds, they moves faster than she ever thought possible. Madi and Eliza twist around to block Bellamy's view as Clarke wiggles the ring from her left hand and spins, pushing Lexa back the way they just came.

"I must have dropped my engagement ring," Clarke says breathlessly. And she doesn't have to fake the panic on her face as she rushes to the back corner once more. The queen seems happy to follow her, but Murphy mentions something about the carts and waiting in line at the till. Clarke almost yells at him, but he and Raven disappear around the corner before she can open her mouth. Fuck. Her stomach somersaults.

On the other side of the aisle Raven's heart explodes into her throat as she spies the threesome arguing at the front of the store. The distinct flaxen hair of the duchess nearly glows in the shop's ample light. And if Eliza turns around… the jig is up. Murphy will know.

"Arghh!" Raven bends down, one hand on her bad knee.

"What? What is it?" Murphy abandons his cart and is by her side in an instant. And if Raven wasn't so annoyed or her heart beating so fast from adrenaline she might have noticed the blatant concern on the man's face.

"Knee," Raven points down, wincing. An exaggeration, but only partially fake since the damn thing always gives her some trouble in this cold climate. "Muscle spasm."

"What can I do?" Murphy kneels by her feet, looking up for direction.

"Can you…? Just put pressure here."

He begins to massage the muscles just above her kneecap and Raven lets out a sharp hiss of air, trying to nod encouragingly at him despite the firm panic rising. She looks over Murphy's head to see that the duchess has still not left the store. A slight twist of her head and Raven spies Clarke and the queen crawling along the floor, searching under boxes of toys. Then the brunette looks down at Murphy, his gaze intent of her knee. Raven pinches her eyes shut. They are screwed. Three ways to Sunday this time.

Frederick's Toy Emporium, Wembley, Polis - December 22nd 2018 - 14:35 CET

"We walked fifteen minutes just to get here and now you guys don't even want to look around?" Bellamy frowns at the pair.

"We're not going to buy anything, right?" Eliza pushes out quickly. "I mean we already have all of our presents. Why tempt ourselves to spend more money?"

"Yeah, dad." Madi nods, sagely. "What she said. Money. We've got to think about the money."

Bellamy narrows his gaze on his daughter, "Since when do you say 'no' to more presents?"

"I—" Madi falters, looking up at Eliza.

"Come on," the duchess laughs nervously. "I mean what's a toy shop when we can be outside! I think the sun was poking through the clouds before we walked in."

"Clarke, you just said how you thought your fingers were going to fall off from frostbite."

Eliza grimaces, her brain completely blank. "But I— I—"

"Seriously, what is up with you guys?" Bellamy gives them a strange look and begins to walk further into the store. "Let's just have a quick—"

"Wait!" Eliza raises her hands, eyes catching on Raven and the brown-haired man she knows to be Murphy. Where had Clarke disappeared to? If Bellamy saw her… "Didn't you say we had to be at the Beaufort fountain by three?"

"Yeah, but it's…" Bellamy glances down at his watch. "Well, I guess it is getting close—"

"Yep, too close. Let's not cut it short, right? What are you always saying about me? Always prepared. We wouldn't want to show up late for whatever it is that you have planned. Come on!"

"Yeah," Madi pipes in weakly.

Bellamy stares at the pair, then shakes his head and walks back towards the two. "Alright. You win."

"Yes! Winning, we love winning!" Eliza fists the air before grabbing Bellamy's hand and Madi's and quite literally dragging them both out of the store. She leads them up the street the way they came and only stops after they've put three blocks between them and Frederick's Troubling Emporium.

"Now," she says cheerfully. "Which way to the fountain?"

Bellamy raises his eyebrows and points with his free hand down a side street.

"Great." Eliza jerks her head and begins the same fast pace.

"Hey, hey, slow down there," he tugs back a little. "And could you maybe lighten your grip, champ? I think you're about to crack bone."

Eliza flushes hotly and releases her death-grip on Bellamy and Madi. She smiles guiltily as both shake out their abused fingers. "Sorry."

