Title is from Muse's Supermassive Blackhole, a song I've been listening to a lot while writing this chapter.

I'm posting this in a hurry because I didn't want to keep you guys waiting, so there might be some mistakes that I'll correct later.

"Guys, I'm starting it this time, alright?" Yells Charlie, kneeling on the bench and turning around to face the rest of the team.

Then she adds, getting into the beat: "I need y'all to clap for me!" Which they do enthusiastically.

Someone in the backseats counts to three, and the whole bus comes alive, singing along.

"Hit the road Jack, and don't you come back-" Charlie starts, pointing to the rest of the girls.

"No more no more no more no more!" They reply, equally as loud.

The whole sing-along, bus ride experience has been going on for the last hour. At this point, Clarke is torn between singing along passionately and sinking into madness. Isolated from the show thanks to her noise cancelling Sennheiser headphones, Octavia is reading a book while humming a song Clarke fails to identify.

"They're pretty into it, this year, aren't they?" Clarke mutters distractedly, eyes fixed on the landscape shuffling past them at extreme speed.

It seems Octavia has actually been attentive to her surroundings, for she frees an ear from her headphones with one quick flick of the hand. "Huh?"

"I just said they're pretty intense this year", Clarke reformulates, glancing at the group of enthused amateur singers currently yelling, while cupping an ear, the famous Ray Charles line – "what you say?", after which they repeat the chorus once again.

"Well congrats, Griff, you've just been awarded the "biggest understatement of the year" prize", Octavia chuckles, pulling her headset around her neck to pursue the conversation. "Still was pretty big last year also, remember?"

The remark awakens a distinct set of memories, and Clarke finds herself reliving the team's road trip to face the Sankru Dune Demons, a team known for its spectacular offense. The girls had been singing their personal version of Life is a highway, and by "personal version", we mean that they only invented (or rather massacred) 75% of the lyrics – the remaining 25% being the chorus. "I remember it perfectly, unfortunately", grunts the goalie with an exasperated look that says it all.

"Oh, don't be such a party pooper and let them have their fun, would you?" Suggests Octavia with her usual happy-go-lucky shrug.

"I just find that on the road time is a time to concentrate and relax before the game, not sing your lungs out." Clarke calmly affirms, leaning her head against the window, closing her eyes for a moment in an attempt to drown out the noise surrounding her.

"Funny thing is, Woods seems to be thinking the exact same way", Octavia assures, pointing to one of the last seats behind them, where Lexa can be seen, sitting through one of Wayne's impassioned yet uninteresting babbles– the only proof of her frustration being the violent way she chews her gum.

The thing with Lexa is she's one of these unpredictable, reckless beings who never cease to both chock and displease the general population. Like a carnivorous plant, one would observe her from a safe distance, knowing that it's unsafe to approach yet wanting to do so, wanting with every limb and every cell of their body.

Lexa's got a way of sitting through life, cruising with both feet on the car dash, cigarette in hand, giving the impression of watching it go by like a movie - just being, just existing, and taking the hits when things go wrong.

Clarke stresses about everything. She stresses about the game, the saves she'll have to make, the boos of the crowd, the amount of underwear she's brought along with her, the size of her hotel room and how she does not want to lose the key card (firstly because it'd be no fun waiting outside not knowing what to do, secondly because it'd definitely be humiliating).

Then there's Lexa, chewing gum. And she doesn't give a single fuck whether she's packed well, nor does she worry about the performance she'll have to give to impress the crowd. She's just chewing gum, putting on a cap, zipping the official Strikers' jacket she's proudly sporting, all that without the hint of a doubt in her green sharp eyes.

Clarke envies her, hates her, admires her, is so fucking confused about the amount of different emotions she feels rising fiercely in her chest whenever her brain brings up the name Alexandria Woods.

Around 4 PM, the bus stops beside the entry of the stadium and the driver opens the compartments to empty them of their contents – duffel bags, clothes and equipment for the most part.

The first thing Clarke notices as she steps outside the bus is the height of the stadium – she needs to bend the neck and arch her back to get a glimpse of the top. Many of her teammates let their excitement emerge, and the hubbub of laughter and shouting follows the group as they make their way through the impressive network of paths and corridors that constitutes the Mount Weather Stadium.

