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Kindergarten
Clarke’s sweater is itchy. She fidgets with the neckline of it as she sits at her desk, feet that don’t reach the ground swinging idly back and forth beneath her. She can’t stop looking at the clock; practically all she can think about is the class Christmas party that they get to have after lunch. Her mom sent her to school this morning with a tray of snowball cookies and she knows that the rest of her classmates brought food, too, but what she’s most excited about is what’s tucked away in her cubby at the back of the room. There, she has a present for her best friend, Lexa, that she’s just dying to give to her.
Her teacher catches her glancing at the clock and then at her cubby for the umpteenth time and approaches, taking a peek at the drawing they’re supposed to be working on, Christmas cards for their parents. “This is excellent, Clarke,” she says. “Your parents will love it.”
“My daddy says he saves all of my drawings ‘cause I’m gonna be in a moozeem one day,” Clarke tells her proudly. Her eyes flick to the clock again, and her teacher smiles knowingly.
“Have you ever heard the saying ‘ a watched pot never boils ’, Clarke?”
Clarke shakes her head, momentarily distracted from her fixation on the time and impending party by the odd question. “It means that time passes slower when you’re waiting for something and it’s all you can think about,” the teacher explains. “So if you keep looking at the clock, it’s going to take even longer until you get to leave for lunch and the Christmas party.”
“I can’t help it,” Clarke says. “I have a present to give to Lexa. She’s gonna love it.”
“That’s exciting. I’m sure she will,” her teacher says. The woman looks across the room to where Lexa is sitting. She's in a white long sleeve turtle neck and a long plaid skirt and her feet do touch the ground in her chair because she's so tall even though she's scrawny. A blue colored pencil is gripped tightly in her hands as she draws, a look of concentration on her face. Clarke and Lexa had their seats separated only a few weeks into the school year due to their inability to stay quiet and focused during their lessons if they were sat next to each other. The two had only just met at the beginning of the year but their friendship bloomed immediately and voraciously to the point that they’re now nearly inseparable whenever given the chance.
“Do you know what I think might make the time pass a little faster?” the teacher asks. Clarke shakes her head, still fidgeting in her seat and plucking at the collar of her itchy Christmas sweater. She follows the teacher’s gaze over to Lexa and then looks back to her, curious. “How about I let you go sit with Lexa,” the teacher proposes. Clarke is already sliding forward in her seat to stand before she even hears the terms and conditions. “Just promise that you’ll make sure she finishes her card before lunch.”
Clarke readily agrees - easy peasy. She loves drawing with Lexa so it’s a win-win situation. She gathers up her card and her art supplies and skips over to Lexa’s desk. Lexa looks up as she approaches, a wide smile breaking out over her face as Clarke settles her stuff down in the spot next to her at the table. She seems to remember where they are after a second, though, and Clarke watches as her eyes flit over her shoulders to their teacher and then back at Clarke, wary of getting in trouble again .
“She said we can sit together or else the water won’t ever boil,” Clarke explains cheerfully. Lexa tilts her head, not quite following, but Clarke doesn’t give her a chance to ask for clarification. “I’m ‘sposed to help with your card,” Clarke adds. She settles into her chair with her feet tucked underneath her and leans over into Lexa’s space to take a look at her card. So far she’s drawn the outline of a snowman and very carefully transcribed Merry Christmas at the bottom of the paper.
“Wanna pick the colors for me?” Lexa asks, shoving her box of colored pencils towards Clarke. Clarke does, thoughtfully selecting pencils and guiding Lexa through adding details to her drawings. And she realizes that her teacher was right; the time passes so much quicker now that she’s with Lexa and she even briefly forgets all about the impending party.
…
That afternoon Clarke gives Lexa her gift. Lexa takes it hesitantly, her head lowered as she gives Clarke a shy look. “I didn’t know I was ‘sposed to get you something,” she says quietly.
“It’s okay,” Clarke says, nonplussed. She doesn’t want anything from Lexa. She just wants her to see her present, and hopes it makes her happy.
She and Lexa sit crisscross applesauce at the back of the room on the tiles of carpet and Lexa opens up her gift. It’s a drawing of her, at the top of the jungle gym, standing with a fist raised triumphantly in the air, a flowing red cape secured around her neck and blowing in the breeze. Clarke sits in front of her, legs dangling off the edge near the fire pole, and on the ground around them are several of their other classmates. It’s Clarke’s rendition of the day they first met, when Lexa had coaxed her into finally going down the pole and had vehemently warded off the people teasing her for being too scared to slide down at first.
“Why do I have a cape?” Lexa asks, eyes roving over the image before she looks up at Clarke curiously.
“Because you’re my hero,” Clarke says simply. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Lexa smiles, and then does the best thing she could possibly do; she sets the picture down gently and then dives forward, enveloping Clarke in a crushing hug, wrapping her knobby arms around her tightly.
Clarke hugs Lexa back just as tightly, a beaming smile on her face. They’ve only known each other for a few months but Clarke’s never liked a friend so much. Seeing Lexa so happy and getting such a genuine hug from her makes her tiny little 5-year-old heart swell so big she thinks her chest might burst.
“I love you Clarke,” Lexa says when she finally lets go, delicately picking the picture up again. “I’m your hero, and you’re my best friend.”
“Forever,” Clarke agrees. And then, unable to help herself, she goes in for another hug.
3rd Grade
Clarke doesn’t know why Lexa looks nervous when she opens the door. She looks like she’s hiding under her drooping Santa hat and she has one hand on the doorknob while she twists at the bottom of her sweater sleeve. It’s not like it’s the first time she’s gone over Lexa’s house, but it is the first holiday she’s been invited over for. Maybe that’s making Lexa nervous for some reason.
Clarke turns around to wave to her dad, signaling that she’s all set, and then steps inside. Lexa closes and locks the door behind them. When Clarke hugs her she feels a little stiff. “What’s wrong?” she asks, pulling away far enough to get a better look at her. Lexa is very good at hiding her emotions but her eyes always give her away, at least to Clarke who has spent the last few years learning to read the subtle changes in them.
“Nothing,” Lexa says, but it’s not the truth. Clarke knows it isn’t, so she waits. “It’s just that - we always have so much fun at your house. I don’t know why you wanted to come here.” Lexa’s looking at the ground, still radiating nervous energy. It’s so unlike her; they may only be 8 years old but Lexa has always been a lighthouse in the storm. She’s never scared of anything.
“Well, your aunt and uncle invited me and my mom said it would be rude not to go. You can’t be away every holiday.” It’s a bluntly honest answer, Clarke’s mom’s words parroted back.
“I know, but… we don’t do the stuff you guys do. My aunt and uncle don’t really celebrate Christmas. It’s not going to be a lot of fun here like it is at your house.”
“We always have fun,” Clarke shrugs. She can’t imagine a time that she’s with Lexa and they don’t have fun. It’s inconceivable.
Lexa doesn’t seem as convinced. She still looks nervous and uncertain but Clarke watches her swallow, clear her throat, nod. “Okay, well, dinner is almost ready.”
She feels an overwhelming desire to calm her friend. She hates seeing Lexa so unsettled. When she starts walking toward the dining room Clarke reaches out and grabs her wrist, halting her progress. Lexa turns to look at her, confused, and Clarke leans up on her tiptoes to plant a gentle kiss on her cheek. Lexa blushes, a question on her face, and Clarke smiles - both to be reassuring and because Lexa looks really pretty like that, with pink cheeks and wide eyes.
“It’s going to be okay Lexa. I love you. Don’t worry about anything.” Clarke isn’t sure why Lexa blushes harder; her intention hadn’t been to embarrass her. The opposite actually.
“I love you too, Clarke,” Lexa tells her. Clarke knows she’s still going to worry - that’s just how Lexa is. It’s clear by the turbulence still present in green irises that Clarke hasn’t managed to calm whatever storm it is that’s raging within her, but then again, that’s never been as simple as a kiss on the cheek and an I love you.
What matters is that they’re together, and they have each other, and they’re the very best of friends, and they love each other. That’s all they need.
Clarke slips her hand into Lexa’s as they head into the dining room.
