Chapter 10/12
The sounds of the machines whirring, the sounds of them beeping every so often seemed to fade into the background. But Clarke thought that maybe she had just become used to them, Clarke thought that perhaps she had heard them so much that she had learnt to tune them out, had learnt to ignore the constant interruption to her thoughts.
And she knew that was something she didn't much like. She knew it was something she resented happening, something she resented growing immune to. If only because it told her she had spent too long surrounded by the pain.
She brushed a finger across Lexa's cheek then, and perhaps she tried to imagine what it would feel like to have Lexa lean into the gesture. And Clarke knew she tried to picture the way Lexa's eyes used to blink open to the morning light, the way Lexa would snuggle just a little closer in the warmth of their bed before flinging the sheets off them both with a laugh and a smile. Perhaps Clarke just tried to remember.
But Clarke took a breath then, she held it for as long as she could, she held it until she felt her lungs cry out in panic. And just before she felt her fingers begin to tremble, just before she felt her mind begin to fray, she let it out in a sigh that seemed less sure, less firm to her.
And she repeated the motion.
She took in a breath, she made sure that it was deep enough that her lungs filled to the brim before exhaling.
And maybe she tried to match the way Lexa's chest would rise slowly, too slowly, too helplessly.
If only so that she could feel just a little closer to the woman she loved.
Lexa ran hard, she ran fast. Or perhaps not so fast. Not so hard. And she laughed. She laughed as she saw Bruce slip, as she saw him wobble and then slide across the iced ground. Lexa reached him quickly, Bruce already rising to his feet as he shook the snow from him.
Lexa sighed though. She sighed because she knew the snow would cling to his hair, she knew it would clump it together at the ends and she knew she would have to carry him home once he exhausted himself at the park.
But Lexa didn't mind so much. Not anymore. And so she smiled as she picked up the stick Bruce dropped at her feet.
"Ready, Bruce," she asked as she knelt down in front of him as he ducked and bobbed in front of her with a snuff and a bark.
Lexa laughed out as she threw the stick, and she watched as Bruce darted after it, his ears flapping with each bounding step he took as he tried to crash through the snow.
"You spoil him, Lexa," and Lexa looks up to see her father smiling past the cup in his hands.
"He deserves it," she challenged as she rose to her feet, eyes finding Bruce's golden head as he tried to make his way back to her, stick clamped in his jaws.
"He does," he replied before gesturing to a bench not far from them. "How's Clarke?"
"Good," Lexa smiled as she brushed a flake of snow from his shoulder. "Work's been busy for her so she's been getting home late the last couple days," she sighed a little. "But she's enjoying it. She doesn't mind the late nights because of the kids," and Lexa looked up into the Sunday sky to see it darkening just a little.
"So," he said and Lexa narrowed her eyes a little as she saw him tilt his head to the side. "Speaking of kids," and he laughed as he saw her eyes roll.
"I know what you're going to say," Lexa said as she sat, feet clapping together briefly to clear the snow.
"There's no rush," he laughed. "But since retiring I wouldn't mind having little Clarkes and Lexas running around."
"Oh, so it would all be for you?" Lexa challenged.
"Yes," and she watched as he carded a few fingers through his greying beard. "For me."
"You've got Bruce," Lexa said as she turned to see the dog trip as he made his way back to them.
"I do," he laughed.
Lexa worried her lip a little though, and she turned to face her father fully and she waited until his eyes met hers before she continued.
"We've been thinking about it," Lexa said simply. "I think Bruce was almost a test or trial," she shrugged. "Just to make sure we could," and she worried her lip again. "That doesn't sound bad, does it?"
"Not at all, Lexa," he said, and she was sure she saw his eyes smile and crinkle at the edges.
"But yeah," and Lexa shrugged as she nudged her father's shoulder with her own. "We've thought about it."
"I expect many grandchildren," he said simply as he leant back against the bench.
"Many grandchildren?" Lexa asked, and she was sure her eyebrow raised a little.
