"I'm sorry," is what Lexa greets her with when she opens the door. "I'm not too late, am I?"
Clarke smiles. "Considering it's just the two of us, you're just in time." She swallows. Breathes in to keep her heartbeat even. Just the two of them.
A spark flashes in green eyes that's nothing short of joyful before Lexa shifts on her feet, awkwardly cradling a brown paper bag to her chest. "So..."
"Oh! Yeah, come in," Clarke steps to the side, gesturing for Lexa to enter. She's not sure if the nerves running through her body are her own or a reflection of Lexa's. Could be a combination of both. She hasn't seen Lexa after their date night a week ago when she proposed they spend the holiday together, and she can't lie about nervous, almost giddy anticipation coiled in her stomach as she lets Lexa in. This whole week was spent preparing for just one night.
Lexa's cheeks are flushed from the cold, and her coat is unbuttoned, hanging askew on her figure. She's uncharacteristically frazzled as she stares at Clarke, not quite knowing what to do with her hands, and God help her Clarke wishes she wanted to ignore the tender pang in her chest at the sight.
But she doesn't. All she wants to do is laugh and mess up her wavy hair even more and make her chase her around the apartment until-- "Did you drive here straight from the gala?"
"Yes," Lexa immediately answers, clearly wishing to move past the awkwardness she thinks they found themselves in. "I stole a little something, too," a muted, impish grin makes its way to her lips as she holds the bag up so Clarke can make out the outline of a bottle.
She rolls her eyes and moves to help Lexa with her coat. "It hardly counts when you're the one who paid for everything."
" The company paid for everything," Lexa corrects her. She probably means to sound a little more stern, but Clarke doesn't miss a hitch in her breathing when she moves in close to her. Presses her body into her back, for a fleeting second. Just to feel.
It's been a week, after all, and she's never denied how good Lexa could make her feel.
Lexa makes a smooth, gliding movement as she slips out of her coat, and next thing Clarke knows, they are face to face, much closer than she anticipated. She doesn't want to take a step back.
"Hey," Lexa murmurs, tilting her head to the right. So close. Clarke watches her wet her lips, and the sudden, deep urge to be the one to do it for her is frightening.
"Hi," she whispers back. "I – I made dinner."
Lexa lets out a noncommittal hum, still studying her. She looks more confident now than mere seconds before. As if she's absorbing Clarke's, leaving her weak at the knees.
"There's chicken," she continues, swallowing under Lexa's unwavering gaze. "And meatloaf." Lexa leans in closer while she talks. Slowly. Clarke doesn't have the urge to recoil; instead, she watches her hands venture up to Lexa's shoulders, feeling soft, pleasant fabric before winding in Lexa's hair, just as soft and just as pleasant. "I hope you like it," she breathes weakly.
"I'm sure I will." Lexa's so close she can feel her breath hitting her lips when she replies. There's just a hint of tobacco, and Clarke frowns, but before she can comment, Lexa's mouth claims hers, and all she lets out is a tiny moan, right into Lexa's lips. A moan that Lexa eagerly swallows, using the opportunity to swipe her tongue across her lower lips before meeting Clarke's.
Somehow, a kiss that Clarke expected to be a greeting peck turns into making out in the hallway. At least she remembered to close the door behind Lexa, she thinks laughingly before Lexa does that thing where she licks into the roof of her mouth and she can't think about anything else but this. Her knees actually give out when Lexa's hands find her waist and travel up, under her breasts, and it's only thanks to Lexa's terrifyingly fast reflexes that she doesn't hit the floor. She hits the wall instead, with her back and with Lexa's body pressing into her, between her legs that are hooked around Lexa's hips. She wasn't entirely sure wearing a dress this short was a good call, but she's ready to kiss herself for making that decision now, with Lexa pressing into her so deliciously.
It's all so, so wonderfully cliché, and Clarke doesn't care. It doesn't even register in her brain when Lexa pulls away and starts saying something. She simply latches on to her neck, and fuck, she smells so familiar and so good. With a moan, she nuzzles at the skin there before leaving long open-mouthed kisses up to that jaw she always wants to nibble.