…
“They just -” Lexa pauses, struggling to find the right words. “They just want what’s best for me. Everything they say, or do, is for my own good. They don’t mean to be hard on me.”
They’re in Lexa’s bedroom, taking up about 10% of her king-sized mattress where they lay in the center of it. They’d retreated upstairs as soon as dinner was over and they’d finished doing the dishes, and Clarke now understands why Lexa had been apprehensive about having her over. She’d met Titus and Alie before, of course, but she’d never really spent time alone with just them and Lexa, in their own home. Christmas Eve dinner had been very unlike the one she usually spends with her family. It was a quiet affair, during which it seemed the only time Titus or Alie spoke was to ask Lexa and Clarke questions and then spend the next 10 minutes critiquing Lexa’s answer.
Lexa has so many things - the biggest bedroom, the fanciest clothes, the nicest shoes, piano and violin lessons - but Clarke realized this evening the one thing Lexa doesn’t have. Love . Clarke didn’t feel a single ounce of it the whole evening except for when she’d look at her best friend, who seemed unbothered by the critical way Titus and Alie spoke to her; chin up, holding their gaze, defending herself and, occasionally, Clarke.
Lexa is so strong. Clarke just wishes she didn’t have to be.
“I know,” Clarke sighs. “But Lexa, you know that you’re perfect no matter what they say, right? You’re so smart and so pretty and so funny. You’re the best person I know. You’re my very best friend.”
“You’re my best friend,” Lexa reciprocates. She snuggles closer into Clarke and finally, finally Clarke feels some of the tension in her little body loosen. “I know they’re different than your parents and they seem harsh but I can handle it. I’m okay.”
“And you can tell me if you ever aren’t okay.”
Lexa nods. “I know.”
“Okay, good.”
Lexa drifts to sleep moments later, breathing deepening and evening out as her face goes slack. She shifts to get comfortable and one of her boney elbows wedges itself between two of Clarke’s ribs.
Clarke doesn’t mind. She only moves when her dad comes to pick her up at 9pm as they’d agreed. “You can’t sleep over, Clarke. 9pm is already as late as I could get your mother to agree to let you stay at Lexa’s on Christmas Eve. You’re 8 .” He says it like that’s a good enough explanation but he must not understand how badly it hurts Clarke to leave Lexa now that she knows what the holidays are like for her at her house.
Clarke decides that all she wants for Christmas from then on is to spend every one after this with Lexa.
8th Grade
Lexa’s family isn’t very big on Christmas, Clarke has witnessed this repeatedly over the years. Not in the way hers is, at least, with all sorts of family and friends gathering at her home every year on Christmas Eve for an elaborate party with food galore and gift exchanges. Sometimes it makes Clarke sad for her, but mostly she’s grateful that they don’t mind Lexa crashing with her family for the holiday so she gets her all to herself.
It's late by the time they make it up to the attic on Christmas Eve. Clarke's mom makes her give up her room for her uncle Sinclair every year, so she and Lexa are crashing in the much less spacious converted attic project her dad had never quite finished. They flop down onto a thin, lumpy, twin-sized mattress just a little after 11pm, wearing the matching reindeer pajamas they'd received as gifts earlier in the night.
While they adjust the blankets and arrange their limbs to fit in the tight space Clarke's phone buzzes. She unlocks the screen, squinting against the bright light in the dark room as she reads a text message from Finn, a boy she'd met at the beginning of the year in history class. They'd gone out on a handful of dates - if going to the mall with a group of friends to see a movie could be considered a date - but he still hadn't asked her to be his girlfriend yet. Clarke isn't entirely sure how she feels about the whole situation, but he's cute and funny and charming and she thinks she might say yes if he asked. Maybe. Probably.
They're pressed up so close against each other in bed that Lexa can't help but see Clarke's text messages, not that Clarke tries to hide them in the first place. She knows Lexa doesn't really like Finn but they've never actually talked about it. Whenever he comes around Lexa gets grumpy and leaves, and there's an unspoken agreement between them to just not bring him up when they're together.
An agreement Lexa seems willing to break tonight. "You guys say I love you?" she asks, squinting at Clarke's phone and then at her.
"Yeah. I mean, sometimes," Clarke tells her.
Lexa’s lips purse. The air changes around her. "That's serious, Clarke. Do you love him? You shouldn't say it if you don't mean it."
Lexa has an adorable little wrinkle between her brows as she says this, and Clarke reaches out to smooth it with her thumb. "I don't know. I feel something for him," Clarke shrugs. "And anyway, why not? You and I say it all the time."
"That's different."
Clarke isn't sure that it is. They don't feel all that different, her feelings for Finn and for Lexa, aside from the fact that she loves Lexa approximately 1 million times more. She's loved Lexa for as long as she can remember; every crush she's ever had has been measured against her love for her best friend. I like them, but do I like them more than Lexa? Because, if she's going to date someone, shouldn't she like that person more than her best friend? No one has ever measured up to Lexa and she doesn't know if anyone ever will, but Finn has come the closest so far.
Clarke rolls on her side to face Lexa and Lexa does the same, tucking a hand beneath her head to make up for her lackluster pillow. Clarke is quiet and contemplative as she rolls these thoughts around in her head, and Lexa is patient. She's always so patient with Clarke, even though she has a reputation for being hot-headed and sharp tongued around everyone else. It's just another thing Clarke loves about her.
She reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Lexa's ear, smiling affectionately when Lexa closes her eyes and leans into the touch. "Do you think it's possible to love two people at the same time?" She asks after a moment, finally breaking her silence.
Lexa's eyes snap open at that, and she stares back at Clarke with her expression caught somewhere between wonder and apprehension. Clarke moves her hand to cup Lexa's cheek, shimmying a little closer to her with already negligible space between them, and listens to the uptick in Lexa's quiet breathing. Her eyes drop to Lexa's lips, slightly parted and freshly coated with vanilla chapstick that Clarke’s close enough to smell. Acting on a combination of instinct and impulse she leans in slowly, watching Lexa's eyes dart around her face until she's too close to track their movements anymore and her own eyes flutter closed. She continues to move slowly, giving Lexa ample time to shift or pull away, but she never does.
She's just about to seize Lexa’s lips with her own when suddenly there's a commotion on the stairs and the attic door flings open without a precursory knock. They jerk apart, hearts hammering from both what was just about to happen and from potentially getting caught in a compromising situation.
They have zero time to process whatever that was - Clarke's mom is at the door, unapologetic and unaware of what she just interrupted. "Clarke, Uncle Sinclair says your white noise machine turned on by itself and he can't get it to turn off. Can you go help him?"
Clarke sighs. "Yeah, mom," she answers, peeling the covers off of herself. "Sorry," she whispers to Lexa, giving her forearm a conciliatory squeeze as she clambers over her to get out of bed. The apology is as much for the knee Lexa gets to her thigh when Clarke climbs over her as it is for having to leave in the middle of whatever was just about to happen between them.
"It's okay," Lexa says. She has a sad, faraway look in her eyes, though, and Clarke's stomach twists nervously at the sight.
She's eager to return so they can talk, and she fixes the noise machine as quickly as she can but then is asked to find her Grandma a charger for her ancient iPhone which requires a trip to the basement to look through a few Sterilite bins of random electronic cords. By the time she gets back up to the attic Lexa is asleep. Clarke pauses by the door, taking in the sight of her curled up in the center of the mattress. A million thoughts flood her mind. Had they really been about to kiss? Did she want to kiss Lexa? Did Lexa want to kiss her? Or did Lexa not want to kiss her and now things would be weird between them? Was this all in her head? How could Lexa just go to sleep after that without waiting for her to come back?
She takes a deep breath before she can spiral any further - these are all things she can find out in the morning. If Lexa had been really upset she either would have left or would have been waiting up to talk, right?
She climbs back into bed and tucks herself up against Lexa's back, assuming her normal position as big-spoon, and falls asleep soon after.
She ends up being too nervous to bring it up in the morning and Lexa shows no signs that anything had even happened.
It’s as if it never happened.
