Chapter 3/12
Clarke always liked winter. She liked it because it let her wrap herself in the warmth of too long scarves, too large jackets and beanies and hats that kept the cold from touching her skin. But she thought she didn't quite like winter. Not anymore. And so she sighed just once, just forcefully enough that she cleared her thoughts and then she turned her car left, her eyes scanning for a free park, her finger tapping lightly on the steering wheel.
And she felt this moment as something familiar, as something she had done countless times. Because she had. And so she knew that the easiest place to park was the furthest from the entrance, furthest from the warmth of the hospital's interior. But she didn't quite mind the walk. She didn't quite mind how long it took, if only because it gave her more time to prepare, more time to steel herself, more time to think and to understand and to sift through whatever thoughts drifted through her mind. But she knew she always worried, always wondered if she would arrive only to find Lexa not breathing anymore, if she would arrive to find Lexa's bed vacated, nurses and doctors ready to intercept, ready to comfort and share words of understanding.
But Clarke shook her thoughts, gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly, and pulled into a free spot. It was routine by now, though, and she knew how many turns of the wheel she needed, she knew just how far to reverse, just how slowly she needed to go before stopping. And so it didn't quite surprise her when the car deadened, when the silence settled and her eyes began to water. If only because she never quite liked these moment.
Clarke wiped a hand across her face though, just enough that her vision cleared. But she paused mid motion as she saw a woman walk past. She paused as she saw a child walk besides her, and she paused as she took in the scene.
And Clarke couldn't help but smile, only a little, as she recognised the clothes the child wore, the large jersey, the emblazoned number and the too large pads that dwarfed the young child's body. But Clarke winced as she saw the arm, the wrist that was bent at an odd angle, and she worried her lip as she saw the mother whisper words of comfort to the boy as she helped him cross the icy gravel.
But Clarke thought moments like that were character building, were pages in a person's story that gave it depth and richness and experience. But she wasn't so envious. If only because she didn't quite like the idea of breaking a bone.
"It gets better," Clarke whispered into her car, her gaze following mother and son as they entered the hospital.
But Clarke wasn't so sure who she spoke to.
Lexa's eyes scanned the rink. She felt her heart as it beat furiously in her chest and she snarled at the sweat that she felt sting in the corner of her eye. She paused for only a moment, for enough that her opponent committed to the attack and then she moved. Lexa exploded from behind the net, her body turning just enough to shield the puck from the attacker, and she ignored the blow to her shin, her pads taking the force, and she ignored the sounds of skates slashing against ice that rang out behind her. She glanced just once to the puck on her stick, and she looked for just long enough that she knew she had it, and then her head came up. She saw one of her own at the centreline, she saw a defender checking another, and she saw the spray of ice that billowed up into the air as Anya started to circle, as she tried to make space.
And so Lexa started moving. And the breakout was easy, it was fluid, simple, well timed, well drilled, and Lexa knew she had judged correctly when Anya peeled off, when she started moving down the boards opposite Lexa, and she knew she was back-checked when she heard Lincoln's shout of warning. But Lexa didn't mind, she didn't care. If only because she knew she could out-skate almost any.
And so she slipped passed a defender who tried to intercept, but Lexa saw Anya pull away in the time she used to avoid her opponent, and she saw Anya register the falter in their movements, and so Lexa moved. She began to move deeper into the centre of the rink and she saw Anya present her stick, she saw the other girl glance just once around her.
And Lexa fired, she passed, she shot the puck towards Anya and smiled as Anya cradled the puck, as she crossed over the centre line. And Lexa knew she did well, she knew she'd get an assist, she knew Anya would score. And so she slowed just a little, just enough that she could glance around at the spectators, and she thought it funny that her gaze landed on Clarke who watched, her hair shining in the floodlights that illuminated the rink. It only lasted a moment, but Lexa was sure their eyes met, she was sure she even saw a smile that began to spread across Clarke's lips. And she was su—
Lexa felt herself slammed into the boards, she felt her feet leave the ice and she felt the impact as she crashed to the rink with a groan. She cursed her momentary lack of judgement, of awareness, but perhaps most of all, she cursed the fact that Clarke must have seen her be bested by another. But she pushed the thoughts away, at least for now, and she struggled to her feet just in time to see Anya shoot the puck, just in time to see the goalie reach out with a blocker only for the puck to clip its edge before tumbling into the net. Lexa grimaced as she glanced over her shoulder to see a few in the crowd still reeling from seeing her impact, and she thought she saw Clarke's palm slap her forehead before quickly stifling a smile as Lexa glared and turned back to the game.
