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The hospital dorm is dim, despite the blazing sun outside. Flimsy curtains have been drawn across the two small windows and a slither of light seeps in through the cracked doorway, but otherwise the room is quiet and dark, filled only with the restless tossing of doctors trying to catch a moment of sleep in the carnage of the day. Clarke sits on the edge of a bed, perching precariously. Her hair is ratted, hanging half out of the sensible bun she put it in so many hours ago and falling around her face in strands matted with sweat and tears. Her face feels stiff and clammy, her scrubs pungent with sweat and blood. Elbows on her knees, her whole posture is curled over on itself, as if trying to protect her soul from the heaviness that hangs around her shoulder. Her hands are lightly clasped, but that doesn’t stop them trembling.
She hears the door swing open above her, but doesn’t look up until the mattress beside her tips gently. A hand rests on her knee, stilling the shaking and she draws her head up to blink at Wells in the darkness.
“Hey,” Her friend tries for a weak smile but she can read the exhaustion in the lines of his face, etched into the bags beneath his eyes. “Thought you were going home.”
“I am,” Her voice is scratchy and rough and she swallows heavily, “I just… I needed a minute you know? Before getting behind the wheel?”
“I get it,” He squeezes her knee softly. “Could Lexa come and get you?”
Clarke shakes her head, frowning as she thinks. Lexa and the kids feel very far away right now, but a bleary look at the clock tells her that it’s almost time for school to be let out. “No,” She says at last, “No, I can manage. She’s working on a big case, I’ll let her stay at work and pick up the kids. Unless…” She peers at him uncertainly, “I feel like I should stay here. There’s so much more to be done.”
“Clarke,” Wells is gently stern, shaking his head before she’s even finished talking. “You’ve been here for 26 hours. Go home, get some rest, there’s enough of us here to deal with this.”
“Yeah?” At his nod she lets out a soft sigh and hates herself for the relief that curls in her gut. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll head home.”
“See you tomorrow Clarke,” He stands and holds out his arms and she clasps him close. They’ve always been close, but days like today force bonds even closer. She understands why so many people date their colleagues, no one else can really understand what happens in emergency operating theatres. “Thanks for your hard work today.”
“Don’t stay too long,” It’s her turn to be firm, “You need rest too.”
“Yes doctor,” He gives her a tired grin and it lightens her spirits enough to make it out to the car.
The sunlight is far too bright after so many hours traipsing around the hospital corridors and she hesitates at the automatic door, almost afraid to step out into the street. But she’s already sent Lexa a text on the way down here, reassuring her that she’ll pick the kids up from school and telling her to stay late at the office if she wants to and it’s this that pushes her out onto the sidewalk. There are still ambulances milling around and she can already see flowers being laid beneath the sign for the hospital, a few camera crews loitering about in hopes of finding something to shoot.
She keeps her head down and treks to the car, the keys swinging in fingers that ache from hours of careful cutting and pressing and stitching. Her eyes still feeling blurry, stinging with the effort of keeping them open and she swallows, glad to shut the car door behind her and find a moment of peace and solitude to ground herself.
In her pocket, her phone buzzes and she pulls it out to see a text from Lexa.
15:04
You sure?? You’ve been up for hours, I can do it
It’s tempting. All she wants to do is get home and bury herself in her comforter to ignore the trembling of her limbs and the images behind her eyelids. But part of being a family is making sacrifices and she knows that Lexa has a meeting with Senator Kane in the next few days about her bill.
15:07
I got it, don’t worry, see you later xx
15:08
<3 I love you
Despite the day she’s had, the text makes her lips quirk up and jerks her out of her stupor enough to turn the car over.
Without thinking she clicks on the radio and the words that greet her make her screech the car to a stop in the middle of reversing out of her space.
“ …reports from the scene of the school bus crash yesterday afternoon, children have been rushed to the hospital where medical staff are doing…”
Behind her a driver presses the heel of his hand into his horn and she startles, her breath coming harsh and fast, her fingers shaking as she raises a hand in apology and hitches herself out of her space, circling the parking lot and pulling out onto the road.
By the time she gets to the school she’s managed to calm down a little, enough that when she climbs out to collect the kids she’s able to give the playgroup teacher a wavering smile, glad that she thought to throw a sweater on over her scrubs before she got out of the car. Tris’s little face somehow makes her feel both better and worse and the little girl toddles to her happily, throwing her arms around her neck when she bends down to collect her into her arms.
“Clarke!” It still makes her grin when Tris says her name, though she’s been saying it for nearly a year and it came far after the words mama, Lexa and no .
“Hey sweetie,” Her wispy hair is long enough to tie into two pigtails now and they bounce when she tilts her head curiously at Clarke.
“You back?” She asks, bluntly and Clarke lets out a soft sigh.
“Yeah, I’m back.” Behind her Miya is starting to get fidgety and she carries Tris back to the car, letting the little girl trail after her. She straps Tris into her car seat- Miya’s old one which is still a little big for her- and watches as Miya clambers into the passenger seat. She can’t help but place a soft kiss to Tris’s forehead, warm and wriggling and alive , and gets into the driver’s seat.
Miya turns to peer at her as she drives and Clark can see the curious expression on her face from the corner of her eyes, biting back a smile at the sight.
“Clarke?”
“Mm?”
“Where were you last night?”