High School (Junior Year), December 23rd
“So you’re really not coming over tomorrow?” Clarke asks. They’re sitting in the basement that’s been turned into a sort of lounge/entertainment room, with Clarke on the couch and Lexa on the floor in between Clarke’s legs, facing the TV. Clarke cards her fingers through Lexa’s hair while Frosty the Snowman plays on the screen in front of them, scratching her blunt finger nails lightly across Lexa’s scalp. Physical touch has always been a love language between them and it connects them now, even as their lives have gotten busier and they seem to see each other less and less.
“No,” Lexa says, sounding a little regretful. Or maybe Clarke is just imagining it, she can’t tell. “I’m sorry, Clarke, it’s just really important to Costia that I go with her to her grandma’s, and it’s a 6 hour drive so we’ll be leaving at like 10am.”
“I know, I know,” Clarke sighs. Lexa’s already gone over this with her, and it’s not like she had been expecting a different answer. She didn’t expect a different answer, but she could still hope for one. She starts to braid Lexa’s hair, not sure at this point who the familiar action is more comforting for - herself or Lexa.
“But we’re celebrating now,” Lexa says, trying to cheer Clarke up. “Maybe this can be our new tradition. Like a pre-Christmas celebration, since, you know, eventually we’re both going to have families of our own.”
Clarke nods. She swallows before she speaks, trying to make sure her voice doesn’t sound as strangled as she feels at that moment. “Maybe.” But hopefully not.
Clarke doesn’t hate Costia, but somehow that makes her hate her. Not that that makes any sense, but it’s just how she feels. She and Lexa have been dating since February; Clarke had helped Lexa plan the perfect way to ask her to be her girlfriend on Valentine’s Day and everything. She’d never imagined that it would turn into a serious relationship and that they’d still be together 10 months later; that Lexa would fall in love.
Because they don’t do that.
She and Lexa have dated people, yeah, but nothing steady. Nothing serious. And they certainly never say the L word to anyone, not after that Christmas Eve several years back when Clarke had first explored the idea that her definition of romantic love and her love for her friendship with Lexa was essentially one in the same. As they’ve gotten older, Clarke has come to terms with the fact that she’s in love with her best friend. But Lexa has never outwardly reciprocated those feelings, not even when Clarke came out as bisexual their freshman year, and Clarke has always been worried about ruining their friendship by complicating it with a relationship. It seemed better to remain friends, at least for now, than to risk losing Lexa altogether if things got messy.
Clarke used to think they had all the time in the world, anyways. They’re only barely into their plans for spending the rest of their lives together. They’d have time to explore something more between them when they were a little older, when they were settled and knew what they wanted from life. She didn’t think she had any reason to rush.
But Costia is different. Clarke had realized that pretty quickly when Lexa couldn’t stop babbling about her and suddenly her free time was reduced by half.
And Clarke can’t even blame her. Costia is smart and athletic, funny and charming, driven and motivated. She comes from an impressive old-money family that now invests their fortune into environmentalism. She’s a year older than Lexa and Clarke, and recently got accepted into some prestigious university in Europe where she plans to study abroad and probably single-handedly find a universal solution to the climate crisis, or homelessness, or end world hunger. Or all of the above.
Clarke hasn’t even dared ask if Lexa plans to go with her after she graduates. She’s steadfastly avoided talking about their college applications for that exact reason. She doesn’t want to know, because she’s pretty sure she already knows the answer. She knows Lexa .
The long and short of it is that Costia is perfect for Lexa; there’s nothing to not like about her. But the thought of them together makes Clarke’s heart grow heavy and sink into her stomach until she feels like she’s going to be sick.
“Hey,” Lexa says, tilting her head back to look at Clarke, upside down. “Don’t be sad. It’s Christmas, you can’t be sad around Christmas.”
That’s exactly why Clarke is sad - it’s Christmas time. This will be their first Christmas apart since they were 5 years old and despite how eager she is to turn 18 and get more freedom and figure out what she wants to do with her life, Clarke isn’t ready for this kind of growing up. Not if it means growing apart from Lexa. None of this was a part of her plan - part of their plan.
“I know,” Clarke says, smiling weakly. “It’s okay. I’m not sad. I get it.”
Lexa looks goofy the way she’s sitting and looking up and back at her with her face upside down. Her eyes flit over Clarke’s face, and she knows her well enough to know that she’s sad, even if she won’t say it. She gets up from the floor and sits down on the couch next to Clarke. “Hey. Come here,” she says, opening her arms and beckoning Clarke towards her. Clarke is hesitant, not wanting to be pitied, but moments like this are becoming fewer and farther between, and she’s craving reassurance from her best friend that everything is going to be okay. That they’re going to be okay. So she gives in and lets Lexa pull her into a tight hug. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know,” Clarke replies. She closes her eyes and finally sinks into Lexa’s embrace, relaxing against her and breathing in her comfortable, familiar scent. “I love you too.”
“Good,” Lexa says. She rests her cheek against the top of Clarke's head while they half-watch the end of the movie play out, more for tradition's sake than anything. The silence between them feels a mixture of somber and contemplative. “We’ll always have each other. No matter what.”
Clarke doesn’t doubt her. What she is starting to doubt, though, is whether or not having Lexa in this way will ever feel like enough.
High School (Senior Year)
It hurts. Everything hurts . The pain constricting Clarke’s heart has manifested itself in other parts of her body; pounding behind her temples, coiling around her spine, burrowing beneath her fingernails. She can hardly breathe where she lays, crumpled on the floor in her bedroom, clutching her dad’s favorite flannel shirt to her chest. If she presses it to her nose and breathes in deeply enough she can almost pretend like his scent hasn’t worn off of it in the 7 months that he’s been gone.
Gone. Her dad is gone , whether she can wrap her head around that fact or not, and this is her first holiday season without him. Thanksgiving had been difficult and morose, but this - Clarke feels like she might not survive this.
She bristles when there’s a knock on her bedroom door. She knows her mother means well but she doesn’t want to see her right now - doesn’t want her to see her like this. Doesn’t want to reveal just how badly broken she still is when she’s supposed to be moving on and healing. “Mom, I just want to be alone. Please.”
The door creaks open an inch or two despite her plea. She’s just about to snap when a familiar voice floats through the crack, timid and uncertain. “I know you said not to come over, but I…. I don’t want you to be alone.”
Clarke sniffles as she drags herself up from the floor, running her sleeve across her face to dry under her eyes as she sits up and looks at Lexa. Beautiful, perfect Lexa, standing in her doorway with a wobbling lower lip, throat bobbing as she swallows thickly. Clarke’s heart quakes in her chest. Seeing Lexa so sad makes her forget about her own pain momentarily, overridden by the urge to comfort and soothe.
“But you’re supposed to be with Costia and her family,” she forces out, voice cracking. Her throat is so sore from crying that it feels like there’s a vice around it. “You left yesterday,” Clarke continues, confused.
Lexa enters the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. They stand a few feet apart, each of them trembling. Lexa looks like she’s made of glass, at risk of shattering at any second, and it shakes Clarke to her core to see her like that. Jake loved her, and she loved him. In some ways he was more of a father figure to her than Lexa ever had in her own family. Clarke doesn’t need to try to explain what she’s feeling, or why this is so hard for her - Lexa is feeling it all, too. It’s written all over her face and the slump of her shoulders. That feeling of being understood, of being known so intrinsically - it’s priceless. It’s the only thing that offers Clarke any sort of relief.
“I know, but - I couldn’t be there. I need to be here. With you. Cos gets it. She’s fine there without me.”
“So you’re really here? You’re going to stay?”
“If you want me to,” Lexa answers, swallowing again. “Your mom said she wasn’t sure if you -”
Lexa’s words get cut off by a big whoosh of air that expels from her lungs when Clarke flings herself into her arms. Lexa catches her - she always catches her - and they bury their faces into each other’s shoulders, gasping and sobbing.
“I want you,” Clarke manages to say around her hiccuping. “Please stay. I always want you.”
“I’m so sorry, Clarke,” Lexa chokes out. She squeezes Clarke so tight her ribcage is at risk of cracking. Clarke still doesn’t feel like she’s close enough, somehow. “I’m so, so sorry.”