Practice is scheduled at five thirty – this way, they have plenty of time to check in at the hotel and, for some of them, meet with their sports therapist.

Albeit not being injured or sore, Clarke has an appointment for a quick checkup to make sure that she is fresh and fit for duty. It only lasts a half hour, and she then takes the team shuttle, along with the very enthusiastic Raven and Charlie, who are still on the adrenalin high of their hectic bus ride.

"I'm so hyped to kick their ass! God, it's even better when it's in front of their fans!" says Langton, her eagerness almost greater than life.

Then she adds, nudging a focused and not very chatty Clarke: "So what's up with you, Griffy? Anything on your mind?"

Shaken out of her thoughts, Clarke reflects on the question for a while. "Hum, not really", she replies.

The answer, quite vague, does not satisfy Charlie who lets out a little sigh. "Already on game mode, with those rituals of yours?"

"No, the rituals start two and a half hours before the game", the goalie explains, as if it were obvious.

Charlie's relaxed expression turns into a comically disturbed one. "I'll tell you, buddy, if you weren't so damn good, I'd be really creeped out."

It takes close to no time at the check-in, for the staff of the hotel is used to accommodating big groups such as hockey teams. The lobby's chic ornamentation, combining contemporary and deluxe furniture, is like the best of both worlds, and Clarke almost feels at home when she unlocks the door of her room – to be immediately greeted by the neat smell of clean bed sheets and fresh leather. The organisation hasn't gone halfway in terms of expenses (especially for their star players), and it certainly shows – the room is equipped with a flat screen tv, a spa bath, a generously packed minibar and a four-poster bed, its canopy enriched by silky fabrics. A small voice in the back of Clarke's head tells her that she does not deserve such luxurious manners, that she would be content with a simple room, and, despite all odds (apparently), does not need a jacuzzi. Besides, she wouldn't have the time to use it even if she wanted to.

Raven joins her in the elevator, and of course, she is wearing her lucky striker fever jacket – it's a typical custom of hers, one to show proudly her allegiance and assert herself all at once.

As they make their way towards the main entrance, they see Lexa entering the lobby, fumbling for her ID and reservation sheet. Her oversized coat's hood is pulled over her head (a faded baseball cap acting as further coverage), and she's wearing sunglasses indoors, all of which is perceived by Clarke as an attempt to go low profile and escape the media and fans.

She suddenly realizes that she herself has never been recognized all that much, and she assumes that Lexa, for her part, must be regularly intercepted by the public seeing as how she's so desperately trying to fly under the radar.

"They weren't kidding when they said she was famous", Raven points out as she takes a bite of the granola bar she's just pulled out of her bag.

"It's a bit excessive, don't you think?"

"What? The cap and the shades?" Asks the defenseman, watching as Lexa smiles and waves at a young boy who's obviously recognized her, judging by the way he peers at her shyly from the other side of the room.

"Yeah. They don't mean her any harm, they're just big fans, is all", Clarke calmly notes.

Raven gives her a look of uncertainty. "You don't get it, do you?"

"What?" Asks Clarke, unsure of what she's missed.

"She's all some sort of character, this one – anything she does as Woods, she'd do differently as Lexa. Get it? Woods doesn't mind meeting fans, she acts like this cocky jackass when she's under the spotlight, but when it's all over, she's actually pretty chill – still a bit of an ass, but tolerable."

Clarke is impressed by Raven's deduction skills. "And how exactly did you find out about all this?"

"Oh, let's say she's pretty vocal on the ice", explains Raven with a shrug.

When Clarke invites her friend to speak further, she is fairly quick to obey. "Well, it's pretty obvious that she's the boss. She calls the plays, she gives an example. She can be pretty fucking tough, if you ask me – like, if she doesn't approve, trust me, you'll know. But when you do something good, she'll make sure to tell you as well."

"Have you spoken with her much?"

"We've had locker room talk. It's crazy, the amount of pressure she puts on herself."

Clarke sees herself stunned by that last comment. "Pressure?" She repeats, encouraging Raven to specify.

"Well, when I went to the restroom before the first game of the season, I could hear someone throwing up in the stall next to me. I'm guessing it was her, since she was drinking water from the sink when I got out. "

It's hard to imagine – Lexa vomiting of stress, alone in a small bathroom stall. It appears Clarke had been wrong when she thought that Lexa is always confident, always unwavering, never anxious, never vulnerable.

