Four Years Ago

They meet in English class, in their ninth year. Alexandria Woods is the nervous new girl – Clarke Griffin is the one to welcome her with open arms.

Clarke understands the feeling of being left out all too well – as a child, the other fourth-graders around her thought it was strange that Clarke would rather stay inside for lunch hour, painting with the watercolors that Ms. Ryan would provide her with, instead of playing freeze tag. Clarke was never really invited to many birthday parties.

It's Clarke who extends the offer for Lexa to be her partner when their English teacher assigns a group project.

She leans over to Wells.

"I'm going to ask the new girl to be my partner."

"What? You can't ditch me. I thought it was always me doing the writing, you doing the creative, artsy stuff," Wells whispers, "This is totally messing up the balance."

"C'mon, Wells, don't be a drama queen," she murmurs back, "Everyone else in this class already knows each other. You know that thing people do? When the teacher tells the class it'll be a pairs project, and everyone looks at the person they want to be in the pair with? No one did it to Alexandria. How much would it suck to be the only one no one chooses?"

Wells sinks back in his seat, begrudgingly agreeing to the suggestion.

When it's time to get up and go to your chosen partner, Clarke sees Alexandria look up and around in a panic as everyone moves to their best friends' desk. Wells goes to Parker Moore, an old friend from their elementary school. Clarke walks towards Alexandria's desk.

"Did you have a partner in mind?"

Alexandria, startled, glances up at Clarke, then around the classroom again. Clarke suddenly starts feeling nervous, which is strange, because Clarke usually doesn't feel nervous in scenarios involving meeting new people.

Alexandria turns back to Clarke. "Erm. Not really, seeing as I don't know the names of anyone in this class. Did you – did you have one in mind?"

"I was thinking you, actually," Clarke says, pulling up the empty chair at the desk beside Alexandria's, and seating herself beside her. "If you wanted, that is."

Alexandria seems to sigh a little in relief. "Oh, okay. Thank god. I didn't want to presume you wanted to be my partner or anything, but I'd love to be your partner. For sure. Thanks so much."

Clarke grins, and extends a hand. "I'm Clarke. You're Alexandria, yeah?"

"Yes, but you can call me Lexa. It's less of a mouthful. I'm not entirely sure what my parents were thinking when they named me with a five-syllable name."

"Okay. Lexa. Down to two." Clarke smiles at the girl again – she still feels nervous. Lexa Woods makes her feel nervous, and Clarke isn't sure why, but she's pinning it on the fact that Lexa seems like she's really smart (she's got T.S. Eliot on her desk and a textbook indicates that she's apparently in Advanced Placement Sciences), and Clarke hopes she isn't about to completely get shown up by this new girl.

(Also, Lexa Woods is incredibly pretty, and Clarke always feels nervous around pretty girls, but she thinks this is because it's just pretty people in general who make her nervous. Whatever. It's whatever.)

It's a rickety start, but Lexa thinks she will like this little high school. The people here in Canyon City are nicer than they were in Prineville.

Clarke and Lexa get started on their project – the assignment is to construct a creative interpretation of any novels they have read. Clarke and Lexa opt to do a graphic novel of T.S. Eliot's The Hollow Men.

Lexa goes over to Clarke's house to work on the project. Abigail and Jacob Griffin give her a hearty greeting, inviting Lexa to stay for dinner within ten minutes of meeting her, and Lexa politely accepts the invitation.

Lexa is not sure why this girl is being so friendly towards her – in her previous school, an all-girls Catholic school – the girls had always been standoffish, closed off – Clarke Griffin is the complete opposite of this. Lexa is a little thrown off by her character, but she likes the girl already. Clarke's got a soothing, slightly husky voice, and a calm demeanor about her. She has kind, bright blue eyes that make Lexa feel as if she is truly being listened to when she speaks. Lexa is thrilled that she has possibly already made a new friend, only within a week of switching schools. A cool new friend.

Clarke and Lexa go up to Clarke's room – her parents have apparently given her the entire space of the attic, and for good reason. Lexa's mouth opens ever so slightly when she sees the spectacle before her.

There is art. Everywhere. Acrylic paintings on canvases, hyper-realistic sketches of various people of all shapes and colors and sizes, even little doodles on scrap pieces of lined paper that had clearly originally been used for math homework. There is no telling what color the walls are, as every inch is covered with some form of artwork.

