Chapter 4/12

Clarke's feet didn't do much more than thump quietly against the carpet, the sound muted, dull, and not so rich anymore. It surprised her a little to find that she trailed a finger across the wall, the slight bumps and shallow coarseness of the wall's surface doing little more than just existing, than just reinforcing the idea, the notion, the realisation that something was missing, something didn't seem to exist anymore, something didn't quite fill in those gaps and dips and bumps of life as it used to.

But Clarke was no fool. She knew herself to be more than the clueless, brokenhearted woman that she felt herself be. And so she paused for a moment in the middle of the hallway, she turned her head, and she forced her eyes to meet the ones that smiled at her in the image.

And it hurt.

It seemed to laugh in her face, it seemed to be cruel, to be insincere now that little chance remained of another picture like it existing.

"What?" she said aloud, and she couldn't help but glare at Lexa's face in the image, at the youth that still clung to her cheeks, that rounded them out, that didn't quite reflect just how sharp, just how fierce she had thought Lexa would become. "You don't have to gloat," she said simply as she eyed the way Lexa held an arm around Clarke's shoulders, the way she seemed to be challenging whoever gazed upon the picture.

Clarke didn't know how long she spent looking at the photograph, she didn't quite know how long she spent just standing in the dark hallway. But once she thought her mind was able to settle, once she thought her breathing was able to ease in a rhythm that wasn't so desperate, she began to move. Her fingers already began to play with the hem of her shirt, and she pull it off as she crossed the threshold into the bathroom, the chill of the tile and the porcelain and ceramic bringing goosebumps to her flesh. It wasn't so bad though. If only because she thought it reminded her of happier times when she was able to not worry about the futures.

Clarke stripped the rest of her clothes, and she only spared herself just one quick glance in the mirror before she let the heat of the water begin to warm the air around her.

And it was hot. But perhaps not quite so hot as to cause her pain, as to cause her to gasp out and wince and regret and resent whatever frustrations flittered through her mind. Clarke raked her fingers through her hair, the water soothing her mind a little as it beat down upon her shoulders. But a shallow breath seemed to break past her lips, and she knew the signs of panic beginning to settle, she knew the signs of desperation begin to take hold, and she couldn't quite tell if this was how Lexa had felt, she couldn't quite imagine what Lexa must have felt. But Clarke embraced it. She embraced the feeling that seemed to crawl over her skin.

If only because she thought Lexa deserved it.

It only took her a moment longer before her breathing slowed, before she was able to relax a little. She felt the cold press of the glass then, her forehead having found its way against the glass of the shower. And she thought she liked the contrast, she thought she liked the cold of it pressing against her cheek, and she thought she liked the heat of the water as it continued to beat upon her body.

And maybe she tried to imagine that the cold against her face was the wind's bite, was the snow that would pelter her, and maybe she tried to imagine that the heat beating down onto her bare body was that of Lexa's arms wrapped around her, was Lexa warmth as they embraced and held each other close.

Lexa's feet crunched against the snow underfoot, her eyes squinting just a little in the breeze that battered her face. Snow clung to her body just a little as she ducked her head, the sounds of skates slashing against ice already filling the air, and as she glanced around herself she saw others making the short walk, some with others, some by themselves.

But Lexa stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, and she pushed aside whatever thoughts seemed to flit through her head. And she knew she felt the tremble in her fingers, she knew she felt the beat of her heart as it began to pick up its tempo with each step she took.

And it wasn't that she was nervous, it wasn't even really that she thought things would and could go wrong. But perhaps it was the fact that Clarke had agreed, perhaps a little too eagerly, too quickly, to say yes, to meet, to spend time together.

But maybe Lexa didn't quite mind. If only because it told her that Clarke had wished for the same, had wanted the same, too.

And so she sighed, she let the cold air fill her lungs and she held it for a moment longer than she shoulder as she continued to push through the snow. And she saw Clarke then, she saw the blonde's familiar blue jacket and tufts of blonde hair that waved in the breeze, she saw the white skates already being tied, and Lexa was sure a smile seemed to be spreading just a little more fully across her lips.

Clarke must have sensed her approach though, because the blonde looked up to her approach with a smile and a bashful wave before she made space besides her on the bench.

"Hey," Clarke said simply from where she sat.

"Hey," and maybe it was odd that Lexa didn't quite feel nervous or scared or anxious. Perhaps it was because she had known Clarke for years, perhaps it was simply because she felt happy. "You look nice," she finished as she glanced up and down Clarke's body.

But Clarke smirked a little, and she snorted, her eyes rolling as she patted the bench before sliding over.

"I'm wearing almost exactly the same as yesterday," Clarke said as she ducked her head once more, fingers turning back to the laces of her skates.

"You looked nice yesterday, too," Lexa challenged as she unslung her own skates from over her shoulder.

"Dad knew something was up," Clarke said after a moment, eyes glancing around them briefly.

"He did?" Lexa asked.

"Yeah," and Lexa was sure Clarke blushed a little, the cold not quite so responsible. "He gave me this look when I asked to be dropped off instead of him hanging around."

