A/N: Hi! I know what you're thinking. Callie, why aren't you capable of writing a chapter longer than 3000 words? well the answer to that is: because I always wait until the last two days before starting to write! I know, I know. Go ahead, yell at me in the comments. But maybe this incredibly short chapter will make up for it. Probably not, because it's just a whole buncha filler. Maybe you're into that idk. If you read this chapter really slow, you could probably make it seem longer. Okay, I suck. Hope you enjoy it anyways.
Also, that superbowl last night was terrible. I'm still not over it. But at least lindsey morgan made a one second appearance in a commercial. I lived for that.
Thunder. Clarke heard thunder. Or another round of bombs. She wasn't sure which one was more likely. Was it even possible for it to rain anymore? Clarke assumed that destroying the world would take weather with it, but perhaps she was wrong. After all, she wasn't an expert in post-apocalyptic weather patterns.
Silence returned as abruptly as it was broken, making Clarke question if she had even heard anything at all. After three weeks in an enclosed space, Clarke wouldn't be surprised if her sanity was slipping. She'd heard of astronauts going crazy after long stays in space ships, so the idea of Clarke beginning to hear things wasn't totally unlikely.
The room was so dim, Clarke could barely see the outline of her hand, much less, the skylight on the roof. Even if she had been able to, she knew the ash covering it would impede her view of the outdoors.
Clarke sat up in bed, being sure to wrap her blanket tightly around her shoulders to prevent the cold air from seeping in, just as another rumble shook the walls around her.
It sounded too real to be a figment of her imagination, but she still wasn't convinced.
"Lexa," she half-whispered, clutching her shivering legs to her chest. "Did you hear that?"
She heard the brunette hum a confirmation in response, still sounding groggy from sleep. Clarke's hands frantically patted the ground until her fingers landed on a small package of matches. She blindly pulled open the box and took out a single match, striking it on the box. Fire illuminated the space in front of her, allowing her to easily find a candle and light it.
"What is it?" Clarke wondered aloud, just as another deep growl shook the floor. Before Lexa had the chance to reply, the sound of water drops pelting the roof answered Clarke's question.
It was raining- no, pouring.
Clarke had never been scared of thunderstorms before, but found herself gasping quietly at the noise. The initial shock didn't last long, her eyes falling shut at the surprisingly relaxing sounds.
When she opened them again, the room seemed brighter than before, and when she looked up to the source of the light, she found it to be coming from the skylight.
The rain was washing the ash away.
Clarke was running to stand under the window before she had decided she wanted to. Streaks ran down the glass, making way for the dull light to slip in. The navy blue sky told Clarke it wasn't quite morning. She spun around to look at Lexa, who had seemingly fallen back to sleep. Clarke felt a tugging in her chest; a temptation to wake the girl so she could share the exciting moment with her. She resisted, remembering how angry the girl could get.
The frigid air hit her within seconds and she pulled her arms around her stomach to hold some heat.
The shelter was getting colder by the day and, by the looks of it, winter hadn't even arrived. The thought of the room getting even colder was almost enough to make Clarke want to give up and let the inevitable hypothermia take her.
Shaking the idea from her thoughts, she continued to stare out the window, watching heavy drops pelt the glass. The rain made her crave to step outside and rinse off, but the idea of radiation-soaked rain (rain-soaked radiation?) dissuaded her from the craving.
Still, she stood under the skylight until the sky cleared, leaving a path of pink and yellow in its wake. And Clarke was mesmerized. Something about the deep blue-gray clouds and the bright orange sun peeking around them made it impossible for her to look away. For a moment, Clarke wondered if the nuclear bombs had somehow altered the way that the sunrise appeared (or if she'd just never been awake early enough in her nineteen years of life to see an actual sunrise).
From what Clarke could see through the taped window, trees were no longer a large part of the forest. Instead, burnt branches and leaves replaced them, giving the scene in front of her an eerily depressing vibe. The curiosity of what was on the other side of the vault door was enough to make Clarke involuntarily reach out and wrap her fingers around a step on the ladder, only to tug her hand away as if the metal was hot.