"Oh, wow," is all Lexa can manage to breathe out when she sees it. Clarke turns to her, a little confused.

"Huh?" Clarke then follows Lexa's gaze towards the walls. "Oh." She laughs nervously, scratching the back of her head. "Yeah, I know, I really need to organize my room a bit, some of these dumb pieces are years old, and my room is a mess –"

"No, no, I mean – wow. These are – these are really something else, Clarke."

Clarke is right, though – the room is a bit of a mess, but in a – in a cute way? Lexa can't help but think that it somehow suits the girl. Lexa moves towards one of the bigger canvases – a large, Picasso-esque painting of a colorful face. "Art, then? That's what you do?"

Lexa sees Clarke shrug, and clear a bunch of papers off of the large table. "Yeah, I mean – I'm mostly doing it as a hobby right now. I know it's totally unrealistic to be pursuing, like, art as a career, so I'm keeping it as a hobby. It's hard to get noticed out there, so I'm not too hopeful. As much as I'd love to make a living off of making art, no one really takes me seriously when I say it." Clarke laughs nervously, and Lexa turns to look at her.

She understands the way Clarke is acting right now – Lexa sees it in herself. The way her parents look at her when she says she needs to practice her violin. How reluctant they were to sign the consent forms for Lexa to go on a tour with her orchestra group. Lexa takes a seat across from Clarke. She takes a breath, hoping none of what she says comes off as too forward. "Sorry if I'm way off base here, but… you feel like you need to justify yourself, right?"

It's definitely too forward, but Lexa knows exactly what Clarke is doing – after all, she does the same thing. Playing down her musical ambition, because 'it's not a viable career option'. She'd all but given up on trying to explain herself to her family; they were so narrow-minded about it all.

Her nerves make her babble on, regardless of how aware Lexa is that she needs to stop talking.

"I mean, you shouldn't, have to, but I understand why you do. I m-mean, I have to explain to people that all I want in life is to sit first violin in the Philharmonic. But it's not a 'real job', or whatever, so people don't get it. But – well, yeah. Anyway, sorry – it's none of my business, but I had to saysomething."

There's a moment where Clarke just stares at Lexa, and Lexa is more or less ready to pick up her bag and leave, but slowly, Clarke speaks.

"That's – that's literally exactly it. Yeah. I feel like I'm always – I feel like I always have to compensate for it all. When people ask what I want to do, I tell them I want to do art, but then I immediately add on something like, I'm doing really well in school for English and Maths and stuff. So I have a fallback. Don't judge me, you know?"

"Yes, and I tell people I'm taking AP courses and am considering majoring in Political Science instead, since my parents want me to, and they're always so relieved to hear that I have a "more realistic" plan. It's ridiculous. I'm so glad you can relate."

"Jeez, yeah. Thankfully my parents have been so supportive of me wanting to pursue art as a career, but I'm not so lucky when it comes to other people."

"My parents pretend I don't even play the violin," Lexa says, a little bitterly, but then she realizes that Clarke has no idea who Lexa really is, and she immediately backtracks. "Sorry, that made me sound like such a bratty daughter, but –"

"No, it's fine!" Clarke reaches over to briefly touch a hand to Lexa's forearm. Lexa blinks at the contact, but she thinks she likes it. "I'm really sorry to hear that, but honestly – screw what they say. If you're good at violin, then great for you. I don't think it's fair for any parent to make their kid do something they don't want to do in favor of something the kid wants to do. That's just asking for a miserable child."

"My parents are both Catholic and very political."

Lexa sees the look in Clarke's eyes shift from brightness to a wary kind of suspicion – just like most peoples' do when Lexa tells them this news. "But I'm not," she adds on hastily. "They just want me to go into political sciences and be religious nuts like them, but – I managed to learn different ideals. I'm not really Christian and I think their political ideals are bullshit and belong in the 17th century."

Clarke's eyes are bright again. "Good for you, Lex. Seriously. Stick it to the man, or whatever," she says, grinning.

Lexa gives Clarke a small smile back. She definitely likes Clarke Griffin.