"Oh," and Lexa looked away slightly, just enough that she could see a child slide across the lake's frozen surface in the distance.

"It wasn't a bad look," Clarke amended with a sigh. "But I could tell he was trying to figure out who it was," and she grimaced a little. "I'm pretty sure he thinks you're Raven, though," Clarke finished with a small laugh.

"I could think of worse people," and Lexa bit her lip slightly in thought, and perhaps she didn't quite know how to act at the thought of Raven and Clarke together.

But Clarke smiled at her then, her hand reaching out to squeeze Lexa's for a second as their eyes met.

"I'm happy we did this," Clarke said, and Lexa thought she could see the ease in Clarke's eyes and the happiness in her words.

"Me too," and Lexa was.

Perhaps the first thing Lexa noticed was that her hands were sweating. And it wasn't that it was hot, it wasn't that she was hot, if only because the temperature was below freezing, was so low that she was sure her hair would freeze if it weren't for the beanie she had on. But she knew her hands were sweating. And especially her left. She grimaced as she felt Clarke squeeze her hand once more, but perhaps she could find comfort in the fact that she wore mitts. If only a little.

And she knew she was nervous, she knew her heart was beating a little too quickly now, a little too rapidly for the act of merely holding hands.

But yet.

Who could blame her? Who would have?

If only because she held hands with Clarke as they made their way across the frozen lake, the sounds of their skates mixing with that of others who lived in their own bubbles, in their own small lives.

"So," and Clarke's voice trailed off as she began to direct them both around a frozen clump of snow. "You're talkative," she finished.

Lexa couldn't help but grimace then, just a little.

"Sorry," and she knew her voice came out a little shaky then.

"You aren't nervous, are you?" Clarke said, and Lexa thought she heard the tease in the blonde's voice.

"No," it was safe. It was a lie, but it was safe.

"I see," and Lexa knew she saw the smirk begin to spread across Clarke's lips as the blonde tugged her hand and directed closer to the lake's edge. "So you aren't nervous?"

"No," Lexa repeated, her eyebrows quirking together.

"Really?" and Lexa felt Clarke slide a little closer, she felt the blonde press herself just a little closer than needed.

"I am not nervous," Lexa repeated, and she swallowed hard.

"So if I did this?" and Lexa knew her face started to flush, and she knew she felt the tips of her ears begin to burn as Clarke reached around and pulled them even closer, her arm resting against her waist.

Lexa couldn't help but let her mind begin to wander, she couldn't help but focus on the way Clarke's body felt pressed against her, even through the layers they both wore. But the thing that made Lexa break, that made her lose her composure was the moment Clarke lent in a little closer still, her lips only just ghosting against what little of her neck was exposed.

"What about n—"

And Lexa fell, she slipped and she was sure she let out an undignified squeal as she felt the ice reach up and meet her forcefully.

"I'm ok," she hissed as she struggled to her feet, her face flushed, and her cheeks burning.

But she heard Clarke laugh, she heard the blonde try to stifle the sounds and she felt a hand help pull her to her feet.

"Not nervous, huh?" and Lexa knew, she knew the smirk and the way Clarke's eyebrow must have been raised.

"Shut up," and Lexa glared.

Lexa found her feet then, and as she met Clarke's gaze she saw the blonde smiling at her, eyes sparkling just a little more brightly in the sun.

"Sorry," Clarke whispered, and Lexa was sure Clarke's eyes gazed downwards for a moment.

"It's ok," Lexa answered, and she was sure her own eyes drifted down.

"So," and Clarke trailed off as she bit her lip, eyes glancing around them for a moment before snapping back to Lexa.

And perhaps it was the giddy feel that Lexa felt in this moment, perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline that had seemed to be raging through her mind. And maybe it was simply because she thought Clarke was Clarke.

And so she reached out, her hand took a hold of Clarke's waist, and she saw Clarke's eyes widen, she saw Clarke's lips part just a little, just enough. And Lexa took in a breath, she steeled herself and she leant forward, her motions slow enough that Clarke could pause her, could lean back, could avoid whatever was to come. But she didn't, and Lexa let their gaze hold for just a moment longer before her eyes closed.

And she smiled.

She felt her lips press against Clarke's, and it was careful, it was bashful, breathless even, and she was sure she felt Clarke tremble a little, and she knew she felt herself tremble, too. And she was sure it wasn't from the cold, she was sure it wasn't from being outside.

But maybe she didn't care.

"How was it," and Lexa looked up from where she sat to see her father glance at her briefly before turning his eyes back to the road.

"Good," she said, and she was sure her lips pulled up a little at the corners, she was sure she must have had a stupid smile across her face.

"I see," and she saw him scratch at his beard briefly before he chuckled to himself. "Jake called," he finished.

"He did?" and Lexa's eyes narrowed a little.

"Yeah," and she watched as her father's eyes glanced left and right before taking a turn. "He had some questions," he continued as he slowed the car.

"Like?" and Lexa worried her lip for a moment as she thought of what Clarke had said.

"Well," and her father scratched his beard. "He asked whether you were out," and she saw him smile a little.