It’s still early, barely 8pm, but neither of them feel capable of going through the motions they normally would on Christmas Eve. There aren’t any movies this year, or so many home-baked sugar cookies that they feel like they’re going to explode. They curl up together in Clarke’s bed, Lexa on her back with Clarke’s head on her shoulder and her hand on her chest, a leg strewn across her hips. Lexa strokes at Clarke’s hair and Clarke listens to the steady thudding of Lexa’s heartbeat, trying to sync her own to its rhythm.
She falls asleep to the sound of it, which plays in her head like Lexa, Lexa, Lexa. For the first time all day, she feels at peace. Able to rest. She drifts to sleep knowing that Lexa will still be there when she wakes up. That she doesn’t have to face the day alone.
It’s the best gift she could have given her.
College (Junior Year)
Clarke is dog-tired by the time she gets off the plane. The kid in the row behind her had spent the last 8 hours alternating between kicking the back of her seat and screaming bloody murder whenever his mother reprimanded him for kicking the back of her seat. She thinks that having to wait for her baggage might literally be the death of her.
By the time she makes her way out of baggage claim she’s tired and cranky and her ass is sore from sitting for so long and her knees hurt and she’s wondering why this is how she’s chosen to spend her holiday, traveling internationally by herself of all ways, until she catches sight of Lexa. Or the sight of the blur of Lexa, and then she literally catches her when she slams into her arms, jarring her luggage from her grasp as her arms fly up to wrap around her and keep them both steady.
Lexa is panting from her sprint, exhilarated, and once she has her balance again she squeezes Clarke and lifts her up, spinning her around. “You’re here,” she says breathlessly once she sets her down. They’re still hugging each other so tightly that Clarke hasn’t even seen Lexa’s face yet, but she doesn’t care. She’s suddenly not cranky, or tired, or sore. She’s relieved, and happy, and very touched by Lexa’s dramatic reaction to their reunion. She hadn’t been expecting it, but now realizes that she probably would have been disappointed by anything less.
“I’m here,” Clarke confirms, and they finally loosen their grips on each other enough so they can pull back and take a look at one another. They’re both grinning from ear to ear, hands still on each other’s waists and Clarke’s luggage still scattered on the floor around them, heedless of the crowds of people that have to navigate around them where they stand in an already very congested area. They both take each other in, eyes scanning up and down, searching for differences that may have cropped up in the last two years since they last saw each other. There are many, like Clarke’s shorter hair and Lexa’s blonde highlights and new tattoos, but these things aren’t true surprises since social media and cell phones exist. It’s just their first chance to take them in in person. Then Lexa laughs, simply delighted by Clarke’s presence, and pulls her back into another crushing hug, burying her nose into her shoulder.
“God, I’ve missed you,” she murmurs against Clarke’s sweatshirt that most definitely smells stale like the inside of a plane full of people who needed to take a shower two days ago. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
Going two years without seeing each other hadn’t been a part of their plan. When Lexa had followed Costia to university it had been with promises that she and Clarke would still see each other during every break. But then life happened, and for varying reasons they’d been unable to get away the past few summer and winter breaks, whether it was internships or summer classes or not having the funds to fly home or to Europe. Clarke had really tried to find time to visit, especially after Lexa and Costia went their separate ways and she had to console her friend through video calls instead of in person, but it just hadn’t worked out.
But now Clarke is here, with Lexa, finally. Everything is right in the world again, if only for the next 5 days.
“Okay, come on,” Lexa says, letting go of Clarke. She stoops down and picks up Clarke’s suitcase and backpack. “Let’s go home, and you can shower and take a nap, and then later I’m taking you out to dinner.” It sounds like a dream come true to Clarke.
“Are you saying I smell?” she asks in an offended tone.
“I’m not saying you don’t smell…”
Clarke shoves Lexa in the side, just hard enough to make her have to plant her foot quickly to keep herself from skittering off balance. Lexa laughs and catches Clarke’s hand, threading their fingers together as they exit the airport.
…
Clarke had been skeptical about going out on Christmas Eve. In all honesty, she’d been kind of looking forward to sitting in Lexa’s cozy flat and watching claymation holiday movies in their pajamas, just like they did for so many years growing up. But they’re older now, and they’re also both painfully aware that Clarke is only visiting for a handful of days and that soon they’ll be separated by more than 3 thousand miles, so they need to make the most of their visit. Clarke could still argue that staying home with Lexa is how she’d prefer to make the most of it, but Lexa is excited to show her around and give her a glimpse into her life overseas so Clarke agrees.
They have a good time, going out for dinner at a hole-in-the-wall place Clarke would have never found as a tourist before stopping by a similar-style club. They talk, they laugh, and Lexa teases Clarke about the laughably bad first (and last) date she’d gone on the other week after a 6-month dry spell.
“Maybe I’ll go get myself a date right now,” Clarke retaliates.
“Interested in a long-distance relationship, hm?” Lexa taunts, quirking a brow.
I’d be open to it , Clarke thinks as she looks at her best friend. Lexa is somehow getting even more beautiful as they age, the lines of her face becoming sharper and more distinct without the baby fat covering them. Her eyes are alive and bright, always so expressive, and Clarke’s stomach swoops under her attentive gaze while she waits for a response to her question, head cocked to the side playfully. If Lexa keeps looking at her like that Clarke is apt to say something dumb, something sappy, something that might make Lexa uncomfortable or worse, throw off the balance of their lifelong friendship.
So before she can do that, she picks up her glass from the counter and downs what’s left of it. Standing wordlessly, she purses her lips at Lexa and enters the mass of bodies on the dance floor, walking backwards so she can keep her eyes on Lexa as she does so. Lexa turns in her seat, back to the bar as she watches Clarke keenly, maintaining eye contact as Clarke begins to move to the music. It’s thrilling, the way Lexa is looking at her, incredibly focused and attentive to her every move, like she’s drinking her in from a distance. Like she’s the only person in the room despite being surrounded by other people.
Someone else is captivated by Clarke too, though; some guy who is oblivious to whatever exactly it is that’s going on between her and Lexa at that moment. He walks up to Clarke, distracting her from Lexa as he slides behind her, body bumping into hers while he tries to follow her movements. This is what she’d set out to do, technically, but she had zero intentions of actually finding someone or going home with anyone besides Lexa, so as soon as the guy puts a hand on her hip she stops dancing altogether. “Sorry,” she says, turning and stepping away. “I’m not really -”
“She’s with me,” Lexa says simply, suddenly at her side. Clarke hadn’t seen her get up from the bar and approach but she feels an arm slip around her waist and she leans into the embrace, nodding to confirm.
“Oh, okay. Sorry,” the guy says amicably, and walks off.
“You came here to spend time with me, remember?” Lexa says. She spins Clarke around and then pulls her back against her so that they’re fitted with Clarke’s back to Lexa’s front. One of Lexa’s hands is on Clarke’s waist and the other has settled lower by her hip and they dance together, moving as one. It’s hardly their first time doing so and they fall into a rhythm quickly, effortlessly. Clarke closes her eyes and loses herself in this feeling of having Lexa so close, her hands searing where they hold her, her body flooded with warmth. She’d missed Lexa so much and being here with her like this ignites a rush of emotions that she isn’t quite sure how to handle. She just knows that despite the fact that they’re nearly as close as they can possibly get already it just doesn’t feel like enough, so she turns in Lexa’s arms and flings her arms around her neck, burying her face into the soft smooth skin just near the hollow of her throat. Lexa holds her by her waist and rests her cheek against the side of Clarke’s head, thumbs circling over her sides as they hold each other. They’re still dancing, albeit a little slow for the upbeat music, mostly just swaying.
After a moment, Lexa breaks the silence between them, murmuring, “I missed you so much. I missed this - getting to hold you, be near you.”
