Ahhhhhh finally I got enough time to finish this chapter! I'm publishing in a hurry so I want to apologize if there are any mistakes!
I hope you'll like it!
The next puck is wobbly, and she notices with apprehension, notices the way her arms are growing weaker with each shot, and she hates herself for it – she's been trained well.
"You have got to grow some shoulders; do you know that?" His tone is icy, cuts through her walls, knows how to access the very defenceless core of her being.
"Yes, I know."
Her voice, no matter how bad she tries, doesn't sound as hard as he would like, and when she turns around, he's put his whistle around his neck, and that's not a good thing.
"Then flip the damn tires I've put out for you so nicely!Jesus, Lexie, do I have to tell you what to do all the time?"
She sees him raise his arms to the sky in exasperation, and feels the shame begin to pile in the pit of her stomach. "No."
He obviously didn't like how her voice quivered. "I didn't catch that", he pressures her again with steel clad eyes.
"No!" She yells and hammers a puck into the net in frustration.
That was a good move – his stare lightens, loses its cutting edge.Despite the anxious breath leaving her lungs in a tremble, despite the distress she is put in, she feels like this is what he wants, and she is ready to deliver.
"There it is, that's the champ.I want every shot to be like this." He orders, and she feels his words trickle down her back like honey – so sweet it's sickening.But a part of her lives to be called 'champ', probably the part of her that slams people into boards, she thinks.
"How are your arms?" He asks, and to anybody else, it would sound like he's simply worrying about his daughter's physical state, but Lexa knows that this has nothing to do with care, just like she knows exactly what he wants to hear.
"They'll be stronger for it", she declares, but what she wants to say is 'they hurt, I can barely move them'.Some days, she has trouble brushing her teeth correctly, can't hold her arms in the air longer than a second or two, but she assumes this is not something she can say.
"That's good, baby.Will you practice your backhand for me, now?"
"Sure", she obeys, and executes the task as well as she can manage.Each raise of the stick burns, takes her closer to a breakdown, but to be a champion, you have to do these things without complaining, and daddy says whining is for the weak.
"I'll leave a tire there and I expect you to use it, Lexie." He points at the big tractor tire waiting near the garden, and she wonders how she will be able to flip such a thing in her current condition.
Three years later, she regrets deciding to jog that night, she regrets her father's reprimand, the disappointment in his eyes and that makes her flip the damn tire in the rain, covered in sweat and mud and drowning in disgrace.It's too late, now.She screams with each flip, and Anya must've heard her because she's standing on the patio, concerned and upset.
"What the fuck are you doing, Lex?" She screams over the sound of raindrops drumming against the ground.
"Building shoulders!I'm building shoulders!" She must sound hysterical, and Anya doesn't know how close she is to giving in to the tears and the knot in her throat, but she won't break down, that's not what she is.
"You'll catch your death!Please come inside!" Anya asks, and the sound of rain can't mask the way her voice cracks when she pleads.
"This is none of your business!I'm doing fine!"
"Lexa, no one is forcing you to do these things anymore!"
Her shoulders tense when she hears the warning in her sister's tone, and she thinks about all the work she's put in, how it cannot end like this, how daddy would not be satisfied or proud of her.
"He never forced me!" She cries out in synch with the next flip, and she's rewarded with a big splash of mud on the cheek when the rubber hits a puddle.
Anya doesn't give up, why doesn't she give up?It'd be so easy if nobody questioned her every move all the time, if nobody had a say in whether she wants to workout in the rain, or in the night, or go on a jog when it's freezing outside, when her breath comes out as a white mist around her face.
"Lexa, please!You're not thinking straight!" Anya begs, voice smaller, shoulders down like a disillusioned child.
And Lexa stops, gets her hands off the tire, notices the blisters on her palms.This is madness, and she has to keep going. "Then what the fuck do I do?!" her voice thunders in the dark.
Anya is stunned. "What do you mean 'what do I do'?You snap out of it!You hang out with your friends!You eat!"
"I don't have any friends!I play, is all!And now I don't play for anyone, and now I can't even flip a fucking tire, and…" She trails off, lost in self doubt, lost in her own backyard that she doesn't recognize, because everything is strange and out of place, and the world is spinning around her.
"That means he's winning, Lexa, he's got you broken!Do you want him to win?" Anya challenges, stepping out from under the roof, starting to get drenched by the unyielding rain.
"You're all against me, then!All of you!Mama said I was to study instead, Daddy said I was soft!And you too, now?" Lexa is unreasonable, and cruel to Anya, and she knows she's not the only one hurting, yet she has to let this out.She has to let it out in the open, or else it will destroy her.
"Oh, please!Is this really you speaking, or is that the shit dad put into you?" Anya points at her crudely, and if rain and darkness didn't diminish her vision, Lexa would see how her sister is now so emotional it makes her tremble like a leaf.
"Don't you dare say that of him!I'll make him proud, you wait and see!" Lexa screams into the emptiness, and it reverberates around like an echo, sneaks right into Anya's chest and pains her - oh, how it pains her.Because Anya has seen this woman from the beginning of her life, running around in a diaper, she has seen her smile turn into a smirk, has seen her laugh turn into a sneer, has seen her fall and transform into something wicked, something that lives and breathes through obsession.All because of one man, one man she now protects and cherishes like the brainwashed soldier she is.
"What the fuck did he do to you?" Anya murmurs, her words magically transported through the ruthless weather, until they shoot right through Lexa, and inject cold into her green eyes.
"He made me strong", the younger woman asserts solidly, but her tone clashes with the fog passing across her gaze, and something is not right.
But Anya doesn't see the sentimentality leaking from her sister, for rain and anger is blinding, and she loses faith, just once, just now.
"I want my sister back", she weakly blurts, then disappears into the house.
Lexa falls asleep in the mud.
"Hey, everyone, Santa has arrived!"
The team greets Tasha Wickenson, the chief equipment technician, and she's carrying a big pouch on her back.
It's become some sort of tradition for Tasha to bring the special requests in a bag, and she probably enjoys the reception and spotlight. "Alright, now, I got a list."
"She's got a list", repeats Charlie Langton, imitating her southern accent with a knowing smile. Then, getting up and offering a hand. "Does Santa need an elf?"
"For sure", the technician replies as she opens up the bag and entrusts Charlie with the list.
The women start chatting excitedly, each player eager to receive their piece of equipment. "First off, I have here a very cute set of pink tape, this is Izzie's, I think?" Wickenson announces, throwing the tape at a happy Wayne who seems impatient to try it on.
"Briggs, you wanted skates?" Charlie asks as a nice pair of Bauer's are pulled out of the bag.
The usual gifts are apparel and equipment such as sticks, guards, socks and skates. But what Clarke is given is an absolute piece of art. "Ouh, Griffy, that's cool! Is this from the Finish guy?" Charlie asks, carefully holding a brand-new mask.