"Yes," he said, and she knew she heard the rumble in his voice as he nudged her shoulder with his own.
"We'll see," and Lexa threw the stick and she watched as Bruce took after it, his body bounding through the snow as it flung clumps of the white in all directions.
"It's not as cold as it used to be," her father said then, and Lexa saw him eye the way the snow clung to the tree tops.
"It's not," she agreed.
"It comes and goes," he shrugged. "Maybe next season will be a better one," and he crossed his arms as he looked out over the park.
"Maybe," Lexa agreed.
They fell into conversation then, and Lexa found herself enjoying the way Bruce would bound back to her with stick in mouth, the way he would sometimes jump up at her father, and the way he would scamper after the stick with each throw.
And she enjoyed it. She enjoyed the cold, despite it's slight warmth, but perhaps she hoped that next winter would bring a chill with just a little stronger bite to it. But she didn't mind. Not much, anyway. Not when her life had taken the turn it had, had taken her the direction it had.
"I should probably get him inside soon," Lexa sighed as she watched Bruce jump up into her father's arms. "Clarke's going to be angry if he has frozen knots in his hair again."
But as Lexa eyed the way Bruce seemed happy to lick at her father's fingers, the way the too old puppy seemed happy to squirm and bark happily, and the way her father cooed gently at the dog, Lexa was sure she wasn't heard.
Lexa grimaced a little as Bruce began to squirm in her arms as she made her way over the snowy ground. She found herself enjoying his warmth though, and as the wind picked up a little more firmly Lexa buried her face into his hair for a moment.
But she sighed, she fumbled with him in her arms and she tried tugging her scarf a little from her neck as she neared the door, the crack of light that shone at its base enough to draw Bruce's attention.
"Hold on," Lexa whispered to him, and she smiled as she felt his tail slap against her side as he wriggled a little more enthusiastically than she'd prefer.
It took Lexa only a moment longer of fumbling blindly for her keys before she managed to open the door and set Bruce down, and so she smiled, she laughed a little and she rolled her shoulders as she closed the door behind her as Bruce ran off in search of Clarke.
Lexa called out then, her voice filling the hallway as her ears picked up the sounds of movement and laughter deeper in the apartment.
"In here," Clarke called, and Lexa felt her cheeks twitch as she hung her coat.
And so Lexa let her ears guide her, she let the sounds of quiet barking and laughter bring her closer. And as she turned a corner into the living room she found Clarke holding Bruce's cheeks between her hands as the dog wriggled with little thought for the cold he had just escaped from.
"Did you even exercise him?" Clarke asked as she looked up.
"Yes," Lexa said as she kicked off her shoes and sat in a deep chair. "He just has a lot of energy."
Clarke laughed as she ruffled Bruce's head once more before standing and gesturing to the kitchen.
"Dinner's almost ready," she said, hand held out for Lexa. "Come on."
Lexa's feet padded across the snow carefully, her eyes taking in the way the snow and light from the overhead lamps shone and dappled through the mist. She looked out around them though, and perhaps it was the weather, perhaps it was the slightly less cold chill that seemed to have pervaded the lands. But Lexa was sure she saw more people out at this late an hour, she was sure she saw more people willing to brave the cold as they made their way to the lake.
And who could blame them?
It wasn't often that the weather was warm enough, despite the snow that had fallen, to allow people to enjoy the way the leafless trees reached up into the sky, the way the mist seemed to always dance up in its exploration of the lands.
And Lexa enjoyed it.
"What?" Clarke asked from besides her, the woman's arm tucked through Lexa's own.
"It's nice," Lexa shrugged simply, her gaze meeting Clarke's. "We don't often get to see it like this," Lexa finished as she gestured around them.
"Yeah," Clarke agreed as she pulled them a little closer together as they continued to walk. "It's nice when it's not so cold. At least we can walk about and enjoy it and not freeze to death."
"You think Bruce is going to behave for Anya?" Lexa laughed, but she felt just a little guilt tick away at the back of her mind as she recalled the way Bruce had looked at their retreating bodies through the window, the way he had pawed at them, his eyes just a little sad despite Anya's offer of food and chew toys.