Clarke nods, agreeing, and her lips brush Lexa’s skin when she does so. It’s an accidental touch, at least at first, but Lexa sucks in a breath sharply and her fingers flex on Clarke’s waist. So, experimentally, Clarke touches her lips to the curve of Lexa’s neck again, this time more purposefully, and revels in the soft groan Lexa releases. Lexa splays a hand over Clarke’s lower back and presses her in closer and Clarke’s next touch is much less hesitant and much bolder as she presses an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Lexa’s neck, tongue poking out to taste salty skin. “Clarke,” Lexa breathes, voice reedy. Her fingertips press into Clarke’s back, holding her tight, and Clarke doesn’t need any more encouragement now, openly kissing and sucking her way around Lexa’s neck. She mouths over tendons and nips at the fluttering of her pulse at the base of her throat, tongue lathing over the racing beat. Lexa keeps making these little breathy noises that are making Clarke feel far tipsier than the two drinks they’d had upon arriving at the club.
Her mouth finds the hinge of Lexa’s jaw and she detours to suck her earlobe into her mouth, circling it with her tongue before releasing and pressing feather-light kisses all along her jaw, stopping only when she reaches the corner of Lexa’s mouth. With their foreheads resting against one another’s and breath mingling hotly between them, Clarke pauses there. It already feels like it may be too late to turn back but she’s suddenly nervous to cross this boundary that she’s dreamed of crossing for as long as she can remember. Kissing Lexa - it would change everything. Clarke knows there wouldn’t be any going back, not for her at least. But then Lexa brings a hand up, cupping the back of her neck as she nudges in closer with her nose, and it’s Lexa that ultimately takes the leap, closing the final distance and bringing their mouths together.
Their lips mold together in the culmination of something that has been building up and inevitable for the past 20-odd years of their lives. There are no fireworks and time doesn’t freeze around them but Lexa’s lips slot against Clarke’s so gently, so surely, fitting so perfectly that Clarke thinks, Oh. So this is how it’s supposed to feel. Who needs fireworks behind your eyelids when a kiss can make something click into place inside your chest, can make your bones feel warm and tingly and your knees weak. This kiss is teeming with relief and an overwhelming sense of finally .
Lexa’s fingers are tangled in the hair at the back of Clarke’s head, holding on just tightly enough to burn. Clarke doesn’t remember who introduced tongue at first but in no time at all they’re locked in a deep, languid, bordering on filthy kiss right there on the dance floor. She never wants to stop kissing Lexa like this, and that’s why she has to. “Lex, wait, wait.” She pulls her mouth away from Lexa’s utilizing every ounce of willpower that she has. She tips her forehead back against Lexa’s, breathing hard. Full of want, but also conflicted. “What are we doing?”
Lexa leans back, just enough so she can see Clarke, cupping her jaw with both of her hands. She brushes her thumbs across Clarke’s cheekbones, tenderly, lovingly, which contradicts with the crazed, hungry look in her eyes and the size of her pupils, hugely dilated. She is wild and uninhibited but also tender and careful and Clarke’s heart swells while the heat between her legs scorches.
“What we’ve been dancing around for our entire lives,” Lexa says, her voice barely above a whisper. It’s a miracle Clarke hears it at all given the noise all around them, but she supposes she does because these are life-changing words. In the blink of an eye, everything between them changes. For better or worse. Lexa holds her gaze, waiting, and Clarke realizes that this is happening. Like, really happening. And as much as there’s a quiet murmuring in the back of her mind about the implications of crossing this line, about the practicalities of how their relationship might change after this, Clarke…doesn’t care. She’s wanted this for too long, and she’s missed Lexa so much, and it’s like Lexa just said. She’s done dancing around it and acting like she hasn’t wanted to do this her entire life. She surges forward, swallowing Lexa’s pleasantly surprised gasp at her assertiveness, and she doesn’t stop pushing, not until they’ve stumbled their way through the crowd of people and are in the much quieter hallway leading to the bathroom.
Clarke fumbles for the bathroom door and finds it locked - because of course it is. As much as she’s loving the way Lexa is holding her firmly by her waist and exploring the slope of her neck with her lips and tongue she isn’t much one for exhibitionism, at least not to this scale, so she sighs and puts a hand on Lexa’s chest to halt her progress. “Are you okay?” Lexa asks, appearing worried to have crossed some kind of line or that Clarke is rescinding consent, green eyes flitting over her face to try and get a read in the minimal lighting.
“Totally fine,” Clarke is quick to reassure her. “It’s just…” she looks around them, back towards the throng of people that are really not that far away and at the bathroom that someone is bound to walk out of any second.
Lexa nods, understanding, and frowns slightly. “Yeah. This isn’t exactly how I imagined this moment.”
Clarke’s heart leaps in her chest at the significance of those words. Maybe it should have been obvious, but it wasn’t to her; Lexa wanting her back has been a fantasy her entire life, a far-fetched dream. “You’ve imagined this?” she asks quietly, bracing herself to be told she misunderstood in some way.
The corner of Lexa’s mouth ticks upward, a mixture of amusement and affection. Her eyes are a dichotomy as well, still dark and dilated but somehow soft at the same time. “So many times,” she admits, reaching up to cup the side of Clarke’s face with one of her hands. She leans in and kisses her, not desperately or hungrily this time but slow and steady. Like they’ve been doing this all their lives. Clarke marvels at how Lexa can feel so sure and confident about all of this when she feels like her legs might give out at any second. Kissing Lexa is practically enough to make her heart stop.
Clarke’s eyes are still shut when Lexa stops kissing her and positions her mouth by her ear instead, close enough that her breath tickles when she speaks, sending a shiver running up and down Clarke’s spine that may or may not have everything to do with what she says next. “How about we go back home, and I’ll show you how I’ve been imagining it?”
She leans back so she can see Clarke’s face again, but before she can even get a good look Clarke has a hand around the back of her neck and she’s yanking her forward to kiss her again, the complete opposite of slow and steady. “Yes,” she says, her voice barely intelligible as she speaks directly against Lexa’s lips, into her mouth. “God, yes.”
They break apart on exchanged breaths and Lexa smiles at her, lips puffy and smudged with lipstick that isn’t hers, hair mussed. It’s the most alive Clarke has seen her look in a long time; it’s the most Lexa Lexa has looked to her since she first saw her in the airport. Her heart sings.
It’s a very quick walk home.
…
…
Lexa’s hands are soft and rough at the same time. Well worn-in calluses smooth up and down Clarke’s thighs, over the faint dips and valleys of her ribcage and collar bones, and rub soothing circles into the sides of her neck just below her ears. She’s never experienced anything like it before; the combination of the primal hunger clear in Lexa’s eyes and the way she handles with so much care, so delicately. It’s like being worshipped in the sultriest way possible, the way Lexa kisses softly while her hand slips between parted legs, fingers trailing up and down through silky wetness so gently it can only be described as being caressed. And that look on her face when she pushes in with two fingers - their chins still touching with her head tilted back just enough to see each other, the way her pupils expand to nearly eclipse green irises, lips parted allowing her hot, trembling breaths to fan over Clarke’s mouth. She grabs Clarke’s hand with her free one and laces their fingers together, pinning it down to the pillow while she works out a rhythm that has Clarke hooking her heels into the curve just below her ass and pulling her closer, begging for more.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Lexa gasps. She hooks her fingers inside of Clarke and the pad of her thumb finds her clit. Not circling or moving, just applying pressure, and Clarke mewls. “So wet and so warm. I love the way you clench around my fingers.”
“Lexa,” she gasps in return. “Please. I’m close.”
“Don’t come yet,” Lexa says - not at all what Clarke wants to hear. It’s very nearly out of her control at this point. “Wanna taste you.” Her instructions not to come yet don’t align well with the fact that she starts rutting into Clarke, using her hips to drive her fingers deeper with more gusto. She’s still got her thumb on Clarke’s clit too, brushing lazily. Keeping her right on the edge.
“I’m going to come, Lex,” Clarke warns. She can feel the building pressure, the warmth fanning out from her core, the flush on her face and chest as her muscles start to tighten and coil.
“Don’t,” Lexa commands, and this time she helps out by stopping completely, gently withdrawing her fingers.
Clarke could cry. Or scream. Or both. But before she gets the chance to vocalize her frustration Lexa is sliding down and settling between her legs, slipping her hands under Clarke’s ass and tilting her up. There’s no preamble after that, which Clarke is thankful for; Lexa dives in tongue first, filling in the absence of her fingers. She moans obscenely at that first taste and Clarke cries out loudly enough that the neighbors slam a fist against the shared wall between them but neither of them can be bothered enough at the moment to give a fuck.
