Chapter 12/12

"Clarke."

It took a moment for her to register the voice that seemed to linger in the air. Clarke blinked then, and she was sure she felt the tears slip down her cheeks as she buried her face a little deeper into the crook of Lexa's neck as she tried to hold onto the sound of the voice.

"Clarke."

She grimaced then, and she was sure the voice seemed close, seemed near and present.

"Clar—"

The voice choked a little, it paused and Clarke's eyes snapped open.

It took her less than a second to sit up from where she lay besides Lexa, and Clarke was sure her eyes moved frantically around her for just a moment before snapping to Lexa's face.

"Clarke."

And Clarke stared. She stared as she saw Lexa's eyes blink slowly, as she saw the light reflect against them, as she saw them try to focus and squint through the dark of the room.

"Lexa?"

And in that moment Clarke couldn't quite understand what emotion seemed to exist in her mind. She wasn't sure if it was denial, she wasn't sure if she was hallucinating, if she was imagining, or if she had somehow died, if she had someone lost the will to live.

"Lexa?" and Clarke blinked once more, and she was sure her lip began to tremble, she was sure her lips parted. "Lexa?"

And perhaps the horror and disbelief must have been spreading across her face because she saw Lexa recoil just a little as she tried to reach out, as she tried to touch any part of Lexa she could. "Lexa?" and Clarke shook her head as she tried to let the truth of what her eyes saw sink in, as she tried to accept what her saw.

"Are you Clarke?"

"It's not uncommon for people to have some significant memory loss," he said as he continued to gesture to the model of the brain. "With the significant lack of oxygen she experienced prior to being resuscitated, it's to be expected," he finished with a little wan smile, his eyes careful as he continued to gaze upon her.

"Will she remember?"

"It can take a number of months, two, three, sometimes more, for memories to really come back," and he shifted a little in his chair as he took the model of the brain from her hands. "There's also the chance that she will hallucinate, that she'll begin to think something is there that isn't."

"Will she be ok?" Clarke asked as she looked up to see him smile a little.

"Given time," and he paused for a moment. "It's never easy," and she saw his eyes turn a just a little careful, a little understanding. "But for now you don't need to worry. We won't release her from hospital for a little while yet, not until the end of the week at the earliest."

"Thank you," and Clarke wasn't so sure what else to say in that moment.

"She's a fighter, Clarke," and she looked to him to see him smile more freely. "She's strong. Physically she'll make a full recovery given time."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Clarke said though, and perhaps she couldn't help but think of futures more bleak than her recent experiences may suggest. Clarke met his gaze again, and perhaps it didn't surprise her that she couldn't quite hold it for too long.

"It won't be easy," he said simply. And perhaps Clarke appreciated his bluntness.

"No," and Clarke worried her lip. But perhaps she didn't care how hard it might be. "It won't be."

"Clarke," and she blinked back the sleep, and she couldn't help but feel the stiffness in her neck as she raised her head to look to Lexa.

Clarke saw Lexa looking at her carefully, the woman's gaze moving between her eyes and taking in the way her hair must have been hanging messily across her shoulders.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Lexa added quietly as she looked away from where she sat propped up by pillows.

"You didn't wake me," Clarke lied.

Lexa took her in then, and Clarke was sure Lexa knew she had lied, she was sure Lexa saw straight through her.

"They to—" and Lexa coughed past the roughness of her throat.

"Hey," and Clarke rose quickly, her feet took her to Lexa's side and she pushed a glass to her lips.

"Thank you," Lexa choked out a little as she reached up with a too thin hand, her fingers too slender as they grasped the glass as she helped tip it back a little.

Clarke paused then, her eyes careful as she took in the way Lexa seemed to think over the words she had been about to say. And Clarke stayed for just a moment longer, for long enough that she knew Lexa's hand remained steady in its slight tremble as she held the glass to her chest carefully.

"They told me I lost memories," Lexa said simply, and Clarke knew Lexa didn't quite meet her gaze, didn't quite feel brave enough to share in their closeness.