Each moment, each second, reveals a new detail about Lexa.

There's a strange mystery surrounding her, an aura of things unknown, and Clarke (despite herself) is itching to find out more.

The pre-game, courtesy of the Mt. Weather Sports Network

Description provided by Mt. Weather Radio Central's sports commentators Matt Botts and Terrance Ripley

"It's a perfect night for hockey, isn't it Matt?"

"Absolutely, and we've got two offensive formations competing tonight, the first one led by this recently acquired center, I'm sure people watching know who I'm talking about – some like to call her the Grounder Kid, but we'll stick to her name, won't we?"

The older man nods with a smile. "We sure will, her name is Alexandria Woods, aged 22, she is a Polis native and she has played for their team, the Scorpions – for how many years, Matt?"

"For four years - she was their first pick at the 2013 annual draft, and since then, she's put on quite a show for the fans – seventy-three points on her first season donning the Scorpions' uniform, twenty-six goals, forty-seven assists, that is something, isn't it Terry?"

"It's outstanding, and it was a surprise for the whole league when she was traded for Mia Compton at the start of the season, Polis coach Titus Trikru said that they were looking for a fresh start after missing the playoffs last year. It seems it's for the best, as both teams are on the winning end of this trade – Compton is a veteran player with maturity and experience while Woods will serve to fill the gap in Arkadia's offensive line."

"Exactly, now let's take a closer look –"

On the screen behind them appears a compilation of Lexa's highlights.

"We've talked about Arkadia's need of someone to fill the net, but they also needed a hitter, Terry?"

"Correct, and believe me, Lexa Woods is just that – she is strong and very physical, always solid in the forecheck, I believe we've had a player, here in the studio, who once told us she didn't like playing against Polis because their captain was, quote on quote, a scary fella."

"Well, frankly, I don't blame her, Matt, I think the only Mt Weather player who can really compete with her on a physical scale is Pam Reed, am I right?"

"I agree, she as well is absolutely ruthless on the checks, and I can't wait to see their rivalry come to life on the ice."

The screen turns back to an image of the players warming up on each side of the ice.

"Now, about the goalies – the Arkadia coach has decided to play their starter, Clarke Griffin, who, my goodness, is quite the goalie. Couple of facts about her - she is 21, very young but already a mature player, she has made the leap from the American League to the national league at age 19, after playing two years for the Arkadia Dropships and Matt, how would you qualify her career at this point?"

"I would say she is a very successful player, just by taking a look at her stats – last year for example, she coupled a .933 save percentage with an average of 2.07 goals allowed per game, that is outstanding work. This year also, she seems confident as ever and ready to play her best hockey."

"Alright, well, Matt, we will be looking at these players very closely, and we are now right on time for the national anthems, let's go have a look."

The game (with commentary)

The noise is almost deafening as Clarke sets foot on the ice third to last, the only people behind her being Langton and Woods. She feels the pressure on her shoulders, knowing that the crowd is far from appreciative, and their singing and shouting is not by any means comforting.

The Mt. Weather X-Ray is competent. Their players are, for the most part, lean and swift individuals who never fail to impress. Strategy is key in their game, and their first line athletes are experts of the tic-tac-toe and the funnel – all of which will serve in making Clarke stand on the edge of her toes for the whole game.

Reeve pits Lexa against Pam Reed in the first face off, and Clarke immediately sees that the two have a deep hatred for one another, their murderous glares alone serving as proof.

Mt. Weather wins the face-off, brings it back to Callaghan. Callaghan, looking for options, offers it to Jameson who was passing by, and they're organising their first attack.

Clarke can see Octavia pointing at her teammates to lead them towards the pair of wingmen marching towards the enclave.

Raven is quick at checking Callaghan into the board in an effort to curb the play, but the enemy wingman saw it coming and drops the puck which then slides to the back of the net, recovered by Jameson.

Jameson, behind the net, waits for her team to join her, but here comes Woods to pressure her into leaving the spot. Jameson, trapped by Blake and Reyes, they battle for the puck.

Clarke settles against her post, watching as the enemy regains possession and hurls the puck to their defenseman at the blue line.

Yermakov has it, fakes a slap shot, passes it to Reed – here she goes, oh! Beautiful feint, Blake never saw it coming, Reed, still, dangling the puck, fires!