Lexa pulls out her tongue to lick up the length of her and suck Clarke’s clit between her lips, tongue lathing over it where it strains out from beneath its hood, and Clarke lasts all of 30 seconds before she’s shaking apart, back arching while white-hot pleasure flashes through every nerve in her body. Lexa hooks her hands around to hold her by the hips, anchoring her to the bed, not letting up with her tongue. Clarke starts to put her hand on Lexa’s head to push her away, expecting to become too sensitive once the last remnants of her orgasm are over as is typical for her, but then she feels that pleasant pressure starting to build again while Lexa rubs her clit with the flat of her tongue. Eyes wide open, watching Clarke’s every reaction. “Oh fuck,” she gasps, winding her fingers into Lexa’s hair to hold her there instead of pushing her away. “Fuck, fuck, Lexa, I’m going to -”
“Earth to Clarke.”
Clarke jolts out of her daydream, blinking rapidly as her eyes focus back in on Lexa, who’s waving a hand in front of her face and leaning forward to look at her from where she sits next to her on the tube. Lexa’s eyes flit over her face and she smiles smugly, somehow intuiting what exactly Clarke had been zoning out about. “Welcome back,” she says, coy. “Care to share what you were so lost in thought about?”
“Get that grin off your face,” Clarke scolds, feeling a blush creeping treacherously from her ears to her cheeks. “I was just thinking about…football.”
It’s a stretch. Lexa knows it, eyebrow ticking up. “Football, hm? What team?”
“You wouldn’t know them,” Clarke tries to cover quickly, given the fact she doesn’t actually know any. “You’ve been away a while and they’re new.”
“Mhm. I see,” Lexa says, grinning even wider now, expressive green eyes mirthful as she reaches up and brushes the back of her knuckles across Clarke’s dusted-red cheekbone. She tucks a few strands of loose hair behind her ear before she drops her hand down to Clarke’s thigh, only inches off of the seam of the zipper of her jeans. “I’m surprised you can think about football when all I’ve been thinking about is the noises you make when you come for me. The way you taste and smell. That and how badly I want you between my legs again because the things you do with your tongue are unlike anyth- “
Clarke clamps her hand over Lexa’s mouth, sure she’s bright as a tomato at this point as she glances at the passengers near them, trying to suss out whether anyone has been eavesdropping. “ Lexa ,” Clarke admonishes, hand still over her mouth. “We’re in public.”
Lexa wraps her fingers around Clarke’s wrist, removing her hand from over her mouth just enough so she can suck the tip of her index finger between her lips and flick her tongue over it. Clarke’s body reacts instantly and she clenches around nothing even as she snatches her hand away. Lexa catches it on the descent, lacing their fingers together between them. “Remind me why again?” she asks, settling back into her seat. Shenanigans seemingly over, for now.
“You wanted me to go on a tour of the city with you. It was your idea. We’ve been planning this for months.”
“It’s a stupid idea. We can get off at the next stop and just go home…so I can get you off.”
“Okay, one, that was lame even for you, and two - no. I want to do all the dumb touristy stuff with you, even if just for a few hours. It’s my first time overseas.”
“Fine,” Lexa sighs, lip jutting out into an adorable pout. “But later you’re mine.” She punctuates the statement with a long, slow kiss and probably too much tongue for their very public setting.
Clarke’s strung out on it - on all of it. The kiss, the events of the last 24 hours, the reality of the fact that Lexa loves her. That Lexa wants her. That she’s here, thousands of miles away from home, having sex flashbacks while riding the tube and jaunting around a foreign city with Lexa’s hand firmly in hers, or resting on the small of her back, or tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.
“Yours,” she agrees.
If she’s just dreaming all of this, she never wants to wake up.
College (Senior Year)
When Lexa’s face pops up on Clarke’s screen she looks windblown and chilly, her hair a little wild around the edges of her face and her cheeks tinged pink. She sounds breathless to match when she says, “Hey, sorry I’m late. My boss is off until the new year and decided tonight was a great time to tie up loose ends before he leaves.”
Lexa zips out of sight and Clarke hears rustling in the background as she takes off her puffy jacket and boots. It’s been a year since she was last in Lexa’s flat but she can still picture the space, lived in but not cluttered.
“It’s fine babe. Take a minute if you need to, I’ll be here.”
“No way, I’ve missed you all day,” Lexa retorts. She comes back into view of the camera in a baggy ribbed sweater and leggings, hands above her head as she throws her hair into a messy bun. It’s a haphazardly comfy look and Clarke thinks she looks absolutely beautiful. She aches to be able to curl up with Lexa, tuck her face into the crook of her neck and breathe her in.
For now, they have Skype. It’s all they’ve had since last Christmas when Clarke had visited, once again kept apart by distance and busy conflicting schedules. The distance has done nothing to temper the intensity with which their relationship has developed though - it was like the floodgates had opened after that night at the bar. There was no going back, not that Clarke has wanted to for even a single second. Being with Lexa is a dream come true, even if it’s currently from afar.
They talk for a while about their days, with Lexa grumbling about being the low man on the totem pole while Clarke gripes about the freshmen who set the lab on fire and set back her research by at least 3 weeks by destroying several of her bacteria cultures. It’s so normal and casual and domestic, coming home and unwinding with her girlfriend, that Clarke can’t believe they’d been so distant in the years prior shortly after Lexa went abroad.
She has no intention of ever allowing a rift to form between them again.
“Okay,” Clarke says after they’ve been on for about an hour and their conversation has started to wind down. She grins cheekily. “Are you ready for your present now?”
Clarke can see Lexa visibly stiffen with alarm, brows furrowing together. “Clarke - no, we agreed on no presents this year. We’re supposed to be saving money so we can fly during spring break,” she protests.
And that’s true, they did agree on not exchanging gifts. But Clarke isn’t expecting anything in exchange, and what she’s planning to give Lexa had only cost her $19.99 at TJ Maxx. It’s cheap and a little tacky, the Mrs. Claus-inspired lingerie she couldn’t stop herself from buying, but Lexa’s face when she pulls her sweatshirt off over her head is completely worth it. Her eyes are comically wide and her jaw drops as her gaze roves over Clarke, vast amounts of skin exposed by the red velvet body suit with a plunging v-neck that stops just above her belly button. The fabric making up the body of the suit is barely wide enough to cover her nipples, which are visibly straining against the thin material. A thick black belt accentuates her waist, and the bottom half is no more concealing than a pair of underwear, rimmed by poofy white fuzz to put the Christmas stamp on the outfit.
Once she’s set her sweatshirt and shorts off to the side, she situates herself back in front of the camera. Lexa blinks rapidly, trying to collect herself, and Clarke smirks. “You like?” she asks.
“I love ,” Lexa answers. She hasn’t made eye contact since Clarke sat back down. “God, I miss them,” she bemoans.
“Such a boob girl,” Clarke laughs. She’s already well aware of that fact about Lexa, between the last time they were together in person last Christmas and all of their Skype dates since then. She runs her fingers along the edge of the neckline thoughtfully. “Do you want to see them?”
“Please.”
Clarke starts to pull back the fabric but stops just short. “Well, I don’t know. Have you been a good girl this year?” she asks, voice husky as it drops an octave.
“I passed my classes last semester and loaded up my schedule to make sure I graduate on time. And worked my ass off to get an internship back home. In our hometown.” Lexa looks impatient and Clarke lives for it. She always makes her feel so wanted .
“Mmm,” Clarke hums. She pulls aside the fabric finally, letting her thumbs drag over her nipples. Lexa’s eyes flutter down immediately. “It sounds like you’ve been a good girl then,” Clarke concludes. She lets the straps of the body suit fall from her shoulders, hanging loosely at her side. “Tell me what you want.”
“Touch your boobs,” Lexa says, predictably. “One in each hand; make circles around your nipples.” The power dynamic between them switches just like that. It’s one of Clarke’s favorite things, how she can be in control one second and then Lexa is the next. “Get your thumbs wet and roll over them. Imagine it’s my mouth, my lips, my tongue.”