"It's ok," Clarke said, and perhaps she wasn't so sure what else to say.

And so Clarke took her spot in the chair, the distance between them too obvious for her to ignore, too obvious for her to face. And it hurt, she knew that much. Clarke knew it hurt to think of whatever distance existed between them, and she knew it hurt to think of it never closing, never filling. But perhaps she had hope, perhaps she had determination to fight for it.

Clarke looked back to Lexa to see her watching carefully, her eyes guarded as they must have been taking in whatever state Clarke thought she must have looked.

And perhaps Clarke thought Lexa trying to think of something to voice, or perhaps Clarke thought Lexa trying to find the right question to ask.

And so Clarke smiled quietly as their eyes met, and she tried to keep it simple, she tried to keep the hurt from her face. But she thought Lexa saw, she thought Lexa sensed it from the way the other woman's eyes glanced away a little too quickly.

"I'm sorry," and Clarke didn't quite know what to say as she heard Lexa's voice carry out.

"It's ok," Clarke said simply, and she felt her lip quirk.

"It's not," Lexa shrugged, and perhaps Clarke could be forgiven for flinching a little as Lexa's too thin shoulder rose from the hospital gown.

"Ok," and Clarke wasn't so sure how to respond to that either.

But she sensed Lexa's want to continue, to say more.

"How old are you?" Lexa asked cautiously, and Clarke thought she sensed Lexa's uncertainty, she thought she sensed her unease.

"Thirty-two," Clarke said, and she felt content that her voice didn't shake, didn't break.

"I'm thirty-two, aren't I?" and Clarke saw Lexa worry her lip, she saw her brows furrow.

"Yes," and Clarke blinked a few times.

"I—" Lexa looked away though, and Clarke saw her try to sift through whatever thoughts seemed to linger, seemed to flit through her mind. "It's weird," Lexa continued after a moment, her gaze returning to Clarke's cautiously. "I have memories," and Clarke winced just a bit as she felt her nails bite into her palm. "But I can't place them," and Lexa looked away again. "I have faces in my mind, I have names, places, moments and events that all seem to be jumbled, to be out of order."

And Clarke wasn't so sure what to do now, she wasn't so sure she could do anything.

"The doctors said it could take time," Clarke offered, but perhaps she should have said something different from the way Lexa's eyes rolled just a little.

"It's like a puzzle piece," Lexa continued as she began to look around her slowly. "It's like it's all been put together wrong, like every piece doesn't match up with the one next to it, but for some reason they seem to be fitting," and Lexa snorted slightly. "I don't know which memories came first, which ones came next. I don't know which ones are happy, which ones are sad," and she met Clarke's gaze again.

But perhaps Clarke didn't know what else to say, and she knew she didn't know what she could say.

"I'm sorry," Lexa continued though.

"For what?" Clarke asked quietly.

"Me," and Lexa shrugged as she lifted her left hand, the golden band around her finger shining. "I know we're married, I've figured that out," and Clarke looked away as her eyes began to water. "Sorry."

"It's ok," and Clarke thought Lexa couldn't do much to break her. Not now, not after all she had been through.

"No it isn't," and Clarke looked up to see a shadow curving against Lexa's cheek as the woman tried to shift a little against the pillows propping her up.

And as Lexa scowled as her arm shook in its support of her weight, Clarke couldn't help but understand and see the frustration that had begun to bubble up in Lexa's mind.

"Hey," and Clarke stood again, and she approached carefully, her hand slow in its approach, and she waited until Lexa met her eyes, before the woman nodded, and then Clarke let her hand close around Lexa's arm as she helped Lexa sit more comfortably.

"Thank you," Lexa said after she had settled, after Clarke found herself back in the chair.

"It's ok," and Clarke tried to smile a little.

But she met Lexa's gaze then, and she saw Lexa's eyes move carefully over her face, she saw Lexa trying to think of whatever question had been constantly returning to the forefront of her mind, whichever question had been plaguing her thoughts.

"You can ask," Clarke offered.