Petri Pakarinen, one of the best artists affiliated with the league, graces Clarke with one or two masks per year, usually on special occasions. And with the Winter Classic coming up in January, Clarke has had the pleasure of choosing a wintry design, with a navy-blue background color and special details nicely airbrushed on the shell – the number 36 embed into the Strikers' logo, and hidden patterns that are revealed with the cold.
"Shit, nice bucket you've got there", Lexa later admires from across the room while securing her shoulder guard on.
Clarke smiles at the compliment. "Well thank you, cool whip."
It's hilarious how Lexa's grin crumbles at the nickname - but it's too late, Raven's heard everything, and she passes them by on her way to the door. "Hey, cool whip", she salutes before leaving the room.
"Yeah, you better get your ass away from me, Reyes! And make sure I don't catch you!"
Lexa looks unusually playful as she gets up and chases Raven down the hall, and Clarke can hear their screams fading as they recede.
During practice, Clarke intercepts Raven as she skates near the slot. "Hey, so you and whip are now best buddies?"
Raven smirks, spinning her stick absentmindedly with both hands. "Yeah, we're getting matching tattoos next week. But seriously, she's a fucking stud. And she's been asking the whole team if you're playing against Polis Saturday."
"What?" Clarke utters, a bit taken aback.
"Uh huh, your ass be triggering her 'gay puppy' mode. I swear, yesterday Langton just mentioned you in a sentence and her head jerked up like a cat that's heard the can opener, it was hilarious-"
"She's just a little fuckboy going on her everyday hunt, that doesn't mean anything." Clarke agilely slides from post to post, deploying her stick in a circular motion to cover each possible angle.
"Well, I told her yes and she looked glad. I think she wants to show off her goalie to Polis", Raven shrugs, then picks up a lost puck with the blade of her stick and juggles it as Clarke makes a casual save on a teammate passing by.
"Her goalie", grimaces Clarke, skulling forward and waiting for the shot, steady. She deviates it with her blocker, then stands straight, sliding around her net to grab her Gatorade bottle and squirt its contents through the cat eye grid of her mask. "I swear, if she's doing all this to put down Eriksen..." She shoots a glance at Raven who's covering Charlie, trying to stop her from settling in the zone.
"Hey, let me", Clarke offers, tapping her gloves together and giving a push at her chest pad as a ritual preparation.
Charlie goes one handed, slides diagonally and tries a toe drag to show off, but Clarke just kicks away the shot and pulls her mask up to dart her tongue at a butt hurt Langton. "Again with the toe? You're a quick release, just snap it." Clarke casually advises.
"Snap it, you think? I wanted to fool around with you, Griff, but I forgot you're always so professional." Charlie circles backwards around a cone, practicing her cross de-cross and almost bumping against Lexa who gives her a playful tap in the skates with the blade of her stick.
"Yeah snap it, baby, snap it", Clarke breaks into a small dance whose movements revolve mainly around shoulder wiggling and stick swinging. "You wanna get to twenty, this year, Charles?"
Langton throws her head backwards, annoyed. "I get to twenty every year, goddamnit! why does everyone in the team think I'm the chick who never gets to twenty?"
Raven laughs, lets a soft slap shot fly towards Clarke who traps it against her chest with a thud. "I'm a twenty and I don't even play wing", she taunts, plucking the disk out of the net and aligning it right behind with the rest.
Both Clarke and Charlie react quite strongly – they gasp in disbelief, shaking their head from side to side. "Shut up, Reyes, you're not even a fifteen!" Charlie mocks, catching the attention of Lexa, currently stretching her arms over her head.
The captain cannot help the cocky comment. "Yeah, and how's thirty-five?"
Clarke decides it's time to serve some humble pie. "Alright, well I scored a goal, last year. Difference is, I did it from here." She bumps her paddle against the blue ice of the slot, all of it with a sarcastic smile.
That is enough to shut them up.
Walking around Embassy Arena can be quite challenging, especially when you're the number one goalie in the league and also happen to be playing against the hometown favorites.
Clarke isn't used to being stopped by locals, and she mentally takes note of the number of times it happens while walking down the street, and buying shampoo and an Itzakadoozie popsicle in a convenience store. She gets to six – a surprising number, and by the time she's back to the hotel, she's taken three pictures and signed a cap, an arm, and a grocery list (her first stop was Walmart).
When she sees Lexa in front of the hotel, she's signing a guy's Polis jersey with her name in the back. "I can't believe this - my little boy Jason is gonna be so happy! You're his favorite player, he plays hockey too and he really looks up to you!" The guy proudly exclaims.
Lexa's polite smile turns into an enormous, genuine one and she immediately takes off her Strikers cap, signs it and offers it to the man who has trouble accepting the gift. "I'm sure he'll never part with it, in this case! He'll probably wear it to sleep!" The dad exuberantly informs after Lexa insists he keep it.
"Will he be there to watch the game?" Lexa asks, radiant.
The dad's smile turns a bit more wistful. "Eh, we'd really want to, but my wife Annie, she's on a sick leave right now and we can't afford it. But he'll be watching at home for sure!"
Lexa looks authentically saddened by that, and determined to find a solution. "You know what, if you can give me just a second…" She composes a number on her cellphone. "I'll try and see if I can get you a spot."
The guy's jaw drops open, and his eyes widen in shock. "Oh dear lord, are you serious?" He stutters, running a hand across his brow. "I cannot accept such a thing, it's too much."
Lexa shrugs it off like it's nothing. "Please, my treat." Then, on the phone with a chief of staff. "Hey, Jerry, how's it going? I am great, back from the therapist, checking in late. Hey, listen, would you do me a solid? I have mates I'd like to bring tomorrow; can you see if there's anything left?"
She sneaks a glance and a wink at the still baffled guy on her side. "Thanks a lot. Yes, could you ask him for me please?" She pauses for a second. "My buddy Jason and his dad." She pauses again, smiling. "Green section or lower, if you don't mind?" She covers the bottom of the phone and turns towards the guy still standing at her left. "Ask for Jerry when you get there, alright?" The man nods slowly, still stupefied.
"Perfect thank you so much, you're the best! I'll see you there. Bye bye", she says into the phone, and ends the call. "There were seats in the green or double letters, but I thought since your son is a big fan, he'd like to see it from up close am I right?"
The man nods, deeply moved, and he shakes Lexa's hand ceremoniously. "I don't forget these things, miss. Seeing you play, I've always known how talented you are, but let me tell you, I couldn't've chosen a better role model for my kid. Thank you, you're an amazing person."
Lexa bows her head slightly. "It's my pleasure, sir, I'm just doing my best."
They share a friendly hug and separate as Lexa enters the hotel.
Once alone, she glances at her watch and clicks her tongue in frustration. She's missing open practice. But then, it was worth it – she imagines the little boy's eyes, how they'll glow when his daddy will announce that he's bringing him to the game. She thinks about how they will share a moment of joy together, eating popcorn and cheering for their team. She thinks about her own dad, and she isn't sure if he would've liked her missing a practice to talk with a fan.