You can't do that. She reminded herself. But, god she wanted to.
The sound of Lexa stirring behind her broke Clarke from her silent debate. Chiming keys followed the noise, pulling the blonde's attention to the emptiness in her gut. Despite this, she held the sun's gaze, unable to tear her eyes away.
Clarke could hear Lexa's feet plodding towards her after a few minutes of rummaging through the food cabinet, and she sighed when she knew the brunette was directly behind her.
"When can we get out of here?" Clarke asked. It was meant as a question for herself, mostly (okay, not mostly. Truly, she hoped to get an estimated answer from the girl, which was stupid, considering it took her a whole week to even get the girl to say her name), but when Lexa appeared in front of her carrying two cans of fruit and spoons, she expected her to answer it.
"Don't know," she replied, her voice groggy and hoarse, as it always was when she first woke up. Only when the brunette held the can of food out for Clarke to take, did she avert her eyes from the sunrise to accept the can and utensil. But her gaze landed, instead, on Lexa's face, as she mindlessly grabbed the can and took in the other girl's appearance.
And maybe it was the colors of the sunrise reflecting off her already colorful eyes, or the way her tangled hair fell around her cheeks, which were slightly puffy from sleep, but Clarke suddenly felt as if the sunrise was lackluster compared to the girl in front of her. Lexa was very pretty, no matter how hard Clarke tried to deny it.
Forcing herself to stop staring (because it was getting awkward and Lexa was starting to show her well-known expression that said 'stop staring at me as if you've just discovered a new species'), Clarke brought her focus to the canned fruit in her hand, trying to remember what Lexa had just said.
When she did, she felt a bit of annoyance bubble inside her (but when didn't she feel that annoyance when talking to the brunette?). She hated the fact that Lexa acted as if she could care less about leaving the shelter- as if she was perfectly satisfied with rotting in a moldy, underground room.
Clarke all but gaped at the girl, who took to leaning against the ladder, scooping a spoonful of peach and pear cubes into her mouth nonchalantly.
"Don't you want to get out of here?" It sounded more like an accusation than Clarke had intended. Unable to bring her eyes back to Lexa's face, Clarke took a bite of her fruit, trying not to grimace when she noticed how tinny they tasted.
The position they stood in felt strange, both leaning against the ladder, barely any space between them. It left Clarke wishing to back away, just to reestablish some distance. She remained still, however, when she saw the brunette's face fall at the question. Lexa shrugged, staring into her can and stirring the spoon inside it.
"There's no one out there waiting for you?" Again, Clarke didn't intend for it to sound so much like an accusation. Her mind was filled with the picture of Lexa and the other girl that she had seen a few days ago. Surely, that girl was waiting for Lexa on the outside.
Clarke was met with another shrug.
"Anyone out there is dead." Lexa muttered, catching the blonde off guard. The statement made Clarke feel sick.
Clarke knew Lexa was a bit of a pessimist, but her especially dark attitude still surprised her.
She refused the believe it. She refused to believe that everyone was dead outside of the room they were in. But more importantly, she rejected the idea because she didn't want to believe that the, possibly, last time she saw her mom was filled with arguing and anger.
Clarke forced herself to refocus on the sunrise, feeling like it was the only thing keeping her from insanity, the possibility that her mom might be staring at it too leaving a warm feeling in her chest that she never wanted to lose.
"But you have three blankets!" Clarke found herself whining as the brunette across from her worked tediously on the radio-like machine.
"And I plan to keep it that way." Lexa responded, disinterest lingering in her voice. If Lexa hadn't been so absorbed in the collection of wires and buttons, she would have seen a disgruntled pout on Clarke's face.
"But if I get one more, then we both have two and-" Clarke started to explain, only to be cut off by one of Lexa's signature groans.