And she saw Lexa bite her lip, she saw Lexa look away at the realisation that she could be read so easily, and perhaps Clarke saw a sadness wash over her as Lexa realised what Clarke's recognition must have meant.

"How did we meet?" and Lexa's gaze turned steady as she met Clarke's, but perhaps Clarke couldn't help but feel the tremble in her lip, and she knew she bit it slightly as she tried to fight down the pain that she knew would return if she let it.

"We were kids," Clarke said, and she knew her voice frayed just a little.

"Oh," and she saw Lexa look away, she saw Lexa curse herself, close her eyes for along moment.

But perhaps talking would help, perhaps saying more could help. And after all the time that Clarke had spent talking to Lexa in her sleep, she was sure it couldn't hurt.

"We were skating," Clarke continued.

"Ice?" and Clarke saw Lexa flinch a little, she saw an uncertainty, a subconscious shrinking from the thought.

"Yeah," and Clarke pondered whether to continue, whether to let the topic stay the course.

"Tell me," and she saw Lexa's eyes hardening, she saw Lexa's eyes turn pleading, and perhaps just a little desperate, a little wanting.

"You were always better at skating than me," Clarke continued, and she saw Lexa look away again. "We were seven," and Clarke worried her lip, she waited until Lexa met her gaze. "I was still holding onto the boards, but you could skate, you wanted to be on the team."

"Hockey?"

"Yeah," and Clarke saw Lexa nod to herself. "I thought you were showing off, but you said it wasn't showing off if you actually could skate."

"Sorry," Lexa whispered as she looked down into her lap, her hands a little thin as she worried her thumbs together.

"It's ok," and Clarke shrugged.

She saw Lexa bite her lip though, she saw Lexa's eyes move across her face and she was sure Lexa tried to sort through what memories she had, what recollections were jumbled within her head. But Clarke saw Lexa frown, she saw Lexa sigh a little before looking away.

"Do you want me to give you some time?" Clarke asked, but perhaps she wasn't so sure she wanted to know Lexa's answer.

"No," and Lexa met her gaze once more. "You can stay," and Clarke watched as Lexa tried to smile. But once again Clarke saw Lexa think over something for only a moment before nodding to herself, before steadying her breath. "Tell me more."

It was an odd thing to see Lexa walking before her. But Clarke thought it a relief too. And she thought it a relief that all the time spent in the hospital had come to an end. If only because she had grown to hate the hospital, she had grown to hate what it had represented. But she had also grown to love it, too. If only because it had kept Lexa from slipping too far away.

And so Clarke sighed, she watched carefully and she felt herself trying to reach out, trying to take a hold of Lexa's elbow, of her arm with each passing step. But Clarke thought Lexa stubborn in her want to cross the distance to the door, to make it to the threshold with little help. But perhaps Clarke could worry her lip, perhaps she could stay just close enough to catch the other woman if she needed it.

And so Clarke swiped away at a strand of hair as she continued to tread behind Lexa.

"Bruce," Clarke began though, and she thought she heard the telltale sounds of his feet padding against the floor.

"Bruce?" and Lexa worried her lip as she turned back to Clarke, walking frame held in thin hands as she paused.

"I forgot to tell you about Bruce," and Clarke smiled as she heard the bark. "Our dog."

"Oh," and Lexa thought. "I think I remember," she said simply, her eyes turning back to a window.

And perhaps Clarke felt just a little hope begin to burn more brightly in her mind at Lexa's words. And perhaps she had hoped memories would return more quickly, more firmly. But she didn't quite mind the uncertainty in Lexa's statements, in Lexa's recollections. If only because she had begun to remember something, anything. And for now? Clarke could be happy with whatever she could take.

And so Clarke worried her lip a little as Lexa slowed as she approached the door, and perhaps now, as Clarke stood besides her, and as Bruce's barking echoed out from behind the door, Clarke wasn't so sure she had thought things through, she wasn't so sure she had registered what Bruce might do when the door opens.

"Let me get in first," Clarke began as she met Lexa's gaze. "I don't want Bruce jumping up on you."