"What was all that?" Bellamy asks as they continue down the side street.

Eliza falls back, letting him lead the way. "I just— I thought I saw Finn for a second."

"What?"

"Yeah," she clears her throat, noticing the smug, 'now whose lying' look that Madi gives her. "…it probably wasn't him, but I…. I just didn't want to risk it, you know?"

Bellamy reaches back and brushes her shoulder with his large hand, "You could have just said that Clarke. I would have understood."

"Yeah… I should have thought of that."

He squeezes her shoulder and then lets go, looking down at his watch for the millionth time that day. At the next crossroads, they turn right and head into an older section of the city. The streets become cobblestoned and the buildings merge, leaning closer together and sharing walls.

"Where are we going?" Madi asks after they've been walking for more than a few minutes; the side streets are quieter and there is less excitement to hold her attention.

"The Beaufort fountain, remember squirt?"

Eliza frowns, "Why are we going there again?"

"I just want to see it," Bellamy shrugs. "Ancient mythical fountain and all that jazz."

"Who knew you were such a history buff?"

"You did, Clarke. I majored in it."

"It was a joke, obviously," Eliza mumbles, ignoring the amused look on Madi's face. Bellamy looks down at his watch again and then lengthens his stride noticeably.

Eliza frowns, "What's the big hurry?"

"There's a particular time when the light is supposed to be the best."

"At three in the afternoon?"

"Uh, yeah, I read it in the guidebook," Bellamy smiles back at her sheepishly.

"You read the guidebook?"

"Yeah, there's a legend which explains why the fountain runs year round, even in winter. They say it's because of the strength of Wembley's holiday spirit."

"That's sweet," Eliza smiles.

"It's probably just an underground spring…"

She rolls her eyes at him, "Spoilsport. I like the legend better."

Bellamy twists, meeting her gaze, and Eliza feels the last bit of tension from earlier slip away as he says, "Me too."

The side street opens up into a small square with a fountain in the middle. It's not a particularly big water feature, nor is the stone carved in any special way. It's fairly rustic with just a simple spout that shoots waters into a basin below. More of a historic watering hole than anything else. And the winter sun is already low in the sky so no special ray of light shines through. Eliza is about to remark on the disappointing spectacle when her eyes light on a woman who stands alone by the water trough.

A sharp squeal leaves the kid beside her as Madi tears across the cobbled street towards the solitary figure. The high-pitched noise pulls the woman's attention around and she twists, turning towards the child. Eliza cannot tell if her hair is more light brown or dark blonde, but even from this distance she can see there are small streaks of grey near her temples. Then it clicks. And her heart stops beating as she recognizes that face — one of the most frequent from Clarke's photos.

"Merry Christmas, Clarke."

Eliza breathes in sharply at Bellamy's whispered words, turning to face him. His tan face is split in a wide grin and his dark eyes twinkle with that familiar crease.

"You…" Words fail Eliza as she stares back at the woman who now has Madi picked up and balanced against her hip. "I…"

Bellamy chuckles, "Just go."

Eliza nods and begins to walk forward, her footsteps faltering and light. Abby, Clarke's mother, faces the duchess and a large smile spreads over her features. And maybe it's the light or the lack of it which makes Eliza see something familiar in those dark eyes and thick brows and that strong nose. Everything inside of her twists sharply and her lungs seize up even as her feet carry her forward. And though it doesn't make sense, though none of this makes sense, tears begin to seep from her eyes. Slow, steady tears which fall in earnest by the time she reaches the older woman.

"Oh baby, don't cry," Abby sets down Madi and engulfs Eliza in a tight embrace. Her soothing voice whispers over the blonde's raw nerves, another piece fitting back inside some empty place within her. Because it sounds so familiar.

Eliza sniffles, her cheek pressed into Abby's downy coat and her arms wrapped in a vice around this woman she has never met. Maybe it's because she misses her own mom. Maybe it's because she feels guilty for taking this moment from Clarke. Those are the things Eliza tells herself to rationalizes this strange, familiar feeling which wells up inside of her.