"He will," Clarke said and Lexa knew she must have been thinking the same. "Anya wouldn't tell us if he did something bad anyway. She loves him too much, and its your birthday. She wouldn't want to ruin that either."
"She does love him," and Lexa smiled as she bumped the side of her beanie covered head against Clarke's.
Lexa held out a hand then, and she paused for a moment as she helped Clarke step over an icy patch. And they shared a smile then, something a little bashful, a little quiet. But something warm all the same. And perhaps it was the conversation with her father, perhaps it was the way Clarke smiled slightly, the way her nose scrunched up just a bit. Or perhaps it was simply the truth of her thoughts that caused Lexa to not be able to shake what flit through her mind.
And so she hitched the skates higher over her shoulder, she let her gaze linger on a family that walked ahead of them, to the two children that held the hand of a father, that ran after a mother. And she smiled.
"What?" Clarke asked as she followed Lexa's gaze.
"He mentioned children again," Lexa said simply. And she knew Clarke would know who she spoke of, and she knew Clarke would understand.
"What did you say?" Clarke asked.
"I said we were considering it," and Lexa worried her lip as she eyed Clarke. "We are, aren't we?"
Clarke smiled then, and Lexa felt a surprise at the little apprehension that seemed to fade without her realising it had appeared.
"We are," and Clarke hummed a little as she eyed the way the father swung one of the children by the arms. "You'd make a good mother," Clarke finished as she leant her head against Lexa's shoulder.
And perhaps that thought caused just a small sense of worry to build once more. If only because it seemed a milestone, a large step. A new step in their lives.
"You would make a better one," Lexa said simply. And she believed it. If only because she couldn't imagine Clarke as anything less.
"We both would," Clarke countered. And Lexa felt the conviction in Clarke's words, in the way her voice reached out to her.
But as she thought over Clarke's words. As she considered them, as she considered what she had said. She felt the realisation dawn on her, she felt the happiness that seemed to fill her mind. And she felt the truth of what she was to say next.
And so she turned fully to face Clarke, she paused them in their steps and she smiled.
"We both would."
The lake, to Lexa's surprise, seemed more busy, and as she looked out at the people that skated past, as she saw the children slide, even those in the distance that passed a puck between them, she thought it just a little ironic that all it took for people to appreciate the freezing of water was the slightly warmer temperature that had settled around them this night.
"It's busy," Clarke said from besides her as they both continued to glide across the lake.
"It is," Lexa shrugged. But perhaps she didn't mind.
And she knew she didn't. Not when she had Clarke by her side, not when the moon shone brightly, and not when the ever present mist drifted around them, and not when the flames that burnt in the campfires on the lake's edge even now brightened the lake's surface.
"Do you miss it?" Clarke asked then, and Lexa followed her gaze to where the children passed a puck between them.
"Sometimes," Lexa shrugged. And perhaps she took a moment to think about what it was that she missed, what it was that she didn't experience anymore. "Not much though," and she held Clarke a little closer. "I always knew it would come to an end," and she heard Clarke hum quietly besides her. "I didn't think it would last forever, and that's ok," and she did believe that.
"Even still," and Lexa was sure Clarke let her brows furrow, and Lexa was sure Clarke would have that little quirk in the corner of her mouth as she tried to think of the words she wanted to voice. "If you could have continued? If you could have held onto it for a little longer despite knowing it was coming to an end, would you have?"
And would she have done so?
"No," and Lexa smiled as she met Clarke's eyes. "All things have to end someday, Clarke," and she laughed a little quietly to herself as Clarke's eyes rolled. "It just means we have to find new things that help fill that void," and Lexa sighed a little then, but she couldn't help but feel a little less sad than she should as she felt Clarke hold onto her a little more tightly. "But no, Clarke," and Lexa squeezed Clarke's side just briefly. "I don't miss it because I've got you now," and she laughed as Clarke's eyes rolled.