For half a second, Clarke thinks, blocker, and when her brain registers the command there seems to be a stop in the space time vortex, and then it's just Clarke, alone, propelling herself and extending the arm at just the right spot. She feels and hears everything as the puck rams against the cushioned surface of her blocker, and there, it's deviated, already far away from the meshes of the net.

Griffin with a gorgeous save! One might've thought that she was too far on this one but this is no ordinary player, ladies and gentlemen, this is Clarke Griffin – rain or shine, she will make the save!

First period proves itself to be a hell of a job, and Clarke makes 16 saves – one of which made with just the tip of her pad.

She sprays a generous amount of water at her face through the grid of her mask as the siren signals the start of second period.

Arkadia's first line is on the ice, led by Alexandria Woods. Jaime Hurd, making her way into enemy territory, and she's cornered by the defense. Hurd does a great job conserving the disk, then leaves it to Marks. Marks, moves to the center, joined by her defense. Lucy Marks still with it, then with a pass for Woods. Woods makes good use of the board, sets the rebound for herself, then ascends to the left, stops in the enclave. Woods, finding options.

Clarke gets a glimpse of Lexa's hard working frame, shoving ferociously at enemy players to keep them at bay. A feeling puddles at the bottom of Clarke's stomach, one that strangely resembles excitement, and she cannot help but skull forward to get a better view of the play.

Woods with a quick pass for Hurd, Hurd moves around to set the play. Woods has the angle, she's ready, Hurd serves her the puck and here she goes, splits de D, still has it, she feints to the left, beautiful toe drag and shoots! SHE SCORES!

Clarke almost jumps and thrill shoots through her veins as she sees the replay, witnesses the extent of Lexa Woods' jaw dropping skill, and Clarke even wonders, almost mad with bliss, if there is a limit to her talent.

Oh, my stars! Alexandria Woods goes top shelf, where mama hides the cookies! And Arkadia is bringing in the big guns, they have a one-nothing lead!

Using their momentum with renewed confidence, the Strikers press against the defense for the next half of the period, and soon, Charlie scores a beautiful backhanded goal, the crowd quickly losing their dynamism.

Charlie Langton, with a marvellous goal! She is on a mission tonight, folks, first goal of the season, what do you say to that? Strikers make it two-nothing!

For the most part of the break, Charlie rambles about what a cool night this is, and Woods is sitting alone on a bench, patted on the head by her teammates from time to time but mostly serious and focused.

It makes Clarke rethink what Raven told her in the hotel lobby – it's impressive how Lexa celebrated the goal while on the ice, jumping on the board and letting out a mighty roar of triumph, and how she is now cold, distant, detached.

Clarke thinks about her own rituals, the "puck chasing" she does, when she's shifting her gaze from left to right at extreme speed, or the way she tosses a rubber ball against a wall, mechanically catching the rebound to practice her reflexes. They're not so different, aren't they? Both obsessed with their sport, both addicted to performance...

But then, if Lexa is so detached about it all, that would explain why she doesn't care about anything, doesn't care if she's rude to Clarke – she just wants to use people, just wants to take without giving back.

Keeping that last thought in mind, Clarke jumps back on the ice with a mix of anger and perplexity as she sees Lexa transform into Woods again, sees her taunt the opponents with her usual superior attitude and cocky smile, sees her square her shoulders and hammer players in the board, some sort of wild, feral glint animating her eyes.

The X-Ray coming up fast, Redmond headmans it to Reed who skates into it, nicely done. Reed, setting up the play, sees Callaghan rising up, patient as usual. Reed circling the net, protects the puck, leaves it to Callaghan as she's roughly checked by Woods coming from behind. Callaghan cutting straight to the middle, good idea - Reyes thought she was coming down instead.

Clarke wakes up her entire body, both mind and limbs, she takes a deep breath, her eyes lock on the 6 foot-tall giant rushing towards her but she sees nothing but the puck, dangling on the blade of the stick. Her mind registers the shot automatically – like a machine, her leg unfolds right away, kicks the puck to the side then settles again, waiting for the next shot, but the rebound reaches Reed who already has her stick in the air, ready to fire at the opposite side – she has an open net. Clarke jumps.