"He has a habit of doing that?" Lexa asked, and Clarke thought she saw her think, try to turn back memories, try to sift through thoughts.

"Yeah," and Clarke worried her lip once more. "He does," and Clarke thought she saw Lexa's lip twitch up slightly. "Just give me a moment," she finished as she turned back to the door.

And so Clarke felt the slight trembling her in fingers as her key scraped against the lock, and she heard Bruce redouble his excitement as the door unlocked. But Clarke stuck her leg into the crack quickly, and she couldn't help but laugh just a little as she felt Bruce run into her knee immediately in his haste to get to Lexa.

She smiled apologetically over her shoulder to Lexa before slipping inside and closing the door. And Clarke couldn't help but laugh just a little as Bruce turned to glare at her, his tail moving back and forth heavily as it slapped against the doorframe.

"I know," Clarke said to him as she knelt, her hand scratching his head. "You have to be gentle, though," and Clarke felt him huff. "You have to be careful," she repeated as she took his face in her hands. "Or am I going to have to get the leash?" and she saw Bruce frown a little before his head tilted to the side. "Careful," she repeated as she stood, her hand pushing Bruce back slightly.

And so Clarke tried to steady her breathing as she reached out for the door handle, but perhaps she felt herself begin to feel the thrill, begin to feel the thrumming in her mind as she saw Lexa's eyes snap to Bruce, as she saw Lexa begin to smile a little, and as she saw Lexa take a few steps forward.

"Hi Bruce," Lexa whispered, and perhaps Clarke could be forgiven for feeling her eyes water just a bit as Bruce shuffled forward carefully, his paw reaching out for Lexa's knee as his tail continued to slap against the doorframe with a low thud.

And perhaps Clarke thought things might be not so bad, not so desperate and painful. If only because she watched as Lexa knelt down weakly, as she sat just inside the front door, and as Bruce whimpered and shuffled onto Lexa's lap, his snout happy to brush against her as his tail continued to dance from the excitement of their reunion.

"This is our room," Clarke said, and perhaps in this moment she felt a little like the teen she had once been. If only because Lexa looked around carefully, her eyebrows quirking together as she tried to piece together whatever it was that settled in her mind.

"It's nice," and Clarke thought she sensed a bashfulness in Lexa's words, in the way her voice seemed to trail off just a little at the ends.

And it was a nice room. It always had been. And perhaps it was because Lexa seemed to always keep candles close by. If only because there had always been a splash of red, had always been a flittering of blue throughout the room.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Clarke continued after a moment.

"N—"

"It's ok," and Clarke knew Lexa would protest. If only because she had always been polite. "I know this is a lot for you to take in," and Clarke worried her lip a little.

"This is as much your room as it was mine," Lexa said though, and Clarke knew she sensed a little uncertainty in Lexa's voice.

"It's still your room," Clarke said. "It's not a problem though," and she shrugged.

And so Lexa made sure their eyes met, and perhaps in that moment Clarke felt as though Lexa searched for something, searched for a way to reorganise the scattering of her mind into something more concrete, more tangible, less broken.

But perhaps she failed. If only because she sighed a little, she looked away for just a moment, and then she met Clarke's gaze once more.

"Ok."

Clarke's thoughts drifted for a long moment in her sleep. And she wasn't so sure whether she fully slept, or whether she merely drifted on that border between sleep and wakefulness. But perhaps she didn't quite mind it. And perhaps she didn't because she could imagine life had played out differently, she could imagine that things weren't so hard, so unfair.

And maybe she could imagine that the year of desperation had never existed. And maybe she could imagine the way she felt now, the way her heart didn't quite settle, the way her thoughts didn't quite accept what had happened and had never taken hold.

But she knew things not so fair.

And so Clarke sighed forcefully, she rolled over on the couch and the pulled the blanket a little more snuggly around her.

And it hadn't been easy. It hadn't been fair. Not the days after Lexa had woken. Not the weeks after she had regained consciousness. But perhaps after almost two months, Clarke had hoped things would have changed for the better.