The two of them spend about five minutes in total actually working on their project – the other three are spent talking away about art, violin, classical music, classical art.

Clarke has never met anyone quite like Lexa Woods, she thinks.

Lexa has dinner with the Griffins, and it is simultaneously wildly entertaining and a little stressful. Clarke's parents are just so smart. Her mother is a neurosurgeon, and her father is a mechanical engineer. Lexa can see bits of Clarke's personality from both Abigail and Jacob Griffin. She can also see that Jacob and Clarke seem to have a mutual level of respect for each other; it's different from what anything Lexa has seen from a father-daughter relationship before. Abigail is kind, but Lexa can tell she can be sharp, disciplined, if she needs to be.

After dinner, Clarke takes her to a lake near her house and they sit on the dock for another three hours with hardly a moment of silence between then – and any silence that does occur is comfortable. Clarke sits close to Lexa because it's getting a little cold, but Lexa doesn't feel the cold because she just feels the warmth of the happiness she feels about finding a new friend like Clarke.

They hug goodbye and Lexa is still feeling warm and happy by the time she gets back home.

She doesn't even care when her mother yells at her for coming home late.

During her high school years, Lexa goes to a psychiatrist once a week. Her parents had forced her to start going at an early age, when Lexa's constant, overwhelming fear of going to school and her general dislike of her classmates started to worry them.

Her psychiatrist, Dr. Anya Lachman, quickly realizes that the problem lies within the school Lexa goes to, and the way her parents treat her. She diagnoses Lexa with mild generalized anxiety disorder, and Anya is the one to recommend to Lexa's parents that she switch to a public school. A suggestion that Lexa had been making to her parents for years, but one that was only taken seriously when it came from a trained professional.

Anya remains as Lexa's psychiatrist, only a half hour drive away from Lexa's home.

Clarke and Lexa have now known each other for two months, and Lexa has already found a best friend in the blonde.

"…So would it be safe for me to say that she is quite important to you, even at this early stage in your relationship?" Anya asks.

"Well, I … I guess so."

"You guess? You don't sound entirely convinced by what I'm saying."

"N-no, perhaps not. I don't know, I mean, I barely know her, is all. How am I supposed to come to any sort of conclusion about that?"

"Consider this - for the majority of this session, you've done little else but talk about Clarke, and the impact she's had on your start at your new school, and additionally, if my memory serves correctly, you've yet to talk about anyone at length during our time together, other than your immediate family."

"I, uh, I hadn't noticed."

"No. This is significant, though, Lexa. I've known you for a good number of years now, and I don't think I've seen you this content. Clarke must be quite something."

"You have no idea, at all. She's wonderful. And I'm really glad to have met her, and to have switched schools. I feel different." Lexa smiles. "Happier. Much, much happier."

The day Clarke's father dies, Lexa has known Clarke for a little less than a year, and she panics when Clarke stops responding to her Facebook messages and texts. Lexa considers calling her, but if she's done something wrong, she's sure Clarke does not want to be pestered any further.

Six hours after the last text Lexa had sent Clarke, her phone vibrates. A response. Lexa had been practicing her violin as a means of distraction when she all but flung it on the bed to read the message.

Clarke

i'm sorry i haven't responded to anything

Lexa

That's fine

Did I do something?

Sorry if that seems totally selfish of me, but I'm worried

There's no response for around ten minutes and Lexa feels like she is going to vomit as she goes over all of the possible reasons Clarke could be mad at her.

Her phone finally vibrates again.

Clarke

my dad died

Lexa's hands go cold and her stomach drops and her mouth opens and the biggest throat-lump of all time starts to materialize.

Lexa

I'm sorry (DELETED)

Holy shit are you okay (DELETED)

Clarke

Is there anything I can do. I'm so sorry.

Clarke

i don't know

my mom is still at the hospital she brought me back home and she's back there right now

A long pause. Lexa's thumbs hover over the keyboard, unsure if she is supposed to respond or not.

Clarke

can you come over i don't want to be alone right now

Lexa has never ridden her bike anywhere faster.

She gets there and the door is unlocked. The house is dark and Lexa feels incredibly intrusive as she moves upstairs, to where the office and Abigail and Jake Griffin's bedroom is. She sees a shaft of light coming from the ladder leading to Clarke's attic room, and she climbs up halfway, not quite poking her head through the entrance, yet.