"And?"

"And I told him you were," and Lexa winced.

"And then?"

"And then he asked where you were," and Lexa felt he stomach churn a little.

"And what did you say?"

"I told him you were at the lake," and she heard him laugh a little more fully at the scowl that began to spread across her face. "He asked about Raven, asked if she was going to be there, too."

"He knows doesn't he?" and Lexa sighed.

"Yeah," and she saw her father look at her quickly. "I'm pretty sure he put two and two together," and she sighed a little more forcefully. "Be prepared for a lot of jokes at your expense next time everyone meets up," and she looked up to see him eyeing her. "I'm pretty sure Jake was just relieved it wasn't Raven, he's had enough of her setting fire to their backyard to last a lifetime."

"He's not mad?" and Lexa let her gaze wander out the window.

"Not at all, Lex," and she felt her father reach over a squeeze her shoulder for a moment. "I think he was just disappointed you guys didn't tell him."

"Yeah," and Lexa smiled a touch more widely as she turned back to her father.

Clarke's feet thumped against the ground as she turned the corner, her eyes quick to find Bruce's face in the window. She smiled and she waved as she saw him bounce up a little before ducking out from behind the curtains, and she knew he would be waiting for her to open the door. And she knew his tail would wag, and that he would smell her hand and recognise Lexa's scent. But it pained her to know Bruce would peer behind her, would search for Lexa only to be disappointed. And perhaps she thought she would take him out for an extra long walk someday soon. If only because she thought she'd have a little more free time in the days to come.

Her keys scraped against the lock, and she heard Bruce scamper, his nails clipping against the floor. Clarke smiled a tired thing, a quiet thing, as she pushed open the door and slipped inside.

"Hey Bruce," she whispered as she knelt down onto her knees, hand carding through his golden hair. "I know, I'm sorry," she whispered as she felt him sniff at her hand before whining lowly. "How was your day?" and perhaps Clarke felt herself falling into this routine too easily now, if only because she missed having someone to talk to, if only because she missed whatever it was she knew she missed.

Bruce grunted quietly as he began walking besides her, his body warm against her legs.

Clarke paused at the hallway table though, and she took the time to set her bag atop it and to kick off her shoes with a groan. And she thought it must have become instinctual now, she thought it must have become habit, a thoughtless task, because it surprised her when she ran a finger over the picture frame before trailing over Lexa's smiling face.

But Bruce broke her moment's distraction as he nudged her calf, his tail wagging just a little less enthusiastically than it should.

"I know," and Clarke began walking again, Bruce happy to trot along besides her. "Gustus is coming soon," she said, and she thought she heard Bruce perk up just a little at the name. "No jumping up onto him, Bruce," and she glanced down at Bruce to see him smiling lopsided at her, tongue happy to dance with the swaying of his gait. "Gustus isn't as young as he used to be, and you're definitely too old to be acting like a puppy anymore."

But Bruce merely shrugged. Or did whatever gesture a dog does that seemed close enough to a shrug.

"I know you're going to do it anyway, and I know Gustus won't complain," Clarke sighed as she entered the kitchen. "Just be thankful Lexa isn't here or she'd—"

But Clarke paused. She paused as she let the words she had just voiced begin to seep into her mind. She felt her lip begin to tremble then, and she felt her eyes begin to water, and she knew she felt her hands begin to shake as her vision blurred.

It surprised Clarke to feel the hard bite of the floor dig into her knees and it took her a moment too long to realise she knelt on the ground, her knees aching to the drop. But she didn't care. She didn't care because the pain she felt already burning through her body was worse, the truth of her words seemingly screaming and tearing and thrashing through her mind.

The scream that came next was ferocious to her ears, and she knew she felt pain explode across her knuckles as she slammed her fist against the fridge, the cold bite of the metal doing nothing to ease the hurt in her mind.

Her shoulders shook then, and she knew her voice broke on the sobs that bled through her lips. Tears began to slip from her eyes and she tried to stop them, she tried to sweep them away, to steal them from ever falling, from ever existing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered out into the silence. "I'm sorry, Lexa," and Clarke shook her head as she tried to imagine what it would feel like to have those arms hold her again. "I didn't mean it," and Clarke clenched her fists to her eyes, she pressed hard, too hard, too desperately. "I swear it, Lexa," and she waited for her voice, she waited for her to say it was alright. "You're not gone yet," and Clarke tried to fight her breathing back under control, back into something more than the ruin that it had become. "I'm so—"

Bruce nudged her quietly, his snout pressing against her neck as his paw came to rest against her thigh. Clarke opened her eyes then, and she thought she smiled a watery thing as Bruce met her gaze, his eyes wide, and perhaps just a little watery, just a little sad to her.

"I know," and Clarke smiled as she reached out with her uninjured hand. "I know," and she scratched his head for a long moment, the only sounds to fill her empty home being the quiet sobs that seemed to leave her a little more cold with each breath. "I'm not giving up," and Clarke smiled at him as he licked her hand. "Not yet," and she pressed her lips to the top of his head. "There's still time."