"Clarke," Lexa's voice floats through the haze, distant and amused. "Something's buzzing."
"Huh?" She struggles to focus on Lexa's face and not just on her lips. "I – what?"
Lexa looks like she's trying not to laugh. "Something's buzzing," she repeats herself, smiling. There's just a hint of smugness on her lips, and Clarke really, really wants to kiss it off until there's nothing but desperate hunger. "In your kitchen."
It's probably ridiculous and definitely pathetic, but Clarke struggles to remember what she was doing before Lexa came here looking like that and smelling like that and kissing – Jesus fucking Christ, kissing . "Oh, it's..." Cake. No. Cookies. "Cookies," she finally forms a cohesive thought. Now string them together, Clarke. Come on, you can do it. "I put... Baked... It's probably cookies."
That could be called relative success, right?
Lexa's smile is small but bright. "We should take them out," she says. "They'll burn."
Clarke wants to say that no, they won't burn; that an oven turns off automatically after a minute; that the cookies will be perfectly fine while they resume greeting each other against the wall. But her head is light and it's spinning and the buzzing has gotten kind of annoying and really, she doesn't get much of a chance to voice any of it before Lexa easily grabs her under her thighs and carries her to the kitchen, either not noticing or pretending not to notice Clarke's nearly-tortured gasp when her fingers knead at the flesh right near her heated core. Her lower stomach grows heavy with ache.
"Stop it. I don't want to drop you," Lexa murmurs softly, with a smile, and that's when Clarke realizes she's trying to rub herself on her stomach. Blood rushes to her cheeks
so quickly her head starts to spin harder.
"I -- sorry," she mumbles, hiding her face in the crook of Lexa's neck. It's been too long – except it hasn't, has it?
She thinks of weeks, months sharing nothing but kisses with Finn, long before Lexa, and blinks her thoughts away. "I guess I missed you even more than I thought," she whispers in Lexa's ear before tracing it with her tongue, enjoying the shiver it sends through her body.
" Clarke ." A clear warning and a desperate plea. Clarke smirks.
"Please. As if you'd ever drop me."
She lets out an undignified huff when she's dropped on a table, rather unceremoniously. "Hey!"
"Look what you made me do," Lexa grins down at her.
"Woods," Clarke almost growls. "Don't start what you can't finish."
"What makes you think I can't – umpf!" Whatever Lexa's about to say is swallowed by Clarke's confident, forceful kiss, the last of their awkwardness fading in it.
//
No matter how much Clarke wants to continue, preferably in her bedroom, she did slave over dinner tonight, and it's getting cold. And, frankly, she wouldn't have remembered it at all if Lexa didn't pull away once again to breathlessly remind her.
"Food first, Clarke later, I see how it is," Clarke muttered, but complied, hopping off the table with Lexa's help.
"Food first, dessert later, Clarke, that's how it goes," Lexa replied cheekily, and Clarke would punch her if she didn't want to kiss her. But she did want to kiss her. So she did.
Now, they are seated across from each other, cutting their meals in pieces and pretending there's no heated undercurrent running between them. She can see Lexa's already regretting her decision to be noble and try the food Clarke made for her. Well, maybe she can't exactly see that. Maybe she's projecting her own frustration. Lexa's very sweet to notice her effort, but with each passing minute, Clarke finds more and more that she doesn't care if Lexa eats her food. She'd much rather she eat-
"So," she speaks up to drown out her obscene thoughts. "How was the party?"
"Everything you'd think it would be, which is rather boring and very dull," Lexa says before taking a sip of her wine and shoving another forkful into her mouth. "This is delicious," she mumbles. Clarke snickers. "You know what they serve at those parties? Canapé. You know what that is?"
"Not actual food?"
"Not actual food!" Such passion coming from a usually reserved Lexa makes Clarke laughingly recoil. "Sorry. I haven't eaten the whole day. Last minute preparations."