"It doesn't have to be fair, Clarke." She interrupted, making the blonde jump at the sound of her name being spat at her.
And she was right. It didn't have to be fair, but that didn't mean it shouldn't be.
Familiar aggravation pulsed through Clarke's veins, prompting her eyes to narrow at the girl's words.
She was about to break into a long rebuttal about how she needed to stay warm, too, but waited when a series of sparks erupted from the wires tangled around Lexa's hand, causing a string of profanities to fall from the brunette's lips.
Clarke was standing and rushing to the mattress in seconds, already contemplating what could have happened to Lexa's hand and how she could fix it.
For a moment, the blonde felt somewhat pleased that Lexa was hurt, preventing their previous argument from escalating even further, but wiped that complacency from her mind when she saw how much pain the brunette appeared to be in.
"Are you okay?" She asked, crouching down to be at eye level with the injury. Lexa was still whispering laments, holding the singed hand to her chest.
"I'm fine," Lexa growled through gritted teeth, obviously putting up a facade. Clarke was unconvinced and reached out to grab Lexa's wrist anyway, careful not to squeeze too hard. Thankfully, Lexa allowed her hand to be pulled from her chest, but still clenched her fist, hiding the wound from Clarke's view.
"Let me see it." Clarke said quietly, glancing from the injury to Lexa and back. Something about holding Lexa's wrist made her heart race, and being so close to the brunette only made it beat faster.
When Lexa finally unclenched her fist, Clarke couldn't help but gasp at the red, blistering skin on the inside of her hand. She immediately let go of the burnt hand and stood up, frantically looking around the room until her eyes fell on a small white box with a red cross and the words 'first aid' printed on top. When the box was in her grasp, she returned to Lexa's side, pulling open the box and grabbing anything that looked useful.
Clarke knew vaguely how to treat burns, but said treatments weren't options if she wanted to preserve their limited resources.
So, working with what she had, Clarke untwisted the cap on a small tube of ointment and emptied a generous amount over the line of reddened skin. She gently spread the cream, watching Lexa maintain her stoic exterior as she did so. Clarke opened a few packages of gauze and layered it on top, holding it in place with one hand and unraveling a piece of tape with the other.
Once the gauze was securely taped in place, Clarke let go of Lexa's wrist and returned her gaze to the girl's eyes.
"You should really be wearing gloves." Clarke lectured, still crouching beside the bed. Lexa simply rolled her eyes and tugged the hand away, already starting to work on the contraption again. "Have you even made any progress on that?" Clarke continued, unsure of what she should refer to the machine as. She regretted asking as soon as she spoke, and made a mental note to start thinking more before she spoke.
"No, and your constant questions aren't helping." Lexa spat, twisting a dial back and forth on the top of the radio.
Deciding she should take the remark as her cue to leave, Clarke stood and turned to walk away.
"Thanks for fixing my hand, Clarke. You're welcome, Lexa." She sighed, filling in the conversation for herself. Lexa's always angry personality was starting to grow old and it left Clarke wishing that she was trapped in a room with anyone else besides the cold brunette.
She was expecting to hear a scoff at her previous utterance, but was met, instead, by the sound of white noise spilling from the radio.
But this sound was different than the usual static that the machine produced. This sound was laced with other indiscernible syllables. Syllables so muffled and choppy that Clarke almost doubted that she was hearing them correctly. But when she did realize what she was listening to, her stomach jumped to her throat.
She was hearing words. Someone was talking. And even better, someone was alive.
A/N: Whooa, things are about to get crazy. I swear Lexa will start being less of an asshole very soon. Not that much less, but maybe she'll just start to tolerate Clarke a little more. Hey, you asked for slow burn.
By the way, your guys' comments actually make me smile so hard. If you've ever left a comment, just know that I've probably read it so much that I have it memorized. That's not weird, haha. Seriously though, comments and kudos make my day. Lots of love to you all! Hope you liked this!