Was it so hard to chant your kid's name like all the other parents did?
"Looks like I'm not the only one who forgot open was rescheduled", a voice behind her teases in a sing-songy tone.
"I guess I'll have more energy tonight", Lexa mutters, then turns to face the blue-eyed goalie behind her.
"Any stress?" Clarke asks, as they make their way to the elevator. When Lexa gives her a look of annoyance, she rolls her eyes, still smirking. "Oh, how silly of me – I forgot that the great Alexandria Woods is above such mundane things."
Give me a break, she thinks, and fumbles for her card when the doors open. "After you", she sarcastically invites Clarke to get out first.
"Such a gentleman", the goalie approves, and Lexa has to admit that a part of her is disappointed with the way Clarke's voice has donned an accent of irony and cold amusement – but then that would be her own fault. She should've been genuinely nice to her if she wanted to be rewarded, and when she realizes that she just had that thought, she panics, but it's too late.
"Do you need me to escort you to your room to prove my good manners?" Lexa offers with a smirk when Clarke turns to the opposite side of the hall.
"That sounds a lot like a line you'd hear in Pretty Woman, Lexa, I'm impressed." Clarke whistles comically, and the grin she gives is more heartfelt, more typically Clarke. "But you don't have Richard Gere's good bloke persona, so I'm afraid I'll have to refuse."
"But you do know any chick would've said yes in a heartbeat, right?" Lexa brags, arms crossed and alluring smile.
Clarke gets closer, and she looks confident like these girls at a bar toying with all the men under their spell. It makes Lexa gulp, Lexa who would normally be unmoved by these demonstrations, Lexa who has women wrapped around her little finger but this is Clarke Griffin, and she smells like a Goddess, even looks like one, stop, stop, stop.
Fuck.
She forces some arrogance into her eyes, just in case she seemed off balance for a moment (and she was), but doesn't succeed in making Clarke back away. They could smell each other's toothpastes if they wanted, by now, but all Lexa can smell is Clarke's shampoo, something like Argan Oil or grapefruit – both, actually, she thinks, as she's invaded with thoughts of Clarke's lips, how they contort into a playful smirk, and the gleam of defiance in her cerulean eyes.
"I'm not any chick", the blonde enunciates plainly. "Don't go around expecting me to jump in your arms whenever you give me your preassembled pickup bullshit."
Clarke licks her lips absentmindedly, but all Lexa can think of is how close they are. She could touch her arm if she moved so much as an inch forward. She even catches herself wondering what her skin feels like when you brush a knuckle against it, hell, when you feel it with the whole bare hand, or when your breath makes a layer of steam condensate softly at its surface.
"And I don't fall for a womanizer", Clarke whispers in her ear, and her glance turns sharp - she's aware of the effect she has.
Lexa manages to catch her breath once there's more than a foot separating them, and Clarke's smile is victorious, she's won the bout this time, with the way she's made her opponent's face flush with red, and her eyes darken with arousal. "So I'll see you on the ice, then?" The goalie's voice turns all rough on the edges like it's barely escaping her throat.
"Of course", Lexa grumbles, and she fears she might've let her discomfort transpire.
It's only later that she realizes how weak her knees were during the confrontation, because she has trouble taking her first few strides on the ice during morning skate, and the reason behind all this she sees skating around her net, shouting encouragements and making good work -because even Clarke Griffin's routine saves are amazing to witness.
One of her wings is shooting one timers in front of the goal, down on one knee. She gets only one puck past Clarke, then finds herself confronted with the wall that is Arkadia's goalie, whose glove shoots upward like a cannonball, they say, and traps pucks with grandiose reflexes.
Lexa hears Clarke yell something at Lucy Marks, and the two share a nonchalant smile. "Can't let Hurd get a few to raise her self-esteem?" Lucy barks back, circling towards the net, arched brow and amused glance.
"She got one, I reckon", Clarke jokes with a look at Jaimie Hurd, knee still down, looking defeated yet amused. "Can't let them have more than one or two at a time. Otherwise you'll make them think they're king shit."
On the bench, Lexa forces her glance away from Clarke – it's starting to be too much, she has to get a grip and there's a game coming.
She doesn't know how she manages to collect enough concentration to shower and prepare for the night, but she does, and just then, she realizes she might be able to do this.
Around two hours before the game, it's full ritual mode. She tapes and retapes her stick until she gets the perfect alignment, then fills her bottle with purple Gatorade and drinks it silently in her corner of the locker room. She spots Raven Reyes in an animated conversation with Octavia Blake, and she can't properly grasp its topic, probably something about defensive coverage.
Then there's Clarke with her big headphones, and she's adjusting the buckles of her pad while eating an ice cream sandwich. Lexa's not sure she understands the idea behind eating such things before a high caliber hockey game, but she enjoys the easy-going atmosphere Clarke spreads, humming a song with an ice cream sandwich in the mouth, hands occupied with various equipment tunings.
"Want one?"
Lexa's pulled out of her thoughts immediately, and only then does she realize she's been staring at the blonde for probably close to a minute. "Huh?" She mindlessly mumbles, not sure what she's missed.
"I got other ones, if you want, I put them in the freezer", Clarke explains, pointing at the door to exemplify her words. Then she adds, seeing the look of judgment pass among Lexa's stern features. "They had a sale, alright? It was cheap and I really like ice cream sandwiches, that's who I am, you know-"
"Clarke, for fuck's sake", Lexa huffs, massaging her temples with her fingers to simulate a headache. "I'm not criticizing your life decisions. Just saying, maybe it's not the best thing to eat."
The goalie's left eyebrow comes shooting upward like it usually does when she's amused. "Oh, just admit that you want one."
"It doesn't even taste that good. It's all mushy and shit." Lexa defends herself, but as she takes another sip of Gatorade, she finds the taste quite boring all of a sudden.
"Lexa, do you want one?" Clarke repeats, nodding like she already knows her teammate's answer, and it's not that surprising, considering they're starting to know each other more and more.
"Absolutely not", the forward denies without even the smallest hint of conviction, and Clarke gives her the rest of her sandwich. She looks at it like it's an alien of some kind, then crosses gazes with Clarke, and gives the sandwich back. "That won't work", she asserts calmly, resulting in the goalie's puzzled expression.
"Why?" Clarke asks, and her smirk turns into an exasperated pout when Lexa doesn't reply. "Oh don't tell me you have food rituals?"
Lexa winces more comically than intended. "Yes, alright? But they're not that bad, I mean, they're not disturbing or anything..."
"What are they?" Clarke asks with a full grin.
That makes Lexa unable to hold her sigh, and she slowly shakes her head in disbelief. "You're impossible", she wines, but Clarke is only getting started.
"Do you eat weird stuff?" the blonde goalie teases her, impatient.
"No, I don't."