"Clarke?"

She hears Clarke's voice, brittle and quiet, and Lexa is almost afraid to enter.

"Yeah. Come in."

Lexa walks in to see Clarke sitting cross-legged in the middle of the vast area, sitting on the dry paint-covered cloth and furiously scribbling away on a large sketchpad. The sketchpad covers Clarke's face, and the back of the sketchpad faces Lexa. Lexa slowly walks towards her friend to see that her face is surprisingly blank, without emotion.

"Heart attack," Clarke says, still scribbling on the page. Lexa looks at the page to see that there's not much going on – a semblance of a human face, but with scribbles all over it. It's quite haunting. "I found him in the living room on the couch. I thought he was sleeping. Tried to wake him up. He always falls asleep during cooking shows."

Lexa's heart aches. Her hands still feel cold. Everything still feels cold. She knows that Clarke's life has now been changed forever, and the most selfish part of her wonders if that will impact their friendship at all.

"I'm sorry, Clarke." Lexa's voice comes out as a whisper as she sits beside Clarke, cross-legged also, knee touching knee.

Clarke says nothing. She just keeps scribbling. Lexa watches, at a loss for words. She has known loss in the form of her grandmother dying, but her grandmother had lived a full life, passing at the age of ninety-four. Clarke's father was forty-five. An engineer. One of the top workers at his firm. A beautiful wife. A beautiful daughter. Gone.

Suddenly, Clarke's pencil snaps, but she keeps scribbling on the page. Lexa turns to her to see that tears are forming heavy heavy heavy at the bottom of Clarke's bright blue eyes.

"Clarke." Lexa reaches over, tucks a stray strand of hair behind Clarke's ear. The tears spill over and Clarke's face screws up with the effort to not cry.

"Clarke," Lexa repeats it once and Clarke is suddenly sobbing, collapsing into Lexa, her whole body heaving as she cries. Lexa has never seen Clarke like this before. Lexa has never seen Clarke cry before. Lexa, herself, cries with the sight of it all.

"You don't just leave someone like that," Clarke manages to choke out. Lexa strokes her hair, kisses the top of her head. "We were supposed to go fishing this weekend. I don't even – I don't even fucking like fishing and he asked me to go with him. You don't – you don't just leave someone – you don't do that –"

"I'm right here, Clarke," Lexa says, wiping her own tears off her cheeks. "I won't leave. It's okay. I'm here."

They fall asleep, Clarke in Lexa's arms, at around 2 in the morning. Abigail Griffin comes home after making funeral arrangements at the hospital to find that Clarke's attic door is still open and the light is still on. Her face is puffy but she knows she cannot cry while her daughter is in front of her. It would destroy her.

She finds her daughter in her bed, wrapped in Lexa Woods' arms. Abigail moves towards them. She leans over their sleeping bodies.

"Thank you, Lexa," she whispers.

Abigail kisses both of their foreheads goodnight and gently places the blanket on top of them, switching the light off and closing the attic door as she leaves.

Present Day

Clarke watches as movers load her artwork into a van for the auction, although "watches" is a bit of a loose term – she feels like she's watching smaller, not-green versions of The Hulk roughly handling her artwork, fumbling about with the canvases. When two of them pick up one particular piece and one of the men almost trips over the curb, she surges forward, stopping when he regains his balance. Raven watches her, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

"Calm down, they've got it. Which one is that one?" she asks. "I didn't have a chance to get a glimpse."

Clarke doesn't take her eyes off of the piece when she responds. "Terrible Love."

Raven lets out a low whistle. "You're auctioning it off?"

"It's about time I do. I've had people pass by it in my studio and offer thousands for it." Clarke feels a little less tense when the piece is safely loaded on to the van.

"You told me just last year that you wouldn't even think about selling it."

"Well, I did."

"Are you sure you want to –"

"Raven." Clarke shuts her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry, but I'm extremely stressed out about this right now. No, I'm not sure, but it's something that I think I have to do." She puts her hand down, starting to feel incredibly overwhelmed with the reality of it all, yet again.

"Hey." Her friend's voice is quieter, and Clarke feels an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I think you're right. Small steps."