"Eyes up, Lexa," Lincoln said as he came to a stop besides her, his own gaze moving into the crowd briefly.
"Yeah, whatever," and Lexa pushed off from the boards. "At least we scored."
Lexa knew her shoulder would ache in the days to come, but as she trudged out of the change rooms she tried to push the thoughts away for the moment. And so she smiled, and she felt it linger more freely on her lips as Clarke pushed off from where she leant against the wall, her arms crossed and her head cocked to the side.
"How's your arm?" Clarke asked, and Lexa felt her cheeks heat up a little, she felt the flush. But it wasn't embarrassment, she told herself that much.
"Ok," she answered with a halfhearted shrug.
"It looked like it hurt," Clarke said simply, her eyes moving to Lexa's shoulder, and perhaps Lexa thought Clarke tried to see through her mask, tried to read the pain that may have been present.
"Yeah, maybe a little," and Lexa began walking once more, Clarke quick to fall into step besides her.
"You played well, though," and Lexa felt her ears heat a little, she thought her eyes not quite capable of meeting Clarke's gaze.
"Thanks," and Lexa was sure she mumbled the answer.
"Still going to hang around?" Clarke asked, and Lexa thought she heard something in Clarke's voice, but perhaps she imagined it.
"Yeah," Lexa answered as she hitched her bag higher onto her shoulder. "Just got to drop my gear off in the car."
"I'll come," Clarke said simply.
And so they both continued walking and weaving their way through the crowd of people who had already began to arrive for the general skate, and those that had come to watch the game. Lexa wiped a sweaty hand across her face then, and she felt the eagerness to feel the cold of the outside, to feel the bite of air that would help cool her. But she knew Clarke didn't quite enjoy it, didn't quite like the chill, and she made to say something, she made to sway Clarke's choice, to urge her to stay indoors. But as she turned to Clarke, as she let her gaze fall across the blonde's face, Lexa found herself not quite sure why she paused, why she let her lips part only to close them with little more than a grunted noise.
"What?" and Clarke turned to look at her, eyebrows quirking together for a moment.
"Nothing," and Lexa didn't quite know what it was that seemed to settle into her thoughts.
"Cool," and Lexa watched as Clarke bit her lip and turned back forwards, hands stuffed into pockets as she hunched her shoulders and pushed through the doors with a gasp and a curse as the snow and the cold and the chill hit them fully.
It was odd. Well, not so much what Lexa was doing, because she knew she could skate, she knew Clarke could skate, and she knew Anya, Lincoln and the others were somewhere within the throngs of people that packed the rink at this time of the year. But it was odd because Lexa couldn't quite help but to steal careful glances Clarke's way, couldn't help but let her gaze linger for a fraction of a second longer than usual.
Lexa watched as Clarke slipped through a gap in a group of children, and Lexa couldn't help but admire the path the blonde cut as she began to weave in and out and around those that weren't so sure on their feet, and she watched as Clarke turned, as she eased into skating backwards, as she pushed off with legs that were long, that were hugged by jeans that clung to her, that made her seem less like the girl Lexa had known for years, more like a wo—
"Lexa," and she cursed out in surprise as Anya began coasting besides her.
"What?" Lexa snapped as she looked at the other girl with a glare.
"Whoa," and Anya held up her hands. "Pump the brakes, dude," and Anya's head tilted to the side as she followed Lexa's gaze. "Oh," and Lexa didn't need to look to Anya to know she was smirking.
"It's not what you think," she said. And she thought it simple. Safe.
"I don't think," Anya answered simply. "How's the shoulder?"