"Aw," Clarke feels a slow smile take over her lips that's just a touch too adoring to be fake. But, dear God, wasn't she past lying to herself?
She likes Lexa. She likes Lexa the person and she likes Lexa the lover and –- she's so, so afraid to think of what she feels for Lexa the girlfriend.
Lexa tries to scowl, but her gleeful chewing diminishes the effect. "Don't laugh at me."
"I'm not laughing at you. I'm not, I swear," she says after Lexa throws her a dubious glance. "I just – you're cute."
"Pretty sure half of the people in this city would disagree," Lexa smirks, but it's soft as she puts her fork away and simply looks at Clarke. "But – thank you."
"Half of the people in this city are idiots," Clarke bristles. Lexa's inability to take a compliment without somehow undermining it is infuriating, but it's not Lexa she's angry with. It's just – when was the last time Lexa was called cute sincerely? Beautiful? Incredible? Clarke knows her friends love her to death, but she doubts their relationship allows for such tender moments. She could be wrong. She's been wrong about a lot of things, after all.
She's been so wrong about the turn things would take when she started all of this.
Lexa blinks at her outburst. "Did I say something wrong?" she asks, and – fuck. Said in such a small, tentative voice, too – it tugs at Clarke's heart, ache heavy and unpleasant.
And she wants to soothe Lexa, she does; wants to reach out and tuck a chestnut lock behind her ear and whisper into her lips that no, of course not, everything's okay, everything's perfect – but it strikes her, suddenly, that she doesn't have that right. Doesn't deserve that right.
And, as usual, Lexa's the one to bear it, Clarke thinks bitterly as she stands up, pushing her chair away. "It's fine," she says, more sharply than the situation calls for. "I – it's fine. I'm a little tired, that's all."
"You were fine – actually fine – a minute ago," Lexa softly says behind her. She stands up, too, wooden legs of her chair scrapping against the floor. "It was something I said."
And Clarke really, really doesn't want to ruin this Christmas for Lexa. Except it's already ruined, isn't it? Lexa will find out, and she will look back and think about this night and feel nothing but crumbling betrayal deep in her chest. And she hates it. She hates it she hates it she--
Clarke turns, sharply, almost colliding with Lexa who steadies her. She opens her mouth to – push her away, she thinks frantically, half-mad, push her away, it's not too late, it's not – say something, but the words, half-formed, die on her lips when they hear a ringtone, almost deafeningly loud in the sudden silence.
"Saved by the bell," Clarke whispers – giggles, really, nearly hysterical.
"What?"
She shakes her head, and Lexa lets go of her elbow when she steps away from her. "I should take this."
It's her mother, and what she tells Clarke hits her square in her chest, travels down to her knees and strikes; it's only because she grabs the counter that she escapes sliding to the floor. And behind it all, behind her mother's fast, blurred, excited words, behind her own loud, rapid heartbeat, she wonders what it must look like to Lexa.
Lexa, who's behind her in an instance, gently but firmly holding her up, arms around her waist. "Clarke," she states, voice strong. Clarke realizes she hung up on her mother without saying anything. Then, she realizes she mumbled a 'I'll be there soon' before ending the call. Then, she realizes Lexa's still saying something.
"-arke? Clarke!"
She's suddenly light. Enormously, endlessly happy for a quick, euphoric second before it ends and she's left drained in Lexa's arms. "My dad's awake." She turns her face to look at Lexa's shocked expression. "Will you drive me to the hospital?"
At Lexa's stunned nod, tears finally come and don't stop.
//
Jake Griffin's breathing machine is still on. There are still tubes all around his body, needles pricking his skin. He's still weak and he can't quite move; he certainly can't walk.
But he's awake. Alive. Conscious enough to smile and talk and by some goddamn miracle his speech and his memory isn't impacted much. There might be relapses, doctors said. White patches where a treasured moment once was, and some memories would take longer to come back.
But, when he lights up at the sight of Clarke, disheveled and pale and crying, she decides it doesn't matter. Nothing does but this.