But above all?

Clarke thought she would endure it again, she thought she would stay vigil forever. And she knew she would.

And so she tried to find a little more comfort on the couch, she tried to let her body slip into its usual ease on the couch and she tried to let her mind fall back to sleep as the moon continued to do whatever it wished through the night's sky.

And perhaps Clarke almost made it. Perhaps she almost let herself fall back into a slumber. And perhaps she almost let the cold take her away for another night.

But her eyes snapped open to the sounds of a light being turned on, to the sounds of restlessness and wakefulness that drifted through the walls.

And it hadn't been unusual, and it wasn't unusual for Lexa to wake in the night, to find it challenging to find sleep when her mind played tricks on her, when her thoughts told her things weren't so real.

And Clarke had learnt to give her space, to give her time, to give her a moment to settle her thoughts, to settle her demons.

But perhaps this time it felt different, perhaps this time it seemed different.

And so Clarke pulled the blanket from her and she gasped out a little at the cold that greeted her body as she sat, her eyes squinting in the dark. Clarke paused for a moment though, she paused and she thought of ignoring that burn in the back of her mind. But her eyes fell to the slight glow that seeped into the living room from behind the bedroom door. And Clarke could picture exactly which light would be on, she could imagine the way the light bounced off the walls, and she could imagine the way it would cast a low shadow over the ceiling.

Clarke waited then. She waited for Lexa's dream to pass, for Lexa's worry and thoughts to settle. Clarke looked to the clock on the far wall, and she counted the minutes, she looked on as time ticked by, and she found herself biting her lip, she found herself worrying as the light in the bedroom didn't turn off when expected.

And so Clarke rose, she let her feet meet the cold of the floor and she felt her way through the living room as what little light glowed gave her direction.

She found herself before the bedroom door then, and she was sure Lexa must have been aware that she stood there, she was sure Lexa would have heard her feet approaching, must have heard the uncertainty in her steps.

But she knocked anyway, she let her knuckles tap against the door and she waited.

"Come in," and perhaps Clarke couldn't help but feel a little hurt at having to knock, at having to ask for permission to enter her own bedroom. But she knew she didn't mind. Not really, anyway.

And so Clarke entered.

It only took her a moment before her eyes fell to Lexa's head that emerged from the side of the bed, her hair ruffled, messy and haphazard from sleep.

"Couldn't sleep?" Clarke asked as she stayed by the doorframe.

"No," and Lexa turned over her shoulder, she pulled her gaze from the window and she met Clarke's eyes. "Bad dreams," Lexa finished.

"I can get you something," Clarke said more quietly now. "Tea? Coffee?" and perhaps she felt a little saddened that she knew not what Lexa needed.

"I'm ok," and Lexa turned back to the window.

"Ok," and Clarke bit her lip slightly as she looked away, as she tried to settle her thoughts. "I'll let you g—"

"Wait," and she looked up to see Lexa looking at her once more. "Can you stay?"

And perhaps Clarke imagined it, perhaps she merely wanted to hear the want, the need, the plea in Lexa's voice. But perhaps simply wanting it was enough for her in this moment.

"Ok," and Clarke let her breath go in a shaky exhale as she began to move to Lexa's side.

Lexa moved over a little though, and Clarke couldn't help but smile as she knelt down carefully, her back coming to lean halfway into the warmth Lexa had left behind.

"I'm sorry," Lexa began quietly, her eyes turning back to the window before them, to the way the moon shone quietly in the distance and to the way the snow never seemed to find solid ground in its journey from the skies.

"For what?" Clarke asked.

"For taking so long to remember," Lexa said.

"You don't have to apologise, Lexa," Clarke said.

"Maybe I don't," Lexa whispered. "But I want to."

And Lexa paused then, and Clarke thought Lexa had more to say, had more to voice. And so it didn't surprise her when Lexa sighed forcefully, when she took in a deep breath.

Lexa turned to her once more then, and Clarke saw her eyes become a little open, a little worried and unsure.

