snowed-in | clexa

two

Clarke regrets not taking her luggage with her when she's in Lexa's bathroom, looking at that 2-in-1 shampoo and body wash that's the only thing standing in Lexa's bathroom.

2-in-1.

Clarke could literally cry. Who even uses that anymore?

And how does Lexa not know about hair masks, conditioner, body scrubs and the such?

She sighs and applies the body wash with closed eyes. She'll just need to grab that stupid journal from Maria and then, she'll be back on her way to New York. Why does Maria even have it? Who is Maria that she has Jake Griffin's journal?

God. She can't wait to go to the QC with Raven.

Lexa's body wash smells of wood and pine- how fitting for a loner in some tiny cabin in the middle of the mountains. Not exactly Clarke's usual flowery scent, though.

Clarke enjoys the hot bath until it runs cold; if she's already stuck here for a night, she might as well make the best out of it. Close her eyes and pretend she's in the fancy chalet in the Alps she visited last winter. It smells a little like the pine forests there.

She can't actually ski. It looks fun, but Cillian, her then-boyfriend, was such a hardcore skier that if Clarke had agreed on learning, he wouldn't have let her do anything else the whole vacation, and Clarke really needed to be in the spa all day and enjoy the view too.

Cillian fought so hard with her over her not wanting to ski that she was almost glad he was out all day while she had her relaxation.

Now, she simply pretends it's the same. She's in the alps in her room with a hot bath. She's about to go out to a fancy dinner. She's had a stress-free day.

The champagne and room service and spa is missing, but Clarke can ignore that for a night. Better than freezing to death in her car.

When the water is cold, she gets out of the bath, dries off-

"Fuck," she curses under her breath.

-and realises she doesn't have any clothes to change into.

-

Lexa is reading the book Anya packed for her, a new Christmas thriller, just the bloody and creepy kind Anya would recommend. But Lexa has to admit, the author really put the charm of Christmas into words and twisted it into something gross.

The perfect book for a night by the fireplace on a snowy night in December.

The main character, who's stuck in a secluded hotel with the other characters, of which one is the killer, is just walking into the kitchen to get the cookies meant to calm the group of survivors down; a bad idea, but only the reader knows that.

She grabs a cookie from the counter and a shudder runs down Lexa's back when she remembers of whose blood the sweet red icing consists. Clueless, the main character opens the hot oven to get the rest of the cookies out, straightens up to grab the oven gloves, freezes when she feels a cold breath at the base of her neck-

"Lexa?"

Lexa almost expects to see a middle-aged man with moustache (Clarke was right, serial killers do favor those) and sunken eyes, a deranged look on his face and a kitchen knife in hands- the man is her personal suspect right now, anyway. The book is pointing to a maid, but Lexa doesn't believe it.

Instead, of course, it's Clarke.

And God, Lexa's poor heart.

First, she's interrupted at one of the most thrilling parts, secondly, she jumps to the conclusion that the murderer must be in her cabin for a second and then thirdly, Clarke stands on the crooked wooden stairs in nothing but Lexa's small white towel.