Hi readers!
This weekend I was sick so I spent a LOT of time reading, and much of that reading was of other Clexa fics...so you could say that I've been doing extensive research on this topic. Hopefully it will be as worthwhile to you as readers as it was to me as a reader and a writer!
I have quite a bit of the next chapter finished already, so if this one gets a good response I might just have to upload early!
As always, comments of any kind are greatly appreciated. I love hearing what people want to see more or less of, what their favorite parts are, what I should work on, etc.
Thanks very much, and happy reading!
Clarke returned that afternoon to work on the write up for their painting, as planned. As reluctant as she seemed, she had accepted the fact that communication was necessary for this part of the project. Her walls opened up just slightly, and Lexa, sensing her reluctance, was careful not to pry at them too forcefully. She hoped to have a little bit of an opening left at the end of the night to try Anya's advice.
"Lexa Woods…and Clarke Griffin…" Lexa spoke as she scratched their names onto the top of the page. "We're going to need to name the painting eventually, but we can save that for last." They sat together on the couch, each leaning on one of the arms to face their partner. Lexa had made a special attempt that afternoon to look nice; she showered when she got home, having skipped it that morning; she applied a tasteful amount of makeup; and she even spritzed a little of her favorite perfume before leaving to pick up the blonde. She noticed that Clarke had put on a little more makeup than usual, as well, and wondered if it had any meaning.
"So, first question," she started. "Approximately how many hours did we spend on this painting?"
"Well there was Tuesday, I was over for about three hours then," Clarke offered. The words rolled smoothly off her tongue, and both girls felt their confidence rise.
"Yeah, I think it was about three hours once we got started. And yesterday we had a little longer since you didn't walk over. I would say about three and half. So six and a half total?" She filled in the blank space next to the first question. "Number two, what was each artist's major role in the painting? The real question is, what was my role?" She laughed.
"You did almost all of the base coats yourself, first of all," said the blonde. Lexa shrugged in response.
"I suppose I did do some of that. Your detailing is really what makes it though."
"Thanks." Clarke glanced over towards the kitchen, a light blush on her cheeks.
Okay, that was good. I think she took that well. I'll just continue gently, Lexa thought to herself.
"So anyway, um, I guess I'll say that I did the base coats, and that you did the detailing and chose the color scheme. Does that sound good?"
"Sure," Clarke said softly. Her partner scanned the page. Green eyes hardened against the text.
"Ugh. I forgot that the colors we chose are supposed to represent us somehow," Lexa groaned, leaning her head on the back of the couch. "There's not really a way we can fix it now. I guess we'll just have to bullshit this question."
"I didn't forget," Clarke replied abruptly, her eyes snapping back to Lexa.
"You- you didn't?"
The blonde shook her head.
"Clarke, you're a genius!" Realizing her volume, she pulled back a little. "What do the colors mean?"
She kneeled on the ground next to the painting, which they had turned to face them. Waves of her hair fell over her face, and as she spoke, she pointed to different sections.
"The two blues are me. This darker one I think is called midnight, and I chose that one because the color of the sky at night has always been my favorite. So it represents the real me, the one that no one really sees. The lighter blue is about the color of my eyes, so it's sort of supposed to be the me that everyone sees, because they take me at face value." Lexa listened intently, completely shocked at the depth of the words flowing from her partner's mouth. Where did all this come from? Yesterday she was so quiet…
"This dark green here is the you that everyone sees, because I thought it looked strong. It represents your calm presence and your confidence, your steadiness. I chose the gold one you like so much for the you that people don't see, because um…you have these little flecks of gold in your eyes that you can only see in a certain light. It's supposed to show that you only let down your guard when the conditions are right."
Clarke looked up to meet Lexa's grin, which she had tried to cover with her hand. It was clear that she was blushing.
"I-I didn't think you'd even know what color my eyes are," she stuttered. "How do you? You never look me in the eye. Yesterday it was like you didn't want to see me at all. You barely said a word."
The blonde's shoulders sunk, and she averted Lexa's deep green gaze. She spoke cautiously, but thoughtfully. Lexa couldn't decide if the lagging was due to words getting caught in the girl's brain, or on the tip of her tongue.
"I guess…I guess I was just a little upset yesterday. Please don't blame yourself, it has nothing to do with you, really. It wasn't that I didn't want to see you…it was more that I didn't want you to see me." They paused for a moment, each taking in the other's presence.
"Sometimes when we're in class, I get tired of listening, and tired of staring at the walls…so I find a different view, but always one that won't look back. You get really focused in school," Clarke mumbled. "So now and then I observe. You've never looked back before, and I guess I'm just not used to it yet."
Heat rose to Lexa's face, brimming at her ears. She imagined Clarke in their classroom, in her dark skinny jeans and purple hoodie, her sneakered feet discharging nervous energy with incessant tapping. She imagined her chin resting in her hands, her elbows resting on her desk, and the blue of her eyes trained on the wall. She imagined the depths of those blue pools as they glanced sparingly over at her, knowing they would go unnoticed. Her heart rate climbed. She's just not used to it yet.
"Does it make you uncomfortable when people look at you?" She murmured.
"Most people," the blonde stuttered, looking down. "Because I can tell by the way they look at me that most people don't care what's really there. They don't care enough to really know me; they think they know me just by looking at me. But…not everyone. Not you."
Lexa's breath hitched. Her fists clenched against the fabric of the couch to help contain whatever unintelligible excitement she feared she might vocalize, and finally, she regained command of a vocabulary.
"So, then…is it alright if I observe sometimes, too?"
"Yeah," Clarke answered, "I mean I would be a hypocrite to say no, wouldn't I?"