Clarke does as she’s told, sucking in her bottom lip between her teeth as she works already-stiff nipples into rock-hard, sensitive peaks under Lexa’s attentive gaze. “Fuck, I wish you were here,” she says on a breathy exhale.
“Me too,” Lexa grumbles. Clarke can’t blame her for sounding mildly frustrated - she loves that they can do this but it’s nowhere near as good as when they’re in person together. “Take the rest of that suit off now,” Lexa instructs, “And scoot back a little so I can see you.”
Once again Clarke is quickly compliant, stripping out of the lingerie and tossing it carelessly to the side. She might normally make Lexa work for things a little more but not tonight - she’s hungry for a deeper connection and she can tell Lexa is, too. She can be a brat some other day. She does have one request though, as she leans back against the pillows and lets her legs fall open wide. “Touch yourself too, Lex. I want to come together.”
There are a few seconds of shimmying on Lexa’s end and then she settles back down in her spot. The camera is still focused on her face and chest, but Clarke can see the angle of her right hand where it’s presumably between her legs. Lexa returns to the task at hand promptly. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” she breathes. “Slide your hand down but stay just on the outside. Just lightly stroking, increasing pressure with each pass. Tease yourself.”
Clarke teases herself until she’s on the verge of going rogue if Lexa doesn’t relent and give her more instructions soon. Luckily she does, and she coaches Clarke through everything, telling her in detail what she would do if she were there and how to touch herself so it most closely mimics their in-person lovemaking. By the time the clock hits midnight and they tip over into Christmas Day, they’re both sweating and panting, both ends of the line gone momentarily quiet save for their heavy breathing.
“Our first Christmas Eve video sex,” Lexa eventually says with a laugh, straightening up as she slides her shorts back up her legs.
“And our last,” Clarke reminds her. “How long until I see you again?” She’d just had a really good orgasm but it barely took the edge off of how much she wants Lexa at this moment. Never mind how much she misses her in general - if anything it made that worse.
“83 days,” Lexa answers without hesitation.
“83 days,” Clarke sighs wistfully. “83 days and then it’s you, me, and Cancun beaches and the best hotel sex you’ve ever had.”
“You in a bikini for 8 days,” Lexa says, eyes widening at the prospect. Clarke rolls her eyes even though she secretly enjoys Lexa’s constant thirst. “I’m just excited to be with you and spend time with you. The beach and resort are just a plus.”
“We deserve it,” Clarke says. “It’s been way too long. But then there are only a few more weeks left of the semester and before we know it, you’ll be home for good.”
Lexa nods in agreement. “Home,” she says, a longing lilt to her tone, “is wherever I’m with you.”
“Charmer.”
Lexa smiles, wide and uninhibited. It’s one of the most beautiful things Clarke has ever seen in her life and her heart stutters in her chest, throwing in an extra beat.
“I love you, Clarke.”
“I love you, Lex.”
There never should have been any Christmases apart in the first place, but as far as they go, this isn’t the worst one.
The best part is that it’s the last one.
Home Sweet Home
Lexa hits her like a freight train, with no care at all for the flowers she crushes between their bodies when she catapults herself into Clarke. They stumble backward in a shuffle of feet and wildly swinging centers of gravities until Lexa finally has mercy on Clarke and rights them both, strong arms wrapping around her middle and holding her tight, standing her up tall.
Lexa would never let her fall. There’s never been any doubt.
Taking Clarke’s face in both of her hands, Lexa gives her a once over, relaxing only once she’s satisfied that Clarke is in fact real, and in front of her, and entirely whole and healthy. There’s this wondrous look in her eyes that makes Clarke’s heart stumble pitifully in her chest. Skype calls are great but there’s really nothing else in the world like staring into those grey-green eyes. Being able to see the love in them, the desire, the crazed excitement that comes with their reunions even if it’s only been 9 months this time instead of 2 years. Originally Lexa was supposed to move back home shortly after their spring break vacation together, a plan that had been foiled by an opportunity of a lifetime to work side by side with one of her professors at an NGO over the summer. Clarke had been disappointed, of course, but mainly proud and supportive.
And none of that matters now, because Lexa is here . She’s home.
Clarke swallows, surprised to find a lump in her throat. She’s just so happy . “I can’t believe you’re really -” A soft set of lips so rudely interrupts her, pressing to her own and rendering her incapable of finishing her sentence. By the time Lexa sets her free, any disbelief about whether or not Lexa is really here, that their separation is really over, has been mercifully kissed away.
“God I missed you.” Lexa is beaming, in all of her just-traveled-for-16-hours glory.
“I missed you too,” Clarke agrees. It’s the understatement of her lifetime. Nothing has felt right since Lexa moved away in the first place. Now, nearly 5 years later, her return to the States and to Clarke’s life as a regular, permanent fixture is a balm to her chapped soul.
They gather Lexa’s luggage and make their way out of the airport hand in hand. It’s cold out but Clarke’s heart is warm enough that the heat radiates through her entire body. She wouldn’t dare complain about the weather, not when Lexa is finally home.
It takes them a little while to actually leave the parking garage, too impatient to wait until they get home to further reacquaint with the taste and feel of each other’s lips, hands threading into hair, nudging between thighs as they lean across the center console. When an older couple arrives at the car parked next to them and starts bickering loudly in that travel-weary way as they load their luggage into their car they finally break apart, giggling giddily.
Clarke keeps one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Lexa’s thigh as she maneuvers her way out of the garage. “My mom wants us over for dinner at 6,” Clarke lets Lexa know. Casually, for no specific reason.
Lexa glances at the clock on the dash. “Okay,” she says, humming thoughtfully. “So we’ll have a few hours to ourselves. What are we going to do?” she asks. “I hope we don’t get bored.”
“I’ll come up with something to keep you occupied,” Clarke promises. “I’m sure it will take us a while to get you unpacked anyways.”
“True,” Lexa agrees. “That will take a few hours, at least.”
“We’ll get on that right away then.”
…
They don’t even bring the suitcases inside.
The ‘unpacking’ charade is dropped as soon as they arrive at Clarke’s apartment - at their apartment.
Clarke has been excited to show Lexa her place which they’ll now be sharing - it’s definitely an upgrade from when they spent most of their time at her mom’s house, cramming onto a twin-sized mattress in a pink-walled bedroom. She’d even spent a weekend installing an elaborate system of bookshelves for Lexa in the living room.
Lexa doesn’t seem to care about them when they get inside, though - under normal circumstances Clarke would be miffed, but these aren’t normal circumstances. This is their first time together in their apartment, their first time seeing each other in person in 9 months - fuck the bookshelves, honestly.
Clarke just wants Lexa to fuck her .
And that she does, eagerly and thoroughly, even if she would probably call it making love and not fucking . It’s bone-achingly slow and sweet, a reconnection on a cosmic level that has Clarke seeing stars. She returns Lexa’s passion ardently, drawing out all of the longing and pining she’s endured during their separation until Lexa comes crashing down on her fingers. It’s the official end of all of their waiting - the official start of forever. It’s the culmination of finally, finally, finally .
When they drag themselves out of the apartment hours later to make it in time for Christmas Eve dinner it’s with still-mussed hair and a slight waddle to their steps, hopefully noticeable only to them.
Next Christmas
Clarke feels like she should be nervous. She really probably should be, but she just…isn’t.
In fact she’s the opposite of nervous, sitting on the couch with her arm draped over the back cushion, pleasantly warmed by eggnog with a heavy handed pour of amaretto and rum and Lexa’s leg pressed up against hers knee to thigh. Lexa’s leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, intently focused on a game of Chinese checkers that’s taken over the coffee table, locked in a battle of wits and strategy with Raven, Wells, and Abby. Clarke isn’t much one for the game herself, but she enjoys the bickering and banter and the adorable crease of concentration between Lexa’s brows as she plans out her moves.
“Oh fuck you, Wells,” Raven gripes as he blocks her intended path to victory.
“You know I don’t swing that way, but I’m flattered.”
“I didn’t say fuck me ,” Raven corrects him. “I meant that as in get fucked . Gender non-specific, I really don’t care what you do in the sack.”