"You sap," Clarke said.
"You love it."
"Yeah," and Clarke brushed a hair from her eyes. "I d—"
Lexa's head shot up at the sound of yelling. It took her a moment for her eyes to snap to where the children playing hockey had been. And it took her a moment to register the fear, the shock, the surprise that flashed across their faces. It took her a moment longer to register the cracking she felt reverberate through the ice, it took her a second to realise that the children had begun to race from the centre of the lake, from where the ice must be cracking.
"Wha—" Clarke's voice trailed off as she looked to the commotion, and Lexa sensed others near her begin to realise the danger, the situation.
"Move," Lexa hissed as she saw others beginning to skate back to the lake's edge, and she knew she sensed parents grabbing children, she sensed friends guiding friends.
Lexa grabbed Clarke's arm then, and she glanced behind her to see a crack already beginning to form, already beginning to spread across the lake's surface. It wasn't that she had never experienced ice cracking before either, it wasn't that she didn't know how to get herself out of the ice if she ever happened to fall through. But perhaps this time she felt a slight tremor in her grip as she continued to push Clarke ahead of her, and perhaps this time she felt worry for Clarke, she felt worry for the people around her. And maybe she felt a sense of dread at the warmer temperatures this winter, at the less cold winter season that they had experienced.
But Lexa heard it again. She heard the sounds of the ice tearing, she heard the sounds of the crack echoing out through the ice under them. And she looked to see most of the people already at the Lake's edge, and she knew they'd make it, too, she knew she'd be able to get Clarke and herself to the Lake's edge before anything worse could happen.
But she heard it.
A cry for help echoed out around them, and Lexa saw heads in front of her turn, she saw adults snap their gaze to the sounds of a child's cry, she saw eyes searching the dark of the lake, the fires and the mist doing little to illuminate the distance between them and the lake's centre.
But Lexa knew. She knew the children playing hockey deeper in the lake hadn't passed her. She knew she hadn't seen hockey sticks in the hands of the children passing her. And she knew.
Lexa turned, and as she looked out behind her she thought she saw the shadowy figures of children lying on the ice, and she knew she could hear the cries for help as someone must have begun to slip through, as someone must have been separated from the others as the ice continued to crack and break and tear around them.
"I'll be right back," Lexa hissed as she pushed Clarke ahead of her, and she knew the blonde had also searched for the voice, for the child in distress. Their eyes met for a moment then, and Lexa saw the worry in Clarke's eyes, she knew she saw the fear and the apprehension.
"Ok," and Clarke nodded once, she squeezed Lexa's hand once and she smiled a little, worried thing.
And so Lexa turned. She scanned the depth of the lake and she began to move. Her feet pushed her faster and faster, her eyes scanned the lake's surface, her gaze took in each crack that seemed to spread and echo out around her. And she searched. She searched for the children that had been playing, she searched for the children that must have been stuck.
Lexa called out then, she let the chill of the air fill her lungs and she let her voice carry over the lake. And she smiled. She smiled because she heard a reply, she smiled because she sensed their presence.
And she saw their bodies bleed out from the mist.
Two children knelt before her on their hands and knees, their clothes soaked, their arms trembling, their faces fearful and panicked. But Lexa's eyes snapped to the third. And she registered the fear and pain and desperation in the girl's face, in the way she tried to grasp for the two hockey sticks the children held out for her.
The girl lay on top of a sheet of ice that did little to keep her out of the water, that did little to keep her from sinking further and further into the depths, her hockey pads too heavy, too cumbersome for her to move, to swim, to kick out with her legs.
Lexa called out then, and she saw one of the children look at her, his eyes wide as the ice underneath his body began to crack. But Lexa made it to them, she came to a stop and fell to her hands and knees as she began sliding over the dangerous ice.
"Hold on," Lexa called out to the girl, and she saw the girl's lips trembling, her skin already blueing to the cold. "Hold on," Lexa echoed as she snatched a stick from one of the children as she lay on her stomach.