Lexa chuckled, and when their eyes met, the giggles wouldn't stop coming. Soon laughter stumbled out of the both of them, ceaselessly, until their sides ached and their faces burned and tears ran down their cheeks, nearly turning to steam against their skin. Nothing was all that funny, they both knew. But once they got to laughing, the tension that had surrounded them dissipated. The looseness of the air as they collected themselves kept their heads from spinning and drew their focus back to each other. Breathing heavily, Lexa spoke.
"So um…we just need a title now."
"Oh, yeah. A title. I've never been good at this part."
"Oh I've got it! How about 'Observations'?" She grinned at Clarke.
"Perfect."
The moment she returned from bringing Clarke home, she remembered what the melody of the blonde's laughter had caused her to forget: Anya's advice. At first she considered not calling as she had promised, but quickly changed her mind when she realized how much she had to talk about. Her bare feet padded against the smooth wood of her kitchen floor as she paced, waiting for an answer. When it finally came, the words were ready to burst from her throat.
"Hey Lex, how'd it-"
"I didn't do it," she said.
"You didn't ask her over? Why not? Did she close herself off again?"
"No, not at all. She was so different today! Open, even!"
"Really? Lexa, that's great! So why didn't you-"
"She told me about the colors she chose for our painting and how they each represented something important about one of us, and Anya, she knew me. She really knew me, and she said sometimes she watches me work in class when I'm concentrating really hard, and that I'm different from everyone else because I actually want to get to know her. She called me different, Anya, and strong and confident and steady, and she says I have little gold flecks in my eyes in a certain light. Anya, she's seen my eyes!"
"Are we still talking about the same Clarke?" Anya laughed.
"Yes, the same Clarke, only happy and open and observant, and oh my gosh, you should have heard her laugh!" Lexa was practically shouting.
"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down, Lex. You got Clarke Griffin to laugh? A real laugh?"
"Yes! There was this moment when we just looked at each other, and it was all we could do not to explode. I don't know how long we laughed after that, but her laugh sounds like- I just- it made me forget everything. I forgot all about how scared I was to ask her over. In fact, I forgot it so much that I forgot to do the asking. I could listen to that laugh for days." The girls quieted, content for a moment with their thoughts and the sounds of the other's breathing.
"Anya," Lexa whispered, "I think I really like her."
When Lexa left for school the next morning, Friday, she gently wrapped the painting in garbage bags, but when she tried to fit it into her trunk, she couldn't manage. She settled on strapping it to the top of her car. Between her fear for the safety of her work, its casing crinkling and flapping in the wind as she drove, and the fear that the old, cryptic Clarke would return that day, she had gotten a little worked up on the drive to the school. The steering wheel was damp with the sweat of her shaking hands, and she struggled to keep her breathing under control.
We're not going to do this today, she told herself. We're not going to do this today. I can trust those straps because I bought them myself last summer for my bike, and if they can hold a bike, they can hold a painting, easily. And I can trust Clarke because…because… Feeling herself about to be thrown over the edge of panic, she began a desperate repetition of the phrase she knew she needed to believe. I can trust Clarke. I can trust Clarke. She mumbled it under her breath like a mantra, breathing in and out to the rhythm of her words.
As she pulled into the parking lot, she wiped her hands in turn on her pants, and took a swig of the water she kept in the center console. Before stepping out of the car, she closed her eyes. I can trust Clarke. I let myself trust her with this partner project, and I was right to do that. Our project is great. Our project is safe. I can trust Clarke. I'm okay. And with that, she opened the door, and let the sharpness of the winter air and morning sun shock her back into reality.
"It looks a lot bigger when it's not on the floor." The voice came from behind Lexa, and she turned to find Clarke coming around the car from the other side of the lot where a few buses sat being emptied of their teenage populations. Bits of Clarke's hair had stiffened into shining blonde icicles, as if still wet from a shower. Lexa smiled, feeling her own hair beginning to freeze, as well.
"It looks a lot bigger, and it's a lot more to handle. Even though it's light, it's really awkward." Clarke had agreed to come help her bring the painting in that morning. She replied to the text with a speed that made Lexa's stomach flutter.
"Well it's a good thing my bus got here on time, then, so you didn't have to wait in this weather. You're already shivering," the blonde noted. Lexa let her partner believe what she would about her residual anxiety.
They shuffled into the building with Lexa in the lead and the painting wobbling between them. The school was still fairly empty, and eerily quiet without the footsteps and chatter of hundreds of their peers.
"It's so weird to be here so early," said Lexa. "I'm used to waiting in my car."
"I like it," replied Clarke.
"Me too. Maybe I should come in with you more often."
"Yeah," she echoed, "maybe you should."
"You girls have done astonishing work!" Their art teacher, so young she preferred to be called Ms. Catherine, bubbled over with excitement.
"Especially you, Lexa, I've never seen you put so much passion into your reflection before! Tell me girls, would you like to work together again on the next assignment? We will have some practice in class next week, and then the projects will begin on Wednesday. I was going to let everyone choose pairs this time, anyway, since this project may get a little more personal."
Clarke gnawed at her nails. Lexa spoke up, noticing her discomfort.
"What do you mean by that, Ms. Catherine?"
"Our next pieces are going to be portraits. We've done a lot of work on symbolism, and I think it's time we move on to human features. Self-portraits might be too complex at this stage of the game, so everyone will need a partner."
"What do you think, Clarke? Do you still want to work together?"
"I mean, we're already used to working together, so yeah, that sounds good."
"Alright then, it's settled! I'm so glad you two are working well as a pair!" Ms. Catherine gave an overly enthusiastic smile and turned towards another student who had wandered to her desk with a question.
"So, Wednesday for our first meeting?"
"Sure," Clarke said, shoving both hands in the pocket of her hoodie. Cautiously, Lexa allowed the corners of her lips to rise towards her ears.