"Are you sure? 'Cause I knew a chick who always ate a tomato sandwich before a game-" Clarke starts, only to get interrupted by a mildly irritated Lexa.
"I swear, the only rituals I have are dressing from left to right, eating cinnamon hearts, drinking purple Gatorade and taping my stick clockwise from toe to heel, only 20 rounds, with a half finger overlap in between each line", Lexa blurts but as she's saying it, and watching Clarke's amused expression unfold, she realizes how intense she is, even frowns a bit. "It's not as bad as it sounds!" She adds, trying to get away with it, but Clarke doesn't seem ready to let her off the hook just yet.
"So, from what I understood, eating a bite of an ice cream sandwich two hours before the game will fuck this up, is that it?"
Lexa nods childishly – it makes Clarke laugh, and the sound of it brings a fuzzy warmth to Lexa's stomach. "And you call me intense?" the blonde asks, pointing at herself.
"I'm not the one listening to Mothership all day on repeat and patting my net when a shot hits the post", the team captain points out, shrugging and squirting some Gatorade in her mouth.
Clarke squints, shooting an accusatory finger at her. "Just eat the fucking sandwich, you know you want it."
"I don't want to", Lexa resists vigorously.
"You've been staring at it for five minutes, it's gonna melt and you'll regret it for the rest of your life", Clarke utters rapidly, waving the frozen treat in front of Lexa whose restraint is slowly crumbling.
"It'll be bad luck!" the brunette counters, but she's losing the aggressive edge of her tone.
"What if it's good luck?" Clarke counters, still wiggling the sandwich under her captain's nose.
And Lexa's not convinced, but she kind of want to prove Clarke wrong also. "What if it's not? Do you want us to lose?"
"Ha! So you think if you play bad that means I'll play bad, and Marky will play bad, and Hurdle will play bad? And what about Charlie? She's been practicing her wrist shot all morning."
Lexa's tongue makes an irritated clicking sound, and she wants to look scary, really tries to, but to Clarke, she'll always look like a pouting teddy bear. "It'd still be inconvenient."
"Alright, then. Although I'm sure the guys in the league would find it funny that the big bad Lexa Woods is superstitious."
The teasing tone leaves a tart taste in Lexa's mouth, and she gives Clarke a death stare. She doesn't like being called superstitious, she prefers to consider herself a careful planner. And that's what makes her snatch the sandwich and gulp down the last two bites in a frenzy. "Tastes like crap", she complains and Clarke's shit eating grin only grows.
The ground vibrates under her feet, distorted by the 20 000 people screaming their lungs out with each Polis player valiantly stepping on the ice to roam the entire rink like a formula one on a circuit. She stretches her shoulders mechanically, eager to greet the crowd, eager to show the world what she's made of. She proves herself like that every night.
The announcer roars her name out like a war cry, and as soon as she takes her first stride, she's on autopilot. She meets her net - snows it just enough, then bumps her paddle on the posts to 'wake them up'.
Then they call Lexa, and it's like time stops in its frame.
Ladies and gentlemen, make some noise!
The cheers are so loud they're almost deafening, and they isolate themselves from the announcer's voice in Clarke's ears.
She is coming back home tonight, let us give her a proper welcome!The number twelve, your grounder kid, your commander!Alexandria Woods!
She doesn't skate around, just comes to the center of the ice and raises her stick. It's simple, yet efficient – the fans are losing their mind.
Up on the big screen appears a picture of her in Scorpions' uniform. The inscription under it reads "always a Grounder".
The cheers are only amplified by such a setting, and the organisation has put up a tribute for their ex-captain – they start by showing notable players and hockey personalities' testimony. Robin Eriksen appears on the screen, and Clarke is surprised by how young she is – probably eighteen or nineteen. "The first thing she said to me? Well, actually she patted me on the head, like that." The rookie shows the little movement, laden with benevolence and familiarity. "I was new, I didn't know anyone in the team, you know, so when you get there you feel out of your element, you feel like you don't belong with the pros. And I recall seeing her for the first time and thinking 'this is it, I'm in the league'."
The tribute cuts to a clip of Lexa on a breakaway, with the commentator's words echoing through the arena, painted with heavy emotion. Woods seizes the rebound and she is off at full speed, she scores!Alexandria Woods, wicked toe drag!
Then Eriksen is back on the screen, shrugging with a smile. "First goal she scored on me was in morning practice. I didn't even see the puck - next thing I knew, it was in. But she later told me she liked my moves, so yeah, that was nice to hear."
Another film of Lexa, cinematically arranged – she's hunched forward, preparing for a faceoff, and the cold concentration in her eyes is almost feral. Eriksen can be heard as a voiceover. "It's a privilege to play with her, that's what it is. I believe every single girl in this team will tell you the same thing."
The next clip shows one of Polis' most talented wings, Deborah Mckoy. "I remember I used to tell the girls 'just wait for the puck, no matter where you are'. She could be completely crushed between two guys and still fight for it, and find a way to make the pass. Just ridiculous, spinning around and dropping it behind for me because she always knew where I was, even without looking – she just knew."
In slow motion, Lexa is seen determinedly checking a girl into the board, and the image turns to a member of Polis' defensive brigade, Ashley Curtis. The memories of her previous captain seem very evocative to her as a nostalgic smile crawls on her lips, painting a picture of respect and admiration. "Yeah, it was something. She is one mean lady, I'll tell you that, in a sense that they didn't want to play against us when she was captain - because they knew that they couldn't rush Robbie or anything as such. It'd become some sort of unwritten rule that when you have got somebody as fierce as her, somebody as protective as her, somebody who will stand for the girls… You don't mess around with her, you know what I mean? And every time you had some roughing, whether it be in front of the net, at the sides – she'd step in. People respect these kinds of players."
Following up is a clip of Scorpions players visiting a children's hospital, Lexa among them. Titus Trikru, the team coach, appears on the screen. "She gave it her best shot every time she set foot on the ice, and let's say she didn't do things by halves." He lets out a little laugh. "But she was a sister to each of these girls. I could just point at her, say 'there's the example you follow'. She brought out the best of them."
Lexa is seen celebrating with her team, shouting and jumping toughly against the boards, then catching two of her teammates in a ferocious hug.
Multiple highlight clips go by one after the other, each showing Lexa's spectacular abilities – wraparounds, nifty dangles, a solid slap shot on a powerplay and a particularly gorgeous backhand top corner. Then the screen turns black and lights up again with a message, in neon green letters: 'thank you'.
People are on their feet, screaming her name like an anthem, Lexa is smiling and waving her stick at the fans, but they're not done just yet – more than half of the crowd lights the flash of their phone. And then they start chanting 'thank you, Woods' as a single, passionate voice, and the camera shows her standing there – speechless, in awe, face traversed by two teardrops.
Thank you Woods.Thank you Woods.Thank you Woods.
Clarke is shaking with emotion, bent over in the crease of her slot. She feels like something asks her to win this game. For Lexa? For herself? She doesn't know.