"Hey," Abby pulls back, swiping the hair out of Eliza's face. "Hey, I'm right here. I'm right here, Clarke."

"I know," Eliza nods, letting out a short laugh as the tears begin to slow.

"Did you cut your hair?"

A longer laugh leaves her, "Yeah. Everyone is quite surprised."

"I like it."

"Really?"

"Absolutely," Abby states, pulling her in for another short hug before stepping around to embrace Bellamy.

"Hi, Mrs. Griffin."

"Oh, stop. You know better than to call me that."

Eliza wipes at her wet eyes with her jacket as Bellamy's deep laugh rings out. She turns a watery smile on the two of them and Madi who slinks up to hug Abby firmly around the waist.

"Come on, squirt," Bellamy chuckles, gesturing his daughter towards the fountain. "Let's take a little walk."

Eliza watches them stroll to the center of the square, before turning back to Abby. "How?" Eliza shakes her head. "I mean— How?"

"Bellamy reached out before you guys left Chicago. He wanted to make sure I could be here to watch you win the competition—"

"I haven't won anything yet…"

"But you will, we both know it."

Eliza's throat tightens, "Bellamy—"

"Paid for my flight, yes."

"The whole thing?"

"Well, he asked me to say he only helped out, but yes, the whole thing. So mum's the word, alright?"

Eliza nods, warm tears seeping back into her eyes. She laughs, shaking them clear. "This is amazing." She can't wait to tell Clarke. "Do you have a place to stay already? You should come stay at the rental house! There's a huge couch or you can sleep with me—"

Abby chuckles, slipping her arm through Eliza's and patting the blonde's shoulder, "No, no… I think I'll give you two some space."

Eliza frowns, glancing at Clarke's mom before turning her gaze back towards the fountain where Bellamy holds Madi's hand, steadying the girl while she walks around the rim. "It's really not an issue. We have plenty of room."

"I meant metaphysical space, Clarke."

Eliza snorts, "Madi's staying with us—"

"The kid has a bedtime, doesn't she?"

"Mom!" The word falls unconsciously from Eliza's lips as the blood rushes to her cheeks.

Abby laughs, "What? You know I've always liked, Bellamy. It's a shame you two haven't given it a shot."

"I— What?" Eliza's cheeks redden further.

"He's one of a kind, Clarke."

"I know!"

"Do you?"

"Of course. I'm not blind," Eliza mutters, crossing her arms against the flurry of snow caught in the wind.

"So…?"

"It is none of your business." Honestly. Was Clarke's mom always this nosey? Eliza would have to ask her.

"Alright, alright," Abby lifts her hands in defeat. Eliza glances over and can't help but smile as the older woman winks at her.

"Do you want to come over for dinner? And, really, you can stay with us."

"Dinner, yes. But I already have a hotel booked in town."

"Fine," Eliza rolls her eyes and then smiles as Abby pulls her into another hug. "I'm really glad you're here, mom," she whispers softly. Because she thinks it's what Clarke would want her to say. Because it feels right.

"Me too, sweetie." Abby kisses her on the side of her head before pulling away. "Oh," the older woman reaches forward. "You've got something stuck in your scarf. Here."

Eliza's throat thickens as Abby untangles the fabric. She's not fully conscious of what Abby actually said or what the woman is trying to do because it simply feels so foreign to be fussed over. Completely new. Or very old.

"What's this?" Abby's voice draws her attention down. The little silver wishbone rests on the older woman's index finger, finally free from where it must have snagged on Eliza's thick scarf.

The blonde swallows, "Just a trinket."

Abby frowns, eyes fixed on the silver necklace. "You got this here?"

Eliza can only nod, her words stolen by the emotion pulling at her gut. She blinks back the tears which threaten to fall and tries to smile fully. The woman before her only twists the necklace around before laying it gently back in place. She glances up at Eliza, then pulls the blonde into another hug.

"I missed you," Abby murmurs against Clarke's hair.

"You too, mom."

And maybe it's just Eliza's imagination, but it feels like Abby's grip tightens. Like the older woman holds Eliza even closer than before.