"Ok," and Lexa shrugged in answer, the motion only a little sore, a little stiff.
"That's good," and Anya glanced once to Clarke again before settling back on Lexa. "Going to be at the lake?" Anya finished simply.
"Yeah," and Lexa thought she knew what Anya spoke of, and she thought she did as she saw Clarke continue to wind through the crowds of people with a smile, and perhaps Lexa felt a little unfamiliar emotion begin to take hold as she saw Raven join the blonde, and she knew she felt something when she saw both girls hold hands, as they laughed and enjoyed whatever words were shared between them.
But Clarke must have sensed her lingering gaze because Lexa saw her look around, she saw the blonde search, and she saw the smile crease Clarke's lips just a little as their eyes met from across the distance.
Lexa's gaze followed the man as he walked across the ice cautiously, the steps he took careful and measured. And she didn't envy him, she didn't envy the bright orange safety vest he wore, and she didn't envy the life jacket, either. But she could look forward to the next few minutes. If only because she hoped the ice was thick enough.
"Must be scary," Clarke said from besides her, the blonde's legs stretched out in front of her as she lounged on the bench.
"Maybe," and Lexa glanced once to the man as he knelt on the ice, and to another who stood close by.
"Definitely," and Clarke looked around at the others who gathered by the lake's edge, and as Lexa followed Clarke's gaze she saw others standing and sitting, some already tying skates on, others waiting to see if the ice was thick enough.
"Going anywhere for the holidays?" Lexa asked as she saw a child trying to run through the snow, the kid's feet only just rising over it as he pressed forward.
"No," and Lexa saw Clarke shrug for a moment before turning back to face her. "You?"
"No," Lexa echoed, and perhaps she thought Clarke looked at her oddly, perhaps she thought Clarke waited for something, for her to act or to voice a thought. "Did y—"
"Ok," and Lexa's head snapped around to see the man waving his arms as he began moving back to the lake's edge, the other already halfway back. "The ice is safe," and Lexa thought she felt Clarke suppress a sigh or a grunt.
"Come on," Clarke said, and Lexa felt her hand be taken in the blonde's as she lead them forwards.
It wasn't that Lexa was a visual person, it wasn't that she made a habit of looking slightly too long at other people, and it wasn't that she was having some strange epiphany in this very moment that she liked other girls, because she had known for an age that that was so. But as she followed Clarke's movements across the lake, as she watched Clarke move easily, gracefully, peacefully across the ice, Lexa found herself not quite sure where to look, not quite sure that she should let her eyes trail along the lines Clarke made in the ice, that seemed to bleed up her legs, that seemed to draw Lexa's attention. And maybe she couldn't quite figure out if avoiding Clarke's legs and meeting her eyes was easier, if only because she was sure her lips spread into a dumb, lame, stupid smile every time she did. And she was sure, she was certain, that her mind would do no good if she let her gaze settle anywhere below Clarke's face.
But perhaps denying whatever thoughts that seemed to litter her mind was fruitless. If only because she thought Clarke smart and caring. If only because she enjoyed the way Clarke would occasionally look around herself, as she would take wider paths around those less sure on their feet, or the way she would smile at a child who remained less sure and steady on their feet.
And maybe Lexa could appreciate those things.
And maybe Lexa did.
And Lexa thought it difficult to avoid looking at Clarke though. Especially in moments like this when the sun was low enough to blaze across the ice, when it would set the mist, that seemed to rise ever so slightly, aflame, that made it ripple in hues of purples that brought forth images of the deeps of the ocean, that made it shimmer in the reds of a sun streaked sky, and the golds that made her think of light that dappled through branches overhead, that made her think of the reds and browns and ambers and golds of leaves that would litter her way, that would signal snow's fall.
But perhaps, above all, it made her think of Clarke's hair, it made her think of the way it would shine and glimmer, the way Clarke's laugh would seem to pierce through her mind, leave her open to being boarded mid game, leave her not quite focused enough to read the way players would move about the rink, would make her mind turn to thoughts not quite so polite.
But maybe it wasn't so bad.