What she does know is that the crowd is still singing and clapping when the puck drops, and they cheer when Lexa wins the faceoff and prepares the first attack.
Alexandria Woods brings it behind to the defense, Reyes choses to hand it over to Marks.Marks, scampers ahead, makes it past the red line despite Lerman giving her a hard time.They're at the end boards, vicious check by Lori Hamilton, and that's enough for the puck to slip away from Marks.Gwen Lerman, quick on the occasion, she's setting the rebound for her center and they're off.Octavia Blake slows the play but they still invade enemy ground, Hamilton takes her space, gets rid of Reyes' cover just long enough to obtain a pass.
Clarke skulls forward and squares, both eyes focused on the rubber disk currently dangling on the blade of a wing's stick. "Watch it! Watch it!" She yells to Raven who circles the net to assist her and points at Octavia.
Zone coverage only for Arkadia it seems, and goalie Clarke Griffin is following the play closely, she doesn't give an inch to the defense.
Just as she's checking the angle, Clarke sees the puck travel from Carolyn Banda to Gwen Lerman who already has her stick ready for the one timer.
Lerman, shoots!
It's a routine save, she's practiced this. And when she sees the puck squeeze under the blade of her skate, she knows she's made the stop, but of course, Lori Hamilton had to be there.
Griffin makes the save, Hamilton comes along, pushes it in the net THEY SCORE! Two minutes in, on their first shot! Polis makes a statement!
Clarke doesn't like this. This is the part of hockey she hates, the part where players can use brute strength to force a goal but she knows it's part of it, just like she knows Lexa didn't like it either – with the way her eyes gleam in anger, and her jaw twitches like it does when she's barely able to contain her aggressiveness.
"I should've got that", Octavia apologizes, but Clarke is busy trying to clear her mind of all memories of this goal, and when she raises again of all her height, she's ready.
Polis wins the faceoff, Titus Trikru has deployed his second line, lead by Renee McLean. McLean, trying to pierce the defense but Octavia Blake does not agree, serves her a nice hip check. The puck is loose, Raven Reyes recovers it but she's trapped by Annika Jehkinen, Lexa Woods gives her a hand, escapes with the puck at high speed and the crowd likes it.
Clarke cannot help but frown in disbelief at the display of excitement – as much as Polis likes her, Lexa is now part of another team and she is a menace to her opponents, just like she is a menace to Robin Eriksen whom she is facing right now.
There she is, comes to the center, what a move!Slips it past Kaestner, then Manning!Now alone in front of the net!She slows a bit, one handed, shoots!Stopped by Eriksen with a leg! She's on her back - what a jaw dropping save!And this is how Robin Eriksen reminds Polis every night that they have found their next goaltending superstar!And boy do we believe her!
Lexa's face contorts into vague annoyance as she makes her way to the bench without looking back.
First period ends on the cheers of the crowd and a nice shot by Jamie Hurd, that could've beaten any goalie other than the Scorpions'.
"Nah, I ain't mad. We're talking about Robbie, I mean, she's seen me play."
Lexa is leaning forward, both hands on the blade of her stick – her hair is pulled up in a bun, and she's removed her jersey, leaving only her shoulder pads on. She looks like she's back from war, what with the way her gaze is set ablaze by the adrenalin and her whole upper body is still tense, knuckles clenching and unclenching, forearms rigid and strained. She even looks strangely at people – and Clarke thinks 'strangely' because she's become used to Lexa smiling to her, weirdly enough, and it seems she's forgotten how impossibly fierce Lexa is when she's in hockey mode. She thinks that the nickname 'commander' would suit her very well at the moment.
"So you've shown her all your little tricks, is that it?" Clarke asks casually while re-taping the shaft of her paddle.
Lexa just shrugs, and from the movement, Clarke gathers that she's not in the mood to talk. "I guess", the brunette mumbles nonetheless, reaching for a bottle to spray water in her mouth.
"You seem to admire her a lot."
"I do", Lexa nods seriously.
A moment of silence. Clarke looks away temporarily, only to plunge her cerulean gaze right back into Lexa's - profoundly green, immensely dangerous. "Sounds like you'd trade me for her."
"What makes you think that?"
She didn't sound angry or anything – just surprised. Everything on Lexa's face screams shock, and she might try to hide it, she cannot control the enlargement of her eyes, the silent wonder they express, nor the shake of her head of the slight frown that draws a crease on her brow.
"I don't know, the way you talk about the save she made on you", Clarke advances not too carefully, like she's eager to get this over with.
Lexa ponders the issue, pensive. "Well, I admire her talent."
"So you would then", Clarke concludes, almost disappointed.
The smile that creeps up along Lexa's lips is one of vague amusement – she leans over Clarke's shoulder, teasing. "What's that? Do I hear jealousy?"
"No, you don't. I'm just asking, in all seriousness please", Clarke puts the emphasis on the last half of her second sentence.
"You need this 'all seriousness' of mine?" the team captain pushes further, wiggling her eyebrows, all of it with a still playful tone.
Clarke just sighs, exasperated by Lexa's childish manners. "No, nevermind."
After a moment of indecision, Lexa tries to redeem herself when she realizes that she is pushing the blonde away. "Clarke, come on", she tries, smiling at her from underneath, trying to reach her gaze currently dissimulated by the bending of her neck. "What did I do?"
"You're just-" Clarke starts, still grumpy. "You're like a big baby, sometimes."
Lexa points a finger at her, growing more amused by the second, it seems. "Hold on, you do realize you're saying that after asking me your very subtle questions to ensure that you are still my favorite goalie. That's like 'elementary school teacher's pet' level."
She is right - and it makes it all the more frustrating to Clarke. "Yeah, fuck you and your comebacks, Alexandria Woods."
The following action is unexpected for various reasons, the main one being that Clarke is used to a rough, careless Lexa – one that doesn't care whether she hurts people's feelings, one that doesn't like to get involved in soft discussions.
And for this reason – and many more – Clarke is startled when Lexa pulls a genuinely concerned face. In any other context, such behavior could almost go unnoticed, but when it's involving Clarke, or worse, directed at Clarke… It's enough to muddy the waters.
"I wouldn't", Lexa admits, and the shrug she adds to the confession is meant to suggest a certain nonchalance – yet it fails its mission.
"Huh?"
"I wouldn't trade you, Clarke. It's not like it's a secret or anything."
Clarke enjoys seeing Lexa like this – bare, exposed. She likes that the hockey center is not always composed, not always cold and confident. "What happened to the asshole, Lexa?"
"Still am", the forward mumbles like a pissed off puppy.
A late smile lights up Clarke's face, and she stands, travels toward Lexa's cubicle and stops right in front of her, still grinning. "Look at you, all serious - it's mighty cute."
"It's not cute, Clarke, I'm not-" Lexa blurts out frustratingly, flushed and at a loss of words.