The water began to lap at her chest then, and she felt it freeze into her coat, she felt it stick to her and chill her body as she inched her way closer and closer to the edge of the broken ice.
"Here," Lexa called out, and she stretched, she stretched with her arm as she held the stick out as far as she could, as she held it out further than either children could. "Take it," Lexa gasped as she felt the cold sink down her top, and she thought she sensed the ice under her begin to dip, begin to sink just a little too much.
"I cant," the girl gasped out, her legs trying to kick her further onto what little remained of the ice sheet. "I can't," and Lexa saw her eyes watering, she saw the girl's tears streaking down her cheeks. "I can't."
"You can," Lexa smiled to her past the cold. "Just reach out," and Lexa leant forward a little, she stretched forward as much as she could, her own skates trying to find purchase amongst the cracks on the ice. "I've got you."
The girl stared at her for a moment that seemed to last too long, but Lexa saw her resolve harden just a little, she saw the girl make a decision, make a choice, a plan to take a risk.
"I've got you," Lexa whispered to her. "You can do it."
The girl met Lexa's gaze for a long moment, and Lexa smiled. She let her eyes shine in the dark of the night, she let her mind forget the cold, forget the bite of the ice and the sounds of the water cracking and he reached out as far as she could with the stick in her hand.
"I've got you," Lexa whispered just once more.
And so the girl pushed off from the sheet of ice. Her legs kicked and splashed and her teeth chattered and her skin paled as the frozen water enveloped her fully as she made a desperate dash for the hockey stick Lexa held out for her.
But Lexa saw the girl's pads weigh her down, she saw the girl's clothes hold too much water, the pockets of air in her pads filling, bubbling as water rushed into them.
And Lexa knew, she knew. She knew.
And so Lexa rushed forward, she took off from where she lay on the ice and she felt herself slam into the freezing water.
Lexa gasped out in shock as the ice met her body, she gasped out in shock as her lungs froze and as her mind screamed out a warning. But she closed the distance between them, and Lexa smiled as her hand grasped the girl's top, as her hand found purchase in the girl's pads. And Lexa smiled past the cold as she pushed the girl towards the edge of the ice, she smiled as the two other children reached out and took hold, as they began crying out, screaming out as they pulled the girl higher and higher onto the ice.
But Lexa thought it too cold in this moment. She thought it too numbing, too chilled. But perhaps most of all she felt the coat she wore too heavy, too restrictive. The water crashed against her repeatedly, the girl's legs kicking out wildly as she tried to push herself higher and higher onto the ice.
And Lexa tried to kick out with her own feet, too, she tried to turn, to swim, to pull herself through the iced water. But she felt the pain, she felt the blow and the cut and the blood that exploded across her face as the girl's foot collided with her cheek, as an edge of her skates sliced against her skin.
And perhaps it was that moment that sealed her fate. Perhaps it was the impact, the moment where it stun Lexa, where it caused her eyes to explode with stars.
Or maybe it was moments before that, maybe it was the moment where she had decided, or maybe not really consciously decided, to leap forward, to brave the frozen water in her desperation to get to the young girl.
And maybe it was even before that. Maybe it was the moment when she had told Clarke that she'd be right back. Or maybe it was simply the fact that it was too warm this winter, it was too warm for so many people to be out on the ice.
But regardless of which moment it was, regardless of which memory seemed to flitter past her eyes. That was all it took, all the distraction it needed.
And so Lexa reeled back from the blow, her cheek burning in pain. She felt the water crash against her face though, she felt it stab into her flesh, and she felt the ice as it closed around her throat.
And it was cold, it was dark, and it took her a fraction of a too long second to realise she must be submerged in the water now, it took her too long to realise that as she tried to kick up, as she tried to reach the little sliver of light above her, that her coat was too heavy, the cotton holding too much water, clinging to her limbs too forcefully.
And Lexa cursed out, she was sure she screamed out in frustration, she was sure she felt anger in that moment. But as her lips parted, and as she thought she cursed, all she felt was the cold rush of water fill her mouth, fill her throat.