Clarke smiles briefly. "Okay. Let's get the rest of this out, and we can start packing for the flight."

Marcus Kane, the conductor, tells Lexa that he has yet to see anyone of her age play the violin as well as she does. Lexa plays Chaconne for him once, twice, and the third time he is brought to tears. Lexa is complimented by members of the orchestra constantly, many of them wondering why she quit playing – amongst those people is Costia.

There is less than 24 hours left until the orchestra leaves for Carnegie Hall, and Costia and Lexa have been practicing together in Lexa's apartment allday.

"We could record the piece," she says. "And you could show your parents, and they could get their socks knocked off once they see you. I mean, I don't think you're allowed recording devices, but Dave could probably use his GoPro or something –"

"Tried that," Lexa says, continuing the tenth measure. "Grade ten. They criticized the person who filmed it, said their hands were so shaky. Nothing else."

"God, that's upsetting," Costia murmurs. "I don't know how I would have even continued playing if my parents were so awful about it like they were with you."

"I…had support from friends," Lexa manages.

"That can usually make all the difference, yeah," Costia remarks, scribbling down a few notes in her sheet music. "You've yet to tell me anything about what your life was like before college." She looks up, smiles at Lexa. "Any friends back home? Sweethearts?"

Lexa could do it. She could talk about everything that happened with Clarke with someone for the first time. She wishes she were still living in Oregon, so that she could see Dr. Lachman again.

But telling Costia requires telling Costia about the part where she sleeps with her female best friend and leaves her alone in her bed. Lexa knows she is a monster for doing it. She does not want others to know.

"I had a few friends here and there," she says politely, turning the page of her sheet music. "Nothing special."

Clarke remembers all of it.

Every memory associated with each of her paintings. Every emotion.

She sees her piece mounted as the centerpiece of the exhibit at Carnegie Hall. It's called Terrible Love, named after The National song, and she remembers every feeling that ever came with it.

The painting is giant, almost as tall as Clarke is, and it's all shades of blue, outlines in black. Two women are in opposite corners of the painting, and they appear to be floating, hair flying astray. Their profiles are faceless apart from their eyes and the bumps of their noses. The woman in the bottom left corner has eyes that look like sadness. The woman in the top right corner has eyes that look like fear. The woman in the bottom left corner reaches for the others hand while the other draws back.

A voice sounds from behind her. "Truly poignant."

Startled, Clarke whirls to see a brunette man wearing a suit. He has kind eyes and a little bit of scruff, and Clarke is suddenly reminded of her father.

He extends a hand. "Sorry if I alarmed you. My name is Marcus Kane. I'm the conductor of the orchestra that will be playing tomorrow evening."

Clarke takes it. "Clarke Griffin."

Once they draw back, Marcus studies the painting even further. Clarke can't help but feel a little uncomfortable – while her and Raven are the only two who know the story behind the piece, it feels as if she has exposed a part of herself to this stranger, and he is scrutinizing every aspect of it.

"I love how these figures only have eyes." He turns to Clarke, who is now beside him. "They say so much more than any full-faced painting I have ever seen. I feel as if I almost recognize this one's eyes on the top right – is that fear I see? And sadness in the bottom left?"

"Thank you," Clarke murmurs, "And yes."

"The blue tones tell me that this has all of the different tenors of sadness a human can feel," he continues. Clarke is greatly appreciative of this – close analyses of her artwork has always made her feel as if her art is something more than just people taking one glimpse and exclaiming "oh my goodness, such a beautiful painting!"

Marcus tilts his head as he observes. "Have you heard of the term synesthesia?" he asks.

Clarke nods. "Sachs. Hearing colours or seeing sounds."

"Mozart was one said to have a form of synesthesia. He saw sounds and said that the key of D major had a sort of a warm, orange sound to it, while B-flat minor was black. I see this and I think of…" Marcus hums quietly, eyes looking over the painting. "E minor."

Clarke's father used to play the guitar – she knows the chord. "I think that's what I was hearing when I painted this."

"I can tell there is a story behind this one, more than the others," Marcus murmurs, looking around the gallery of Clarke's art. "The others have stories, too, but this one – this one has something about it. It tells me that you never backtracked on a stroke, never planned out any of the outlines."