Lexa laughed then, and she glared at a boy who glanced her way, but she laughed, if only because she realised that she spoke of colours, of how they interacted and mixed and did whatever coloured did when mixed together. And she knew Clarke's habit of talking of her art, of spending time showing her what she had worked on, had sunk into Lexa's mind.
And maybe Lexa realised Clarke had rubbed off on her.
But perhaps Clarke rubbing off on her wasn't such an unpleasant thought.
Clarke smiled lightly as she sat down before Lincoln, the man's gaze careful as he took her in. But she thought he wouldn't quite say much, wouldn't quite pry too far, too deeply, if only because she thought him appreciative of quietly shared moments. And so she sighed a little as Lincoln leant forward, his eyes guarded and careful as he gazed around them for a moment.
"Octavia apologises for not coming down," Lincoln began.
"That's ok," and Clarke didn't mind so much, not after so long, and she couldn't hold it against others for not being able to drop whatever they were doing. Not after all this time. "How are the kids?" Clarke asked.
"Good," and Lincoln's lip lifted a little as he settled into the chair more fully. "They keep us busy," and he scratched his cheek for a moment. "Toilet training is good," and Clarke laughed, and she saw Lincoln laugh a little, too, from the way his shoulders shook. "It'll be nice when we don't have to change diapers anymore."
"Yeah," and Clarke thought it would be. If only because babysitting would be less messy, would be less fraught with danger and smells she'd much rather not war with again.
"I brought you something," and she saw Lincoln reach down into a bag at his feet then, "both of you something," he said simply, and she knew he wouldn't linger on his words. Not much anyway.
And so she smiled as he passed her a wrapped gift, and as her fingers brushed against it she thought it firm, and perhaps a picture frame.
"It's not much," Lincoln continued, "but I thought it'd be nice, I thought maybe it'd help."
Clarke unwrapped it carefully, and she couldn't quite hold back the gasp and the smile as her eyes fell to the framed photograph she held in her hands.
"Thank you," she said quietly, and she paused then.
She paused and she let her gaze wander from face to face she saw. And she couldn't help but laugh a little at the sweaty faces that looked at hers. And she saw Anya sporting a blood nose, she saw Lincoln's poor attempt at a beard, stubbled cheeks patchy and rough, and Clarke saw the others that stood in front of the net, hockey padded shoulders dwarfing tired bodies, and heads of hair that clung to sweaty skin. But Clarke couldn't help but not quite take in the other teenagers, she couldn't help but to ignore them when she saw the green eyes that smirked at her, when she saw the way a proud face raised a chin and stared defiantly into the camera. And she couldn't help but to feel an ache in her heart as she let her gaze take in the subtle roundness that seemed to still cling to Lexa's cheeks, and to the way her hair seemed more unruly, more untamed, curls and locks flowing down her shoulders.
"It's not the original," Lincoln said quietly. "They wouldn't let me take that one, but I managed to get a copy," and she felt him reach out, she felt him squeeze her hand for just a moment.
"Thank you," Clarke said again, and she looked up to see him shrug a little and tilt his head in reply.
"It's the least I could do," he said simply.
And Clarke thought the few short words they shared were enough to say, to communicate all that was needed.
And so she sighed, a change of topic perhaps a welcomed thing. "Want food? Drink?" Clarke asked as she looked around, the late of the hour leaving few people in the cafeteria.
"I'm ok," Lincoln answered. "I stopped to get a bite on the way," and he smiled an apology. "Thanks for the offer."
"How long can you stay?" Clarke asked as she leant back in her chair a little more.
"Until tomorrow afternoon," he answered, and perhaps Clarke felt a smile find its way across her lips.
"Seen Anya?" Clarke asked.
"Not yet, but I spoke to her," and Lincoln sighed for a moment as he looked up in thought. "I should see her tomorrow sometime," and he grimaced a little. "She'd be mad if I didn't see her after coming down."
"Yeah," and Clarke smiled, too. "She would."
"It's good to see everyone," and Lincoln met her gaze again, and Clarke thought it was nice, it was good to see old friends, despite the circumstances.
"Yeah," and Clarke nodded for a moment as she let her thought wander. "It's nice."