And she choked.
Lexa choked, she gasped, she coughed, her nose burned, her eyes saw the red of her blood and she took a breath. She took a breath, she took in a lungful of air as she tried to fight her coat off, as she tried to wriggle her arms free.
And she took another breath. She took another breath if only because the first did little to fight the burn in her lungs, if only because it did little to ease the pain in her chest.
And she took another, she took another as she thought she felt her coat fall free, as she thought she felt her arms and her legs and her body freed from the weight.
But even that third breath did little to ease the pain in her chest.
And maybe she should have realised it sooner. Maybe she should have realised that humans don't breathe underwater, that humans can't breathe underwater.
And it was odd. It was odd to have the realisation that it took her three breaths of water, perhaps it was odd to realise that the first breath hadn't registered, hadn't been obvious. But she felt it now. She felt the water filling her lungs as her body took another desperate gulp despite her mind screaming out for it not to.
But she thought she saw movement above her, she thought she saw the shadowy silhouette of someone above her, of someone's hands pressed against the surface of a window on a snowing night. And she saw a light then, she saw a shining beacon of gold that shimmered and dappled and did little to reach her through the ice and water that seemed to separate them.
Lexa felt her body convulse then, she felt her lungs burning, she felt her finger tips numbing and she felt her blood beginning to slow as it pumped through her veins. But she felt herself rising too. She felt her body beginning to float upwards.
And maybe she tried kicking, maybe she tried moving her arms.
But she wasn't so sure her limbs listened to her anymore. If only because she saw her hands floating before her face with little more than a twitch of a finger.
But it was frustrating. It was frustrating because she felt at ease, she felt at peace with the lack of oxygen, with the burning in her lungs and the cold that seemed to soothe her mind.
But it was frustrating because she felt her face bump against something too hard, too sharp. And it took her too long to realise she looked through a pane of ice, a sheet of cracked water that held her back from the pain she saw blurred before her.
And Lexa wasn't so sure how long she looked, she wasn't sure how long she stared. But she realised she recognised the woman who looked down at her. She thought she recognised the horror, the desperation, the fear and the hurt that etched itself across a face whose lips tore apart, whose voice came out broken and too quiet despite how close they appeared.
But Lexa tried to reach out, she tried to let her hand meet the slamming fist before her, each blow of the bloodied hand doing little but echo out quietly around her. And Lexa tried to reach out, if only to ease the pain she thought she recognised in the person's face.
But Lexa found it too hard to concentrate anymore. She found it too hard to focus on doing little more than breathe. Or perhaps she wasn't quite breathing anymore. If only because her vision began to fade, began to darken, began to bleed away.
But Lexa found herself wanting to tell the woman not to fear, not to be afraid, not to cry. And perhaps she found herself wanting to do those things because she thought the woman familiar. She thought the woman pretty and beautiful despite the blurred image she saw. But most of all, Lexa found herself wanting to tell the woman that it would be ok.
If only because Lexa had always liked the cold.
If only because Lexa had always thought it made her feel alive.
Clarke's tears slipped down her cheek slowly. And she found herself hating what existed around her in this moment. And she thought it too quiet now, she thought it too silent after so long.
And maybe she tried listening to the whirring of the machine, maybe she tried listening to the quiet beep that echoed out around her.
But she couldn't. She couldn't listen to it anymore. And she couldn't because the doctors had taken them away, had removed what little aid Lexa had had to keep her breathing, to keep her living.
And Clarke hated it.
She hated the fact that she could lie next to Lexa now. She hated the fact that she could rest her head against the same pillow that comforted Lexa. She hated the fact that without the machines she could finally feel Lexa's cold warmth against her skin.
And Clarke hated it.
She hated that each breath Lexa took came out ragged. She hated how each one came out broken. She hated how each one came out with a pause that seemed too long, too uncertain.
But most of all?
Clarke hated not knowing whether each breath that seemed to only just slip through Lexa's lips would be her last.