That is exactly how Clarke painted it. The day after graduation, when it had sunk in for her that she might never see Lexa Woods again. She had sat down in her attic for the last time before moving out and painted this. She painted this for four hours, not pausing for a second, not erasing any outlines.

Marcus turns to Clarke again. "Would you be willing to tell me the story behind this piece?"

Clarke shifts nervously, biting her lip. "It's just about fear holding someone away from reaching back. A terrible love. A love that's there between people like –" us "-like the two girls in this painting, but one that won't ever materialize into anything substantial."

"A frantic kind of sadness," Marcus hums. "Thank you for that, Clarke. It must be a little bittersweet, parting with this one."

"Who knows if anyone will buy it?" Clarke chuckles. "Part of me hopes no one likes it, and then I'll pretend to feel begrudged as I bring it back home."

"Why auction it off?"

Clarke looks down at her feet, then back up at Marcus Kane. "I've recently started to let go of a lot of things in my life. This is the beginning of that for me."

"Well, congratulations on your first step, Miss Griffin," Marcus says, smiling kindly at Clarke. "I'm excited to see the full setup for your show tomorrow."

"As I am with yours."

Lexa wears a flowing black dress that covers her feet, and a necklace made of gold, pendant shaped into a circle – a necklace that her grandmother gave to her years ago, the same one that Lexa always wore to every concert she ever performed in. The dress hugs her figure perfectly, blending in with her tanned skin. She had allowed the orchestra's makeup guru (and stand-up bass player) to get her "just a tiny bit dolled up".

"Gosh, Lexa," Costia says from behind her as Lexa looks at herself in the lengthwise mirror. "You look stunning."

"Thank you," Lexa says, eyes straying down to her feet as she blushes slightly. She's had no reason to get dressed up in years – no concerts, no grad events – and for the first time in a while, she feels beautiful. She feels good about herself, her violin in one hand, bow in another.

"Are you feeling ready?"

Lexa nods. She's got Chaconne memorized and could play it in her sleep at this point – it's just the nerves that come with performing in front of a crowd that gets to her. "A little nervous, but I'm ready."

"I guess you haven't performed in front of an audience in two years, huh?" Costia says, moving next to Lexa and touching up the rest of her makeup. She looks quite beautiful, too.

Lexa used to be able to perform well in front of audiences knowing that She was always there with them. She would know that it wouldn't matter to Her how many mistakes she made, if she made any (she didn't), and that was all that was important to her.

"Just imagine the crowd naked," Costia says, smirking. "Works for me."

Lexa chuckles, shaking her head. "I'll give it a shot. So, what's the procedure, again?"

"We're going to be playing for an hour and thirty minutes. The last song we'll play will be Chaconne – your cue will be one of the backstage crew hustling you out onto the stage, and you'll stand on the right side of Marcus, facing the audience, and then Marcus is going to give a little speech thanking you, Alexandria Woods, for being so generous as to lending your incredible talent to our orchestra for a night. He hopes you'll join us after this experience," Costia says, nudging Lexa slightly. Lexa laughs again.

"Maybe," she says.

Clarke wears black dress pants with a beige blouse and a black blazer. Raven calls it a "power suit", but Clarke calls it "an outfit that'll make the old white dudes attending this event possibly respect me a little more when they find out the artist of the night is a young blonde woman". Raven purses her lips, but then she agrees.

She is not obligated to go to the orchestra's show tonight, but she truly misses classical music, and Raven is eager to go with her.

Her and Raven grab seats at the front row of the balconies, directly facing the stage. The audience settles down as the orchestra is brought onto the stage, and Clarke sees Marcus Kane take his place at the front. Clarke notes that he apparently does not use a baton to conduct his orchestra.

The MC for the night goes to the podium on the left of the stage, and introduces the Berkeley orchestra. Marcus bows as the crowd applauds them in welcome, and he turns back to the orchestra, raising his hands.

You could hear a pin drop, the way the audience goes silent. Clarke almost feels as if she must hold her breath, as even that feels far too loud.

Listz. Tchaikovsky. Mahler. Schubert. Clarke can name them all without Marcus saying a word to introduce the songs. Clarke knows them because she has listened to each piece with Lexa.