Leg save! Rebound! Seized by Reed, FIRES the one timer and HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! Griffin flashes the leather! Someone call the police because Pam Reed has been ROBBED and boy de we share her look of disbelief right now! She thought she had an open net but Griffin says no and look at the replay – that desperate jump, grabs it mid air, game saver!

As she sits down and lets out a controlled breath, Clarke feels gloves patting her head and looks up to see Raven and Octavia's shocked expression. Then, when she gets up and stretches her legs, she notices Woods' composed expression break as she lets out a fierce, victorious shout. Yeah, you're lucky I'm here to save your ass, she thinks as a small smile appears on her lips without being invited.

The intensity of the game steps up a notch – many Mt Weather players are eager to make the plays happen and will go to extremes doing it.

Pam Reed has started to make a veil in front of Clarke to create the opportunity for a screenshot. Annoyance spreads in the pit of Clarke's guts, and when she feels Reed's back pressed up against her, she gives her a little shove – to no avail, for she then skulls back again and confines her to the depth of her net.

The hostilities hit their highest point when Reed provokes a turnover and hurries towards the goal on a breakaway.

Pam Reed is gaining speed and Griffin comes out of the net to meet her halfway!

For a second or two, she drowns out all noise and sees Reed's tall frame accelerating, and she goes for the poke check, her paddle connecting with the puck as she realizes that Reed is not stopping. Everything fades to black and next thing she knows, her head is hitting the ice, helmet thudding against the hard surface with a plastic noise.

Sounds come crashing past her ears, and soon, she's conscious again – and the reality of it all hits her. The fucking bitch. Clarke sees red.

Both players have just collided violently, and Reed is gesturing towards the ref, saying it's not her fault. But Griffin does not agree and she is losing her cool, here she comes, shoves Reed who loses her balance.

Pam Reed's gaze is set on fire, burning hard with fury as she starts talking shit at Clarke and gives her a vigorous push. Oh fuck. This woman is 6 feet tall, could snap her in two like a twig if she set her mind to it.

"You scared, Griffin? Why don't you come over, we'll have a little talk?"

There's something unbelievably aggressive crossing Pam Reed's face, and Clarke has no doubt that if she doesn't initiate the fight right away, Reed will chase her and attack like a hound. She choses to come forward and that means war to Reed – she grabs her jersey with an iron grip and players of both teams come rushing towards them, eager to either join the hassle of put an end to it.

Just as she feels Reed shoving her face backwards, strong hands yank the attacker off her and she lets out a shuddering breath.

"Get the fuck away from her!" A voice barks at Reed, who turns around and recognizes her nemesis – Lexa Woods, her jaw tense and gaze deadly.

"Yeah? What you gon' do?" Pam Reed slurs with an arrogant smirk.

Lexa is set off like a wild animal, both of her gloves cast away with great vigor – Reed immediately answers back replicating the action.

This is turning into a free-for-all, and captain Lexa Woods has had enough! She is standing up for her goalie and gloves are dropped!

As soon as Reed takes a step forward, Woods pounces on her, swinging a fist to her jaw. The violence of the hit is stirring, and its sole effect seems to be infuriating Reed even more. She grabs Lexa by the front of the jersey and they go blow for blow, taking each hit courageously. Lexa's lip is slit by a punch and her nose is bleeding badly, but she's reciprocating until Reed slips under her, and she falls on top, still pummeling on her face, then the referee arrives to separate them.

And the crowd is booing Woods, but she couldn't care less, since she got exactly what she came for. That's what you expect from someone like Lexa Woods who's always so protective of her teammates, even against such a tall fella like Reed - she doesn't hesitate, just does it.

Once the brawl is over, both fighters instinctively make their way to the penalty box and there is little time left – only two minutes.

The X-rays pull their goalie and Clarke spends the remaining seconds stacking the pads and stopping the puck from entering the goal as if her life depends on it.

As the buzzer sounds one last time and the crowd starts leaving before the interviews (most of them are pissed off X-ray fans), a wave of relief washes over Clarke.

The game comes to an end and the Arkadia Strikers are slipping away with a two-nothing win, their goalie Clarke Griffin really stood on her head, tonight, and with that she clutches her first shutout of the season!

The coach insists on having her checked for a potential concussion, and after she obtains her leave and waits through all the post-game interviews, the visitors section of the arena is almost empty.