Lexa snorts. Clarke swats at her shoulder; don’t encourage her . Lexa leans into the touch, flopping backwards for a quick kiss which Clarke is helpless to deny before she returns her attention to the game while her opponents squabble.
“Okay, okay. I’d really not rather hear either of you say the word fuck for the rest of the night, if you’d be so kind. In any of its many contexts,” Abby interjects, cutting off whatever Wells’ retort was about to be.
Raven and Wells glare at each other from across the table but ultimately mutter in practiced unison, “Sorry Mrs. G.”
The game goes smoothly from there, aside from when Abby - the dark horse - unexpectedly wins the game in a series of moves towards the end. Her competitors grumble their “good game” s, with promises of better strategizing for next year.
Lexa turns to Clarke with a pretty pout on her face, lips pressed together in a small frown. Clarke can’t help but laugh, equal parts amused and endeared, and presses her hand to the side of Lexa’s face, brushing her thumb across a cheekbone made rosey by the single glass of wine she’d had with dinner. “Maybe next year will be your year, honey,” she tells her, but somehow this only makes The Pout™ worse. She leans forward to peck lips that soften and yield promptly. Lexa looks more than a little placated when she pulls away just seconds later.
“Let’s go watch a movie in the basement, for old times’ sake,” Clarke suggests. Lexa nods. Very obviously staring at her lips.
Clarke turns to look at Raven and Wells. “You guys wanna come watch Rudolph?”
“God no,” Raven immediately answers. “That couch has been down there since you guys were teenagers. Wells could probably get pregnant just from sitting on it.”
“Why would I, out of any of us, be the one getting pregnant?”
“Please don’t answer that.” Abby saves the day, again. “The word pregnant is officially banned now, too, unless it’s in the context of an exciting announcement from any of you.”
“Uh, yeah, fat chance Mrs. G. Wells and I are lame enough to not even have a date to this Christmas Eve shindig, and those two are too busy fawning over each other to have any time to spare on a crotch goblin.”
“So, yes or no?” Clarke asks, before Abby can ban crotch goblin too.
“Hard pass,” Raven unnecessarily answers. Wells, as her ride home, much more politely declines.
As a group they help put the living room back together and wrap up leftovers for the fridge. Raven and Wells bundle up and Lexa and Clarke leave them at the door, chatting with Abby and Sinclair about some recent article in Forbes that Clarke hasn’t read and doesn’t honestly care about at all.
“Okay, well, love you guys and see you tomorrow for brunch,” Clarke says. She takes Lexa’s hand and drags her off down the stairs, exactly like she used to do when they were kids, pockets stuffed with candy they weren’t supposed to be eating so close to bed time.
There’s no candy this time, but Lexa giggling as she trails behind her and the way they collapse together onto the couch, a clash of teeth and lips and tongue now that they’re finally away from prying eyes, is better than anything Clarke could have possibly smuggled in her pockets.
Several minutes later they’re snuggled up on the couch, laps draped by one of Jake’s old wool blankets while their movie plays, comforting and familiar. Lexa curls into Clarke’s side; it’s one of her favorite things in the world, the way Lexa is so soft and relaxed in moments like these. A perpetually busy mind quieted, strong will subdued. If she could bottle up this kind of peace, if she could grant it to Lexa every moment of every day, she would.
She can’t, unfortunately; but she’s content enough with the moments she does get.
Time sprawls by in a way that feels unmeasured while Clarke holds Lexa in her arms, fingers carding through silky chestnut waves while she thinks of the magnitude of this evening - pondering past and present and future while Lexa lazes unawares.
This night could change everything. This night will change everything, charting the course for the rest of their lives, sending them in a direction that Clarke once thought was an impossibility. A far fetched dream, now within her grasp if she just goes for it.
She doesn’t make it to the end of the movie as she originally intended. About halfway through, the thrumming nervousness and excitement coursing through her becomes too much to bear. When Lexa squeezes her fidgeting knee she decides she can’t wait any longer.
"Lexa."
She turns to look at Clarke, interest piqued by the tone of her voice; soft and shaking slightly.
"This is our 15th time watching this movie together. We met when we were 5 years old. Can you believe that?" She laughs a laugh that is more of a sigh, smiling timidly in a way that Lexa reflects, uncertainty coloring her features but she listens patiently. "We missed a few years here and there when life got in the way, but 18 years ago was the first time we ever watched Frosty together. Since then we've made a life time of memories. We've been best friends through thick and thin. You've taught me what true, unwavering love looks and feels like - first as a friend and now as my partner and the love of my life. You set the bar so, so high right from the beginning. I was ruined for anyone else from the very first second I saw you, I swear. I didn't know exactly what it was back then - I was 5 - but I just…knew. Oh, that's her ." Her throat is tightening now with emotion, threatening to choke off her words. She pauses to gather herself, while Lexa starts to piece together what's going on.
"Clarke…"
"No, shush. I can do this," Clarke laughs wetly. "I was made for you, Lexa. To meet you, to know you, to love you. And you were made for me. From the same stars - a predetermined destiny, whatever you want to call it. I've never been so sure of anything in my life. Even when things got hard, when it felt like I might be losing you for good - I was just so certain that that wasn't a possibility. It couldn't happen, not to us. I could feel it in my bones . And I was right. Like always."
Lexa laughs at that, relieving some of the emotion-laden tension in the air. She reaches out and brushes a tear that has fallen and is rolling down Clarke's cheek. Clarke watches the slow bob of her throat as she swallows, almost certainly having caught on by now.
Reaching into the deep pockets of her sweatpant pajamas, she produces a slim wooden box. "Did you know that this isn't even the first ring I got you?" Lexa is perplexed, brows furrowing as she tilts and then shakes her head. "When you moved away I had this crazy notion that I would finally tell you how I felt and steal you away. Propose to you and get you to come back home to me. It was so dramatic," she laughs. "And thank God I didn't do it. One, it was best to let things play out, no matter how much it hurt at the time. I knew if it was meant to be you would come back to me." She doesn't linger on this topic long at all; she isn't here to remind Lexa of the time she almost chose someone else. She doesn't want to think about that at all, honestly. "And two - I'm pretty sure that thing would have turned your finger green. I was broke as a joke that first semester of college."
Lexa laughs, breathy and pretty, until Clarke pops open the box, silencing her.
"This one is much nicer. When I told my mom I was planning to ask you to be my wife she insisted that I take this. It turns out my dad had saved his mom's wedding ring, originally with the intention of offering it to whatever poor man wanted to marry me one day when I was older. But I think…no, I know he would have preferred this a million times over. He loved you so much, Lex."
Lexa's reached her tipping point now; she sniffles as she looks from Clarke to the ring and back again, overcome with emotion, eyes welling up. "I loved him too."
"I know you did," Clarke assures her. "And it's why this makes total sense. There's no one else this ring ever could have gone to. It belongs to you - my lifelong love. The only person my father ever would have trusted with me. The only person my family has ever envisioned for me and taken on as one of their own. You see, I've always been yours, Lexa. And I always will be yours." She pauses, taking a trembling breath before she asks the most important question of her life. "Will you be mine? Will you marry me?"
It's not technically perfect - she's not down on one knee, they're not surrounded by friends and family, no one is setting off fireworks in the background or flashing a camera in their faces.
But here, tucked away in their quiet, cozy solitude as Lexa whispers, “I’ve always been yours,” and lurches forward, crashing their mouths together on the couch in the basement of Clarke's family home, technically doesn't matter to either of them.
This is perfect.
After a few moments of getting drunk on her kiss, Clarke has to put a hand on Lexa's chest to create enough space between them to get a word out. "So is that a yes?" She asks, needing the verbal confirmation. Needing to slide the sparkling ring onto Lexa's left ring finger and make it all real, lest she wake up and find out she’s still 14 years old and pining after her best friend and this is all a dream.
"Yes, Clarke. Yes. Of course I'll marry you."
It takes them a little while to actually get the ring on after that.
The next day when they announce their engagement at brunch, everyone is overjoyed but no one is surprised.
Many Christmases ago Clarke had pondered whether she could be in love with two people at once. She knows now that she in fact isn't capable of that.
It has always, always been Lexa.
…
…