The forward collects her thoughts almost comically, all before the eye of a diverted Clarke who can't help but let out a soft giggle. "You having trouble?" The blonde asks teasingly, and Lexa gives her the look of don't you dare.
"Alright, Griffin, you asked for my serious mode, I gave you my serious mode. And the game is starting, so don't you have… Stuff? To put on?" Lexa is desperately trying to find a loophole, and Clarke lets her get away with it. Out of pity? Maybe. When she puts a steady hand on her shoulder, the captain is completely disturbed, like a robot that's been cut off a few wires. And the ridiculousness of it all comes rushing to Clarke – the fact that Lexa, renowned lady-killer, is thrown aback by a hand on a shoulder, the fact that it bothers her so much she looks confused, nervous, hesitant.
"Calm down", Clarke instructs her softly, massaging casually her strong shoulder – to no avail.
"I'm very calm", Lexa stutters mindlessly, but her whole body says the opposite.
And just like that, second period has become even more exciting.
She forcefully flexes her quads to wake them up before jumping back on the ice – a mechanical movement, she tells herself, yet a part of her knows that this is just her attempt at driving away the sense of wobbliness in her legs after her encounter with Clarke. What is wrong with her?
Her hands grasp firmly both the top and the bottom of her stick, in a controlled movement, with just enough fierceness to install solidity back into her play.
Arkadia wins the faceoff, their first line is on the ice. Woods lends it to Marks, she was passing by diagonally. Quick puck work, little dangle around Burke, now past the blue line. Polis' defense is organising.
Lexa accelerates to catch a drop pass, and sees the defenseman coming from the corner of her eye, just as she sees the net drawing near, Robin Eriksen squaring up in her own little special way, shoulders rolling just slightly, gaze piercing like a knife. She collides shoulders with the opponent, wins the battle and sends the other woman stumbling backwards dizzily.
Here's Lavrov with a check, but Woods is solid as a rock, doesn't move!And I think Lavrov was stunned by this one, look at the impact!She had speed, that wasn't the problem - if only Alexandria Woods wasn't so rock-solid on these plays!
She's felt it in her whole body, the sudden spread of numbness and throbbing ache sizzling through her veins, and she forces her gaze back on the goal as frustration settles in the very core of her being.
Jaime Hurd helping out her center, she works to keep Eleanor Lavrov against the end board.Strategy pays off quite well, Woods is climbing up the blue line, she simultaneously disarms Burke and Ritchie's defensive play – then, one handed towards the goal, and it seems no one can stop her!
A drop of sweat wets her upper lip, she glances quickly left and right, sees the goal near her, understands what she needs to do. In half a second, she's sliding in front of Eriksen, whose eyes widen in anticipation. Her stick does all the job like it has a mind of itself.
Woods alone! Dangles, feints to the left and SCORES! OH! She did NOT just do that!
Lexa roars in triumph, greets her teammates with hugs and pats on the head.
She let the puck slip through the five hole! I can't believe it! And the stick movement right before was all a cover up to keep Eriksen guessing, to make sure she would follow her and give a push to the side! Alexandria Woods, pulling off the fakeout!
While celebrating the goal, she sees Clarke tapping her paddle on the ice, mask pulled over to reveal a huge grin. And that, only that, makes Lexa twice as happy as she was.
The goal scored by Arkadia's number twelve! Alexandria Woods!
The announce gives rise to a prolonged and thundering applause. Polis still loves her to death. Charlie Langton later gives her a big pat of the back as she's circling the next faceoff spot.
"Good work, commander." The wing praises her, then winks.
And with that, she starts the last five minutes of the period like she's on a mission.
Faceoff won by Arkadia, Woods drops it behind for Reyes. Reyes to Blake. Along the board now, Blake meets Curtis for a strong check. Blake still standing, doesn't give an inch. McLean is coming along but her momentum is cut by Raven Reyes who's reached the blue line, awaits the pass. Blake squeezes past the defense, still with it, she hands it over to Reyes. Big defensive presence here by Arkadia.
Lexa stops by the goalie, asks for the pass but Lavrov shoves her firmly in the back. She replies with a small push, but makes sure not to anger herself too much – she knows she would've done the same thing in order to clear Clarke's net.
Reyes fakes the slap shot, gives it to Marks.Hurd catches the pass flatly, gives her line the chance to organize.The pass is for Reyes, who's now at the opposing side of the net, she shoots!Blocked by Lavrov, and she gets up difficultly, she was hurt by the shot, it seems it hit her flush on the ribs.
Robin Eriksen freezes the puck calmly to stop the play and Lavrov goes back to the bench, clutching her side. Lexa cannot help but sympathise with the girl – the dedication she just showed is admirable.
Faceoff at the right of Eriksen, won by Polis. They don't lose time setting the play, McLean is already headmanning the puck to Lori Hamilton who's carrying at full speed. Now at the side board, battling with Charlie Langton who's offering support to her defensive line. Polis closing around Arkadia's net, Allison Burke looking to make a play, fakes a pass to the left only to hand it over to Ashley Curtis. Curtis, cuts to the center, beats Johnson, clever deke, alone in front of the goal, SHOOTS!
Lexa blinks in amazement at Clarke's outstanding glove catch, how she secures the puck agilely and gives a little reel upward to tame the recoil.
Griffin pulls out the glove! Oh, what a beauty of a save!
Ashley Curtis is slowly shaking her head from side to side with an insincere smile on her way to the bench, and it makes Lexa smile too, but hers is genuine, heartfelt. She makes sure to give Clarke a nudge on the helmet before the start of the next play, and only then does she ask herself, why is this so important?Couldn't she have waited until the break? She's unsure if she's even able to answer that question.
Arkadia gets a great opportunity when a penalty is called against Polis – Renee McLean's sneaky slash on Izzie Wayne is caught by a ref and she is confined to the box with three minutes remaining to the second period. Reeve decides to put Octavia and Raven on the blue line, along with Lexa's offensive formation.
Lexa Woods versus Mia Compton, it's the faceoff of the two captains. Woods gets the upper hand, drops the puck and it travels back to Octavia Blake. Blake, shifting positions with her partner Raven Reyes, on the lookout with this great vision of theirs. Again, two quick passes to and fro, showing off good chemistry. Lexa Woods is in the enclave, receives the puck, passes it along the board and she is checked by Allison Burke right after.
She took the hit without wincing, but her lungs collapsed under the pressure at each side of her body, and when she turns around, fury has spilled over her gaze. There's only one way this power play ends.
Jaime Hurd at the end boards, slides around the net, gives it back to Blake. From Blake to Woods. Woods, setting the play, she comes forward, fakes a shot, then with a pass that finds Reyes – slap shot! SHE SCORES!
Lexa jumps, lost in the noise of the crowd and the sight of her teammate's smiles and Raven pointing at her to acknowledge her involvement in the goal.