"Can—" and Lexa choked on the words she tried to form. "Can I hold your hand?"

And Clarke smiled. And she didn't think it a happy thing, she didn't think it a relieved thing, either. But perhaps she thought the smile that spread across her lips was hopeful. And so she reached out carefully, her hand slow in its approach, and Clarke looked down to see Lexa meet her half way.

And Clarke couldn't help but feel her lip tremble, she couldn't help but feel her heart begin to beat more furiously in her chest as Lexa wove their fingers together, as Lexa seemed to try to settle into the gesture.

"I miss this," Lexa said simply.

"I do, too," and Clarke let her gaze fall to the window once more.

"I'm sorry I forgot so much," Lexa said.

And Clarke knew she heard the pain in her voice, she knew she heard the frustration, too.

"I am, too," and perhaps the truth was what they needed.

But Lexa hummed out an answer, something distant, something not so present. And as Clarke looked back to her, she was sure Lexa's mind elsewhere.

"If they don't come back," Lexa continued, and Clarke knew she spoke of memories, of times shared, moments had.

"They will," Clarke added quietly.

She felt Lexa squeeze her hand though.

"If they don't," and Lexa took a steadying breath. "Can we make new ones?"

"Of course," and perhaps Clarke felt unsure of where Lexa went with her words.

"Even after everyth—"

"Hey," and perhaps Clarke sensed the doubt in Lexa's voice. "We're in this together, Lexa," and Clarke shifted so that she sat in front of Lexa, so that Lexa couldn't try to hide from her. "No matter what, I'm not going anywhere."

But Clarke saw Lexa's lip tremble, she saw Lexa's eyes begin to water.

"I feel like I'm letting us down," Lexa whispered, and Clarke saw her eyes begin to roam her face.

"You haven't," and Clarke squeezed Lexa's hand once more. "I love you," and Clarke watched as a tear fell down Lexa's cheek. "I know I haven't said it, and I wanted to give you space. But it's true."

"I'm sorry," Lexa whispered once more.

"We have our whole lives ahead of us, Lex," and Clarke smiled behind the tears she felt blurring her own gaze now.

"But sti—"

"Hey," Clarke whispered.

And she reached out tentatively, slowly, carefully enough that Lexa could move, could lean away from the gesture. But she didn't. And so Clarke let her finger brush the tear away from Lexa's cheek.

"But everything I'm missing, all those memories," Lexa countered.

"We can make new ones, Lex," and Clarke smiled, and she nodded to herself. And perhaps it hurt that Lexa struggled to recall, struggled to remember. But perhaps the thought of new memories, of new moments to share, wasn't so daunting, wasn't so sad.

If only because Clarke could share them with Lexa.

"We can have our firsts again," Clarke continued. "First dates, first sleepovers," and she smiled as Lexa's eyes rolled. "First kisses," and Clarke took a moment to think before continuing. "And if and when your memories come back? Then that's ok, too. Because we'll have two sets of firsts. And isn't that special? Who else gets to have firsts twice?"

Lexa nodded quietly though, and Clarke was sure she saw a hope begin to flare up in the other woman's gaze.

But both women turned to the sounds of feet padding quietly across the floor, and Clarke felt her lips turn up slightly as she saw Bruce making his way to them through the dark, his tail swishing back and forth quietly before he settled himself between them.

"I didn't wake him, did I?" Lexa whispered.

"No," and Clarke smiled a little as she ran a hand through Bruce's hair. "He's ok," and she shrugged a little.

"He's not so bad," Lexa said after a moment though, and Clarke looked up to see Lexa holding Bruce's gaze for a long moment.

"What do you mean?"

"I know he isn't a meat eating horse," and Lexa looked up to meet Clarke's gaze then, and perhaps this time Clarke was sure Lexa's eyes held firm and steady. "But Bruce is a real dog."

"Yeah," and Clarke felt the smile begin to settle more comfortably across her lips. And perhaps in that moment Clarke felt that despite the pain, things would turn out for the best. "He is."