"Merry Christmas," he tries to rumble before dissolving into a coughing fit, falling into her mother. She glances at her. Eyes just as red and filled with tears as her own.
Lexa's hand squeezes hers, once, gently, and she barely catches a strangled sob before surging forward, hugging – slumping into, more like it – her parents with all the strength she can muster.
"Dad," she cries. There are so many things she wants to tell him, so many things she wants to hear him say, but this is the only word that she's able to push past her lips.
"Dad. Daddy."
He can't quite move his limbs as precisely as before. Clarke knows he needs months of intensive therapy before he'll be able to do that. But when his hand lands on her back, heavy, awkward, stiffly moving up and down, she thinks she'll take this over any other touch.
"It's okay," he whispers, and she's not sure if it's for her, for mom, or for himself. Maybe it's for all of them. "It's okay."
It was worth it, she thinks. It was all worth it. Anything is worth getting him back. Having her dad with her, with them, alive. And Lexa...
Lexa .
Clarke remembers about her at the same time Jake notices a new face fidgeting in the doorway. "Huh," she feels his chest rumble when he speaks. "Finn's sure changed since I last saw him."
"Dad," Clarke hisses, rolling her eyes. This man, she huffs to herself. Nothing gets past him. Well, that, or he's really hoping she got rid of Finn.
Technically, he's not wrong. "Hello, Mr. Griffin," she hears Lexa say calmly. "I'm very glad to be able to greet you."
Clarke's suddenly overcome with nerves as she scrambles to her feet, wide eyes flicking between Lexa and her parents. "Dad, this is – it's Lexa. Lexa Woods. And – mom." It's striking to realize that she never introduced Lexa to her mother, either. "Mom, this is Lexa."
She can see surprise flash through her father's eyes, but she's relieved to find it's free of disdain. "Woods, you say?" He smiles. "I'd stand up to shake your hand, but I'm afraid it will have to wait till our next meeting."
Lexa looks just as flustered as Clarke feels. "I – of course, sir." At least her voice remains stoic. She takes quick, long strides, taking Jake's hand that he offers, and giving it a small shake. "It's nice to meet you."
Jake arches one eyebrow, and his smile grows. "Nice to meet me? You saved my life, kid," he tells her warmly. "Your mom filled me in," he addresses Clarke next, noticing her confusion. "Don't worry. I have my own opinion."
"Jake," her mom says warningly, but he laughs it off, still grasping Lexa's hand.
"Later, all that later," he exclaims. "Miss Woods, I don't know how our family will ever be able to repay you-"
"It's completely unnecessary, I assure you," Lexa interrupts. Some of her confidence came back, and she stands tall and looks Jake straight in the eye when she speaks. "You were qualified for the program. You waking up is more than enough, sir. And, please, call me Lexa."
Clarke stiffens when she sees her dad narrow his eyes as he lets go of Lexa's hand; the same hand that hasn't let go of Clarke's up until they reached his room. She knows that gaze. She remembers that gaze. That's the gaze he gave Finn when he met him, and next words he said to him were "I don't want to see you in my house." It's a studying, apprehensive gaze that determines a worth.
And Clarke's not surprised to find that she really, really wants him to see that Lexa has more than enough of it.
"Well," he says after what was probably not more than a second, but to Clarke seemed like an eternity. His face is unreadable, and something inside Clarke freezes, about to shatter. "Then I must insist you call me Jake, Lexa." He lifts his hand again to grasp Lexa's, and she meets him halfway, but it's not a handshake anymore. It's something more familiar. "Thank you," he says earnestly. "For taking care of my family. For taking care of my girl."
Clarke's tears, thankfully, don't block her view of Lexa's stunned, beautiful face. "Of course," she manages to say. "...Jake."
He saw, Clarke thinks. He saw her.
Her mother takes her hand, softly, quietly, and she reaches over and clasps her dad's pale one in her other hand. She barely manages to mouth 'wait for me' to Lexa who's quietly sneaking out before climbing in her mom's lap when legs refuse to hold her up.