Raven Reyes, a cannonball! And what a beautiful pass, it's like she's just developed an interesting chemistry with her captain whom we all know can be quite the playmaker!So there you have it, the Strikers have the lead for the first time in this game! It's two to one, and the buzzer signals the end of second period.
Locker room talk is vibrant, with Raven receiving many congratulations and pats on the back by her teammates.
Lexa is sitting at the corner of the room, testing the bendability of her stick in order to make sure it's still usable for the next period. She spots Clarke from across, and while she at first deemed her chatty in between periods, it looks like she misjudged – the goalie is silently glancing around the room, gaze steel-clad, concentration to its maximum level.
She is the complete opposite of the Clarke she plays against at practice, the one who goofs around and is smiling or making silly faces with her mask pulled up to rest on the crown of her head. The one who whips her paddle on Lexa's ass and teases her, Clarke Griffin style, with the usual arched brow and witty comments. And when she crosses her gaze and stumbles upon a stunning shade of electric blue, she realizes how lucky she is. She asks herself (for only a second, to her defense) why she went through all this trouble to initially try to dissect and dismantle Clarke's play, and it is now obvious to her (though still very frustrating) that she has found her match on the ice. For each time she wants to prove her superiority, Clarke is there to close a trapper around her shot. It used to frustrate Lexa to no end.
Now it mainly impresses her.
She remains lost in her thoughts until she's back on the ice, and when she skulls backwards before the faceoff, she sees (imagines, imagines) her dad sitting in the stands, arms crossed and eyes criticizing. Good god, how mad he would get if she told him she accepted that she couldn't score on Clarke as much as she'd like to.
Are you turning into a sheep, Lexa? Are you saying you'll comply to this girl? Is she the boss of you? Show me the lion, Lexa.
She wins the faceoff, and dad would've liked it, that's good.
She passes it behind, positions herself near the red line and takes the pass, eats it alive, rules it with her stick like a queen rules her kingdom with a scepter. The lion, Lexa.
There's an emotion to the sequence, what with the brutal check she gives Ashley Curtis without second thoughts, just determined to cross the red line and set the play, just eager to prove herself. The lion.
She disappears behind Renee McLean as she slips the puck between her legs and recovers it on the other side of the line – the crowd's screams fill her head, she hears nothing but their shock and awe, nothing but the pressure that's being put on her shoulders.
It's alright. She can take it. Put on a show.
She dangles the puck away swiftly when Allison Burke tries to foil her, and she's still calm, still confident in her capabilities, but as soon as she sees the net, everything becomes realer, truer, critical. It's like she's not even controlling herself anymore, as if an entity of some kind has taken over and infiltrated her nerves, slid past the barriers of her mind, and added a second life to her hands.
Alexandria Woods is on the lose, ladies and gentlemen, and it appears Polis' defense cannot curb the turnover!
Her skates cross and de-cross with extreme speed, she can hear the blades slashing, drawing cracks along the beaten ice. This is her purpose in life.
She maintains speed until she's right in front of the net, and she reacts to Eriksen's body language, to her following every movement with grand attention as if each change of direction could be predicted by the handling of the stick, the sliding of the puck.
There's a moment of utter greatness, of calm and concentration, of Eriksen's grey eyes piercing through the grid of the mask and settling on the blade of her stick, then climbing back up to give an intimidating glare, the one that breaks players apart.
The one that doesn't break Lexa. Where's the lion?
She gives a quick jerk of the stick, buries the puck in the back of the net in the blink of an eye and not even this gives her satisfaction yet – not the gasp of the crowd, not the defeated Eriksen, not the way she bumps against the board and feels each teammate colliding with her in a victorious hug.
She searches for reward in her distress, because who does she score for, if not herself? Because now that dad is not here, who does she play for?
She gets the answer when Polis counter attacks and makes it 3-2, and when a burst of abominable strength gets a hold of her, and she makes it coast to coast to shoot a puck down the net – only to see the relief wash over her blue-eyed goalie down the ice near the net, only to know that this is what she wanted. Not to humiliate her, not to beat her anymore, but for them to work as equals.
"Na na na na! Na na na na! Hey-eh-eh! Goodbye!" Charlie shouts over her shoulder when they disappear into the night, their little gang of victors, on their path to the nearest pub.
"Now that's a secret, my little ladies, don't you know that?" Raven giggles, then breaks her laughter down to transform her face into an overly serious one. "Because if Reeve finds out, she is going to fucking annihilate us!"
Clarke puffs out in disbelief, and spots Lexa calling herself a taxi. "Hey, there's Woods! You already going back?" Clarke hears Raven yell from behind her, and she closes her eyes in silent shame, knowing very well that Lexa wouldn't approve of this post game drinking.
"Yeah, I missed the shuttle, I think", the captain blurts out, nodding quietly.
"You sure you don't want a drink?"
"I'm good", Lexa replies with a shrug.
Raven doesn't let her off the hook that easily. "Aw, but man, you went for the fucking hat trick, don't tell me you'll lay low just now? Great wins call for great celebrations."
"Exactly, like relaxing in my pajamas."
Clarke is surprised by that last statement – she thought Lexa would be the party kind. Though she can't say she doesn't find the idea of the great captain in her slippers watching TV on the couch any less alluring, she feels a little disappointed in the display of reasonableness.
"A beer would do you good, commander of nerds", Langton barks at her from the other side of the road, already walking towards the bar.
Lexa finally breaks when Clarke invites her as well, but swears she'll only have one beer "and nothing more". "I'm just mothering Langton to make sure she doesn't die of intoxication", the brunette grunts, eyes still on a very agitated Charlie who's already holding the door of the bar for her friends.
"After you, mademoiselle", she offers Clarke a charming smile who does nothing but trouble her.
"Are you alright, Charles?"
"Fantastic. Stellar."
Raven gives her a look of exasperation. "Oh, fuck me, she's already drunk!"
"I'm entirely sober", the winger assures, pointing an assertive finger at Raven.
"You are so fucking drunk."
"Am not!"
Clarke clicks her tongue in frustration and brings Lexa to the bar, desperately trying to escape the ridiculousness of the situation. "Let's get you drunk instead, for a change", the goalie mutters while gesturing towards the barman.
"I'm not getting drunk", Lexa firmly states, "I'm sorry if that's disappointing to you."
"Why not have some fun? You should order a 'hat trick' of shooters for the occasion."
"Oh my god, Clarke", the captain mumbles in false anger.
To which the blonde replies, equally as annoyed:
"Oh my god, Lexa."
"You should know that I am very problematic when drunk."
"Well that only makes it more appealing", Clarke informs with a devilish grin.
Lexa pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index, well aware that she just worsened her situation. "Why don't you get drunk and I'll bring you back?"
"No", Clarke refuses, still grinning.
The answer makes Lexa quite confused. "Why not?"
"Because then you might take advantage of me", Clarke declares matter-of-factly, and even though she's obviously joking, Lexa cannot repress the sense of constriction in her lungs.