The first things she notices when entering the locker room is Lexa's head bent upwards, Kleenex in hand and fingers pinching her nose. She looks a bit smaller without the equipment on, and Clarke realizes suddenly the severity of the whole situation. Lexa has fought off a giant of a player - her hands are bruised, a dark blue color spreads across one of her cheekbones and her jersey is stained with red.

"That was so fucking dumb", Clarke hears herself blurt out, and she's surprised with the anger in her tone. Why is she so mad about this? Maybe she just doesn't like the sight of a battle bruised Lexa. Yeah, all this reconsidered, she doesn't like it at all.

"A thank you would've sufficed", grunts Lexa, still pinching her nose and wincing with the pain that creeps through the side of her face.

"I was fine." The words taste wrong as she says them, but she doesn't care, just wants to make sure that Lexa never does this again, never stains the ice with red, never hurts herself like this.

Lexa is shaken with a humorless laugh, and she turns to face her goalie. "That's a nice try, but again, you should just thank me."

"And you should thank me for saving your sorry ass on multiple occasions tonight", Clarke bites back, reaching for the ice pack sitting close by.

"Yeah, well it goes without saying", the forward mumbles so softly, like a part of her doesn't want Clarke to hear.

Clarke gasps comically and sits next to Lexa, sideways - a leg on each side of the bench. "Oh, shit, you're nice to me now? Will you say it again so I can record the whole thing?" Clarke teases with an arched brow.

Lexa looks away, oh yes, you've heard us right – the great Alexandria Woods looks away when her goalie puts her in a corner with her witty remarks and unmovable behavior.

"Have you got no idea of who I am, Griffin?" She meant it as a warning, but Clarke sees past that and boldly presses the ice pack against Lexa's strong jaw, and the forward shudders (both from the cold and the soft fingers grazing her skin).

"Uh huh, you're an idiot and an asshole, that I know."

"Yeah, well this idiot stood up for you against the meanest chick in the whole league, and she doesn't need you to play doctor with her." Lexa roughly affirms, grabbing the ice pack from Clarke's hand.

"That came out so wrong", Clarke snaps at her indignantly.

At that, Lexa just smirks and wonders. "That's exactly why I said it", she retorts, delivering Clarke her best charming smile.

"Oh, way to go, your fuckboyness just leveled up!" Clarke snorts, getting up to replace the tissue with a new one.

"Geez, what level am I at now?" Lexa plays along with fake excitement coating her voice.

"Probably a hundred", throws Clarke. "And stop smiling, it's not a good thing!" She adds, seeing Lexa's proud self resurface.

"So you've got a level 100 fuckboy saving you from the perils of life and you're complaining about it?" Lexa asks, bewildered by the thought.

"Oh my god, Woods, do you actually think you've got a chance at this?" Clarke whines, switching the ice pack to the other side of Lexa's face, who, surprisingly enough, stays motionless like an obedient dog.

"I'm always giving these things a try, Griffin, that's just how it is", replies the cocky piece of shit with a wink (as if it wasn't enough).

Clarke is left shocked, wordless, and sits back on the next bench, behind, satisfaction washing over her as she notices the smallest hint of disappointment germinating behind Lexa's confident manners. "Oh, you poor thing, so you really do think you're my type?", the blonde questions bluntly, then pierces Lexa's barriers with her sharp blue eyes.

"I'm everybody's type", Lexa retaliates, never losing her composure.

Clarke loses her cool, and gives Lexa the "look at me" motion. She's had enough. "Alright, I don't care who you are, I don't care if you're good at hockey, or if you get into people's pants recreationally, but somebody needs to yank you off this fucking high horse you're sitting on, and show you that sane chicks like me will not drool all over you like you're a fucking gift from heaven. I'm the boss of this team, believe it or not – I've been here three years, and I would be captain, not you, if it wasn't for hockey rules. So you're gonna turn your little cunt radar off very kindly and treat my like the talented goaltender I am, not try to prey on me like a teenage frat boy and his boner. Have I made myself clear?"

"Ouch. Apply cold water to the burn", Lexa mumbles, but she can joke around all she want, she has clearly understood the message – Clarke sees it with the way she lays low, avoiding her stare, and she's proud of herself, proud of the way she's taken the first step in taming Lexa's monster of an ego.