Her eyes are closed for most of the time, allowing the sounds to wash over her. She sees the colors that go with each chord, feels the emotions that Mahler must have felt as he wrote Symphony No. 5, understands every movement that Marcus makes to conduct his orchestra.

Her eyes are still closed by the time the next song finishes. The audience stays silent until the last ringing chord from the cello ends, and they remain silent until the vibrations stop moving through the theatre.

Once she opens her eyes, she stands with the rest of the audience as she applauds. She looks to Raven to see that her friend's eyes have gone a little misty.

They sit back down and the elderly woman sitting beside Clarke turns to her. Her eyes are a little wet, too.

"Truly beautiful," she whispers.

Clarke nods. Suddenly, she feels Raven poking her arm. She feels Raven starting to poke her arm, fast, but Clarke ignores her as she continues speaking with the woman.

"I haven't been to a classical concert in years," Clarke says back, smiling. "It looks like that was a huge mistake."

Raven is still poking her. Frustrated, Clarke whirls to face her friend. "What?"

Raven is not looking at Clarke, but at the stage. Her lips are parted. Her eyes reflect nothing but shock.

Clarke turns to follow Raven's gaze.

She sees a beautiful brunette woman in a black dress, holding a violin, striding towards Marcus, kissing his cheek in greeting, and taking her place beside him.

Clarke knows that woman. She knows her. She knows what necklace the woman is wearing. She feels cold, all of a sudden. As if she had once been in a warm, heated room in the middle of the winter, but the windows have flown open and cold, brittle wind fills the space around her.

Words do not come to her. They can't anyway, because the audience has gone silent again, and Clarke feels frozen in her seat. She feels Raven grip her wrist tightly, as if Raven is afraid that Clarke will run away.

(It's a good thing, too, because Clarke feels like that is a very possible possibility.)

Marcus is given a microphone by the MC. "I know that in your brochures, it detailed a Vanessa Lee playing the spotlight solo of the night. Unfortunately, by the time the brochures were mass-printed, Miss Lee dropped out due to unforeseen circumstances. But there is always a silver lining to every dark cloud."

Marcus turns to the brunette, who gives him a small smile. "We could not find anyone who could learn the Chaconne solo in time for this concert. Just as we considered dropping the piece, which would call for a rather lackluster finale, the classical gods gave us a blessing. A blessing in the form of one of the most talented young violinists I have ever seen."

Clarke breathes in sharply.

"Ladies and Gentlemen; I would like you all to give a warm welcome, and thank-you, to Alexandria Woods."

Clarke's hands are shaking.

Lexa brings her violin up to her chin. She tunes with the orchestra.

Then there is silence again as Marcus raises his hands.

The low notes begin. They strike minor chords and Clarke doesn't have to close her eyes to see whirls of dark greys, dark blues, black. All surrounding Lexa.

Marcus turns to Lexa as the orchestra plays their chords. He gives Lexa her cue.

Lexa begins to play and Clarke's ears begin to ring. She sees the same kind of passion she saw in all of Lexa's previous concerts; Lexa moves with the music, her eyes closed, not needing to read any sheet music. It is as if with every movement she makes, a note plays. It almost feels as if you could not have one without the other – the music without the movement, the movement without the music. Clarke feels the woman beside her shift, and she watches as the woman places a hand over her heart. Then her eyes are back on Lexa. Raven's hand loosens with every note that is played. Clarke exhales slowly, realizing that she has been holding her breath. Her body trembles when the song grows louder, crescendos that make her feel as if she is being swept away in the most powerful kind of wind.

The song is ten minutes long, but it feels like one. The final chords play and Lexa moves as if the chords sway her and Clarke feels like she could go down on her knees for her.

The final chords play. Clarke's heart is still beating out of her chest. She is crying, but she does not realize until the audience is cheering louder than they have all night, on their feet, and Clarke remains seated, stunned, with Raven by her side. Lexa holds her violin back down at her side as she looks around the stage and the audience with wonder, and Clarke sees a 16-year-old Lexa Woods telling her that her dream is to play in front of an audience at Carnegie Hall.

Marcus takes Lexa's hand, gives her a hearty hug, and the orchestra all stands up to take their bow when Lexa and Marcus do.

"You did it," Clarke whispers.

"You did it."