"Alright, I'm not a rapist", the captain defends herself a bit too vigorously.
"I don't know you."
"Would you quit it already?"
"Geez, I was joking!" Clarke laughs bitterly, holding out a finger to order a drink. Then, to the bartender. "A short vodka cranberry for me."
The bartender, a middle-aged man with a strong chin and cunning eyes, gives a curt nod towards Lexa, asking for her order. "For you, ma'am?"
"Eh, what do you have on tap?"
He shows her the selection, after which she makes a careless choice – pale lager, nothing too fancy.
They take their first sip in synch, then look at each other kind of awkwardly. "So you're getting me drunk on one beer?" Lexa grumbles while taking another sip.
"I opened a tab, just in case."
"I'll let you know that I have excellent self control."
The captain turns towards the rest of their teammates currently playing beer pong with a beer pong hat that Charlie Langton judiciously brought along with her. "What the fuck is this?" Lexa gestures towards the ridiculous hat currently siting atop Raven's head – six cups are encased in its slots, in a triangular pattern. "I say we act like we don't know these people."
"Great idea", agrees Clarke, swishing her drink around the edges of her glass. "Why don't you tell me something?"
"Like what?"
"How nice you were to that guy", Clarke casually declares, shrugging even though she was absolutely moved by Lexa's earlier gesture, and the dad's heartwarming reaction.
"You saw", the brunette brings her gaze upward warily.
"I did."
"It was nothing", Lexa swears, but her face says something entirely different. And Clarke notices – she's getting better at reading her.
"See, I always knew you weren't that bad", the blonde asserts.
"That's not true", the forward battles steadfastly, averted gaze.
Clarke's expression turns concerned. She looks for something in Lexa's eyes – of what nature, she could not say, but it's certainly related to the softness she once saw there, the humanity that transpires each time Lexa checks on her, jokes around, tries to be polite, or caring, or funny. She's curious as to if these are all carefully crafted acts, but inside, she knows they aren't.
"Why are you still pulling away?" She asks, slightly upset.
"I'm not pulling away."
"Do you even know what these guys were saying of you?" Clarke keeps her voice unwavering, but the tightness in her throat is building as she sees the hurt pass over Lexa's emerald orbs like a stray storm, then vanish as quickly as it appeared.
"I don't really mind."
And it's evident, how she tried to simulate carelessness but failed in doing so, like she's failing more and more at appearing strong and unwavering – but Clarke knows that she is smaller without her hockey gear on, just like she knows she lets glimpses of emotion leak from her somewhat stoic persona. "They're starting to like you more."
"That is nice."
Another sip of beer. Clarke is growing tired of this scheme. "You know what Briggs said to me last night, though?"
"I have a feeling I'm about to find out."
"She said that you stepped up your game."
A moment of silence during which Lexa's expression turns incomprehensive first, and then jaded. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
Clarke takes a deep breath, but tries not to show any discomfort slip through. "Means they all think I'm your fucking prey, Lexa, that's what."
She watches as Lexa licks her lips absentmindedly, as if pondering the issue with unforeseen calm. "They really think this low of you?"
"I thought you'd say something about being flattered."
"And you think low of me as well."
Clarke's gaze shoots up and meets Lexa – cerulean battles emerald in a jarring contest of supremacy. Lexa gives up first, surprisingly, although it's become some sort of pattern of hers, giving up ground for Clarke to do as she pleases. "No, I don't", the goalie informs. "I mean, I did."
"Then what the hell could've changed in only three months or so?" Lexa asks, growing restless with each passing second.
"You dropped the asshole mode", Clarke shrugs again.
"I didn't 'drop the asshole mode'", Lexa sighs, gulping down her drink. "And what does that even mean?"
"You want me to tell you exactly?" Clarke asks, still holding her gaze calmly.
"If possible."
"Asshole mode is when you wanted to either get into my pants or beat the shit out of me on the ice."
Clarke enjoys the utter bewilderment unfolding on Lexa's face. "I didn't… For fuck's sake, Clarke, what do you think I am? A rabbit with high testosterone?"
"Pretty much."
"Oh my go-" She gasps, too exasperated to even finish her sentence. Then, to the bartender. "Neat double whisky."
And that is how the drinking starts. As they get drunker, conversation flows and turns to lighter subjects – Clarke doodles on napkins, tells her weirdest childhood stories and even extricates some funny anecdotes out of a laidback Lexa.
It gets past the point of no return when Clarke gives away her phone number (not that she'll remember any of it the next day) and starts making an inappropriate amount of sexual innuendos. They're in the middle of an intense conversation about Pixar movies when a guy approaches Clarke and asks if he can buy her a drink.
"Sure", she replies, a bit too drunk to care. He's pretty handsome too – that helps, and maybe Clarke would've reconsidered if she'd seen the aggressive bulge in Lexa's jaw.
The dude has a nice smile and confident manners, he sits besides Clarke and order a next round of drinks.
When asked his name, he sympathetically introduces himself. "I'm Colin."
"Clarke", the blonde replies. "This is Lexa." She motions towards the brunette who waves slightly, eyes still on her drink.
"So what are you guys up to?" the young man asks as a conversation opener.
Clarke grins childishly. "Oh, actually, we've been playing a hockey game uptown."
"Awesome! Did you win?" He looks genuinely involved.
"Duh! We're celebrating! Look at all these happy ladies over there playing beer pong!" Clarke rambles, pointing at Raven who's trying her best to get a perfect aim, tongue sticking out in the process.
"Well then, you must've done well. What position do you play?" Colin asks, but Clarke is oblivious to his attempts at hitting on her, instead focusing on her drink and the beer pong competition underway.
"She's the goalie", Lexa replies for her. "I'm the captain."
"Oh, that's nice."
"Yeah, it is nice, Colin, it is very nice." Lexa tries to be subtle, but even a very drunk Clarke can notice the aggressiveness in her tone. "Who are you trying to pick up, her or me?"
The poor guy is suddenly at a loss of words. "I don't… I mean, neither."
"Well I'm gay, Colin. Real fucking gay. I am so gay I am the summit of gayness, like Mt. Everest or the Kilimandjaro - that's who I am." Lexa manages to keep a very serious tone and glare, and Colin is turning uneasy.
"Alright, then", he stutters, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to bother you."
"You're not bothering us", Clarke quickly intervenes, but the guy is already leaving, stumbling across a chair along the way. "Geez, what the fuck did he do to you?" The goalie grumbles, finishing her glass. Lexa shrugs.
"Nothing", she replies, as a victorious smile creeps on her lips.
They pick up right where they left off in the Pixar conversation, and when Raven comes to get Clarke, she finds that the both of them have fallen asleep tangled together – Clarke's head resting on Lexa's forearm, their fingers nearly touching.
She knows this should be kept a secret.
That's all for now! Next chapter will be "fluffier" and shorter, so I'll do my best to publish it soon!