"Alright, Woods, step one of your redemption – promise me you'll never get into dumb fights ever again."

"It wasn't dumb, I was just doing my job-" Lexa starts, but is cut off mid sentence by an unyielding Clarke.

"Protecting me is not your job", she explains firmly.

There's a second of uncertainty during which Lexa is at a loss of words – she opens and closes her mouth, until finally she finds a explanation. "Griffin, she charged at you. For a second, I thought you were passed out, so yeah, how silly of me to just fucking act on it."

"Act on what?"

"Act on my need to beat her up."

"You have got to control this temper of yours", warns Clarke with a cautionary stare.

"Yeah, so what? It's not like you'd have a say."

Clarke sighs quite loudly, and she thinks about Lexa's baseball cap and shades in the hotel lobby, thinks about her smiling at the little boy hiding behind his mom in shyness, thinks about what she told the interviewer on her first game – I'm happy with what the guys did today. And surely this is not fake, surely someone else is hiding underneath the helmet and jersey and shoulder pads.

"Quit the show, Woods, we both know this is all part of your little character."

"What, so I have a character now?" And Lexa tries to look intimidating, tries real hard, paints sturdiness and blazing confidence on her features - but Clarke is not falling for this anymore.

"Oh, so you'll play the unaware card 'till the end, that's interesting." States Clarke, assertive.

This must be new to Lexa - being challenged, defied, opposed, to say the least.

Clarke notices the small twitch in her bicep when she clenches her fist, and how much does she fucking bench press? She thinks of players battling for the puck, of shoulders clashing against one another, and her brain suddenly conjures an image of Lexa cuddling her nephew, hand cradling his small, fragile head. What is wrong with her?

"I think you're imagining things, Griffin", is Lexa's attempt at protecting herself.

Clarke is eager to seize the occasion, to jump through the opening. "What am I imagining?"

"Things I am not." Her voice is sturdy yet jagged, like a stone that's been tossed down a cliff one to many times.

In a collected manner, Clarke sits back down in front of Lexa and enjoys the unexpected look of bafflement that passes so very quickly across her face – like a car on a main highway, foggy December night weather urging its driver to rush back home. "So you're not a good person?"

"You think I'm a good person?"

Green eyes jerk upwards, meeting Clarke's, and for a little while, she sees weird things – softness, vulnerability, things that are not Woods, things that could be Lexa?

"I don't know you", says Clarke, means it – no, she does not know Lexa, no she has not seen many things other than arrogance emanating from her. Yet she has also seen good things - ferocious hugs to her teammates, positive smiles, shouts of encouragement.

"I'm not that nice a person, Griffin, you'll find out pretty soon."

Something bursts inside of Clarke. "Thanks for having my back", she says, but what she means to say is you're okay. Because right now, Lexa looks unsure, looks doubting, and probably needs reassurance – despite it being odd, atypical, unlike her.

The locker room is calm and silent.

Lexa looks at her, nodding almost imperceptibly. "It's part of our truce." It almost sounds like an explanation, an apology.

"The truce didn't say anything about fighting people", affirms Clarke, then eyes Lexa defiantly.

"I added my own personal twist", Lexa casually shrugs.

Clarke laughs at that, and the sound of it, the fluctuating vibrations scaling summits then sinking down like water drops, it makes Lexa chuckle too, and the atmosphere lightens.

"Alright, give me props you rowdy thing", Clarke teases, and she is surprised to see that Lexa accepts the peace offering, their hands clap together initially, then fists collide. It feels nice for the both of them.

A minute or so passes without words being said. Then, Lexa steps up quite brazenly. "Do you have a concussion?"

"I don't think so", Clarke replies, but there's no way to be sure.

Feelings of unknown nature leave their mark on Lexa's features, each succeeding to the previous one at extreme speed. "Good. But don't over do it, just in case. And sleep a lot."

"You sound like my mom, it's cute", teases Clarke, but a part of her is intrigued at Lexa's demonstration of care.

"On this very pleasant note, Griffin, I'll be heading out", the brunette announces awkwardly, reaching for her bag.

It's almost funny, just as these glimpses of humanity are curious, like Lexa carelessly lets them protrude out of her otherwise perfectly stoic character.

"Well at least take your ice pack with you or you'll be looking like you've just been stung repeatedly at the same spot", Clarke orders with a hand automatically closing around the ice pack and attempting to throw it at Lexa.

"Nah, I'm fine", she declines, turning towards the door.

"Don't go all "big baby" on me, it's an ice pack, Lexa, for fuck's sake."

When she turns around again, Clarke's breath shockingly catches, and something dazed and puzzled spreads on her face. Lexa. Clarke has called her Lexa.

"We do that now? Or was it an accident?" Asks Lexa with mixed emotions of confusion and irritation that make Clarke even more stunned.

"Kind of, I guess", Clarke offers almost miserably, and she's trying pretty hard to back away, but something tells her that you can't go around calling someone by their last name all their life. Can you?

"So it's an accident, but only kind of..." Lexa trails off, losing progressively the bitterness in her tone.

"My bad", apologizes Clarke. "It'll be Woods, then?"

"I don't know, how would you feel if I didn't call you Griffin anymore? It'd be weird, wouldn't it?"

"Just try it, we'll see."

Lexa rubs at her neck – she's uncomfortable. "Well it'd be fucked up."

"Shut up and try instead."

"Clarke."

"See?"

"See what?"

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know, it's not about me, it's your name-"

"Oh my god, you overthink more than me! That must be some kind of world record! Shit, should we call Guinness or something?"

"Clarke", Lexa warns with a tired glance.

"Yeah, I told you you'd get used to it!" The blonde exclaims with a smirk.

"That wasn't me trying out your name, that was me saying it to make you stop babbling."

"I wasn't babbling, you were babbling!" She complains, pointing accusatively at Lexa who lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, let's just not", Lexa tries with an almost comical eyeroll.

"Don't you eyeroll me, Rowdy Woody", Clarke complains, and it wins her one of Lexa's signature death stares.

It's truly amazing, seeing Lexa in this desperate agitation she adopts when she's pissed off and just about to burst, but curiously, Clarke knows that Lexa is incapable of hurting her with either words or fists, just like she knows that Lexa normally does not control herself. But that's what she doing, right now – Lexa who is merciless on the ice, batters, rams, smashes, Lexa who's stare has now regressed to one of pure annoyance, like a small puppy who bares its teeth to no avail.

"That is by far THE worst nickname I have ever heard", Lexa snaps quite coldly, and Clarke replies with a shit eating grin.

"Then I guarantee you will hear it on a daily basis", Clarke affirms, smile still gigantic.

"Go fuck yourself", the now furious hockey forward mumbles, teeth clenched.

At that, Clarke prepares to watch Lexa leave the room, but some unknown force drives her near the door, then unravels her fingers to press the ice pack against the other woman's jaw. And she likes to think that the second hand coming up to rest on the opposite side of Lexa's face was simply for leverage, but Clarke does not know, just like she does not know if the shiver she feels reverberating through her limbs comes from her fingers or the surface they're touching.

"Oh bloody hell, can't you just leave it?" Lexa sighs but not as loudly, not as angrily as expected.

"Hold it there", Clarke instructs with her doctor voice – she learned it from her mom.

Time stops and everything is dizzying when Lexa comes forward a bit, only slightly, she tells herself, it's probably only to get to the door, but her extrasensory perception detects all sorts of distracting things. She smells Lexa's perfume, and under that, Lexa's sweat, and under that, Lexa's odor. Something loamy, fresh pine and wildflowers, like running through the forest and stopping at a clearing, and sleeping there, so that when you wake up, the first thing you see is the blue sky filtered through tree tops. She wonders if it smells differently when your nose is pressed up against it, or how it tastes like, then stops herself so quick, for this is forbidden territory.

"Alright, alright", Lexa backs away, obedient, driving her hand upwards to hold the ice pack, except Clarke's fingers are still there, so they touch, very briefly. Fuck. It almost burned her skin, shot electricity and stop, stop, stop.

For the love of god.

Her skin is warm. She's got callous fingers, but she wasn't rough, not on purpose, and she didn't linger, and Clarke suddenly wonders if she wanted her to linger – it gets too much, too fucking much, this should be cold and stiff, yet it is not.

"Goodnight, Clarke."

The door closes.

Why is it that the room seems darker now?

Thank you so much again!

Next chapter is coming up as soon as possible!