Her fingers clench around the wheel and she swallows heavily before she can answer. “There was a big accident Miya, lots of people had to go to hospital. I thought Aunt Lexa explained that to you.”
“Yeah, but couldn’t you have just come home for dinner?” Miya frowns, “Aunt Lexa made us eat vegetables.”
“Because that’s not how it-”
“Can we have pizza tonight?” Miya interrupts, twisting properly in her seat and Clarke can feel the tension building up behind her eyes, static like an electrical storm, and pushes it fiercely away.
“ No, and sit straight, you need to be careful.” She reaches over to briefly push on Miya’s shoulders.
“Be careful?” Miya echoes, perplexed, but obediently turns back in her seat. “But we’re in a car.”
“Bad things can happen in cars, you need to let your seat belt do its work,” Clarke responds firmly and clicks on the CD of Disney songs that is now permanently stuck in her car.
---
The screaming of the toddler sat in front of her is enough to drown out Aden’s shouting until he gets to the doorway of the living room. Clarke is sat on the floor, holding the leg that had been ripped off Tris’s teddy bear by a guilty looking Comet, and trying to calm the distraught child. Tris’s face is red with all of her screaming, her cheeks puffy and her eyes swollen and Clarke has been trying to calm her down for the past ten minutes, her migraine getting slowly worse. She’s still in her scrubs, the scent of death lingers in her nose, making her feel vaguely nauseous and she swallows past the bile building up in the back of her throat when Aden calls her name.
“Yes?” She peers over her shoulder, one hand still blindly patting the toddler on the floor. “What is it?”
“I need you to help me study for my history test,” He is holding a piece of paper, looking agitated and she scoops Tris up into her arms so that she can stand.
“When is it?”
“Tomorrow,” He looks a little guilty and she sighs, her brows creasing as she opens her mouth to reprimand him. Aden hurries to talk over her, “I have studied for it a bit, but there hasn’t been any time Clarke! You said you’d help me last night but then you weren’t here .”
“Couldn’t-” Tris wriggles in her arms and she grunts, struggling to readjust the toddler until Tris can bury her face in the crook of her neck, where her tears wet Clarke’s skin. “Couldn’t Aunt Lexa have helped?”
“She tried, but she kept getting distracted by work,” Aden’s face is slipping into an frantic scowl, “I need your help Clarke! Or I’ll fail!”
“You’re not going to fail, okay? Go get your books and put them on the dining room table, I’ll come and help once I’m done with your sister.”
Tris’s cries are thankfully quietening to muffled, hiccoughing sobs close to her ear and as Aden disappears upstairs, Clarke settles onto the couch and gathers Tris into her lap.
“It’s okay Tris, I’m sorry about your bear.”
Tris looks up at her, wide eyes glazed with tears and proffers the amputee in her arms, “Fix it?”
“I… I can try,” She looks at the bear a little helplessly, “I promise I’ll try, okay sweetheart?”
Tris nods, her lower lip still trembling and sniffs. Clarke collects her into her arms, grabs another toy from the living room floor and goes to join Aden in the dining room. Settling into the chair next to him, Tris in her lap, she struggles to hide a jaw cracking yawn as the boy spreads his books out across the table, passing over a text book.
“I need you to quiz me on chapters 4, 5 and 6.” He drums his fingers on the table, watching as she drags the book closer and peers down at it.
“Right… so anything? Anything at all?” The letters swim in front of her and she pushes a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. Tris wriggles in her lap, squirming anxiously as she tosses her toy to the floor and tugs on Clarke’s arm.
“Play Clarke!”
“Okay,” She tries to let the little girl down, but Tris refuses to go, tugging on her arm again.
“Play!”
“I can’t play with you right now,” Clarke glances at the door to the hall. “Miya! Can you come and play with your sister?”
There is a beat of silence before Miya’s voice responds from upstairs. “I’m busy!”
She thinks about arguing, but the weariness is heavy in her limbs so she sighs softly, turning back to look at Aden’s expectant face. “Okay,” She says, more to herself than either of the children, “okay, Tris look, we’re going to help your brother do something really important okay?”
“Play!” Tris slaps a little hand down on the open text book and Clarke suppressing the urge to scream.
“Look, Tris, look at this.” She diverts the toddler’s attention down to the book in front of them, pointing at one of the bright pictures of a commander on a rearing horse. “Look, horsey!”
Tris stills in her lap, her hand patting softly at the paper, “horsey,” she echoes, quietly and Clarke casts a pleading glance at Aden.
“Go get her horse, then I’ll help you I promise .”
He gives a great sigh, but hops out of the chair and returns a moment later with Tris’s stuffed horse. “Here Tris.”
The toddler takes the toy into her eager hands, cooing over it and Clarke feels a modicum of peace settle over them as she turns back to the text book. Just looking at the thick block of text makes her want to rub her eyes, desperately hoping that the sentences will pull together and make enough sense that she can ask Aden some vaguely relevant questions. Aden is actually very well prepared, despite his panicking, and she smiles when he answers her first few questions right.
“Do you want to turn the page with me?” She asks Tris and the toddler nods happily, clumsy fingers following Clarke’s as she slowly turns the page.
They get through another six pages successfully before there’s the thud of footsteps on the staircase and Clarke turns in time to see Miya, in her powder pink tutu, spin on socked feet into the dining room.
“Miya,” She scolds, “You’re only meant to wear that for dance class.”
“I’m practicing for the recital!” Miya answers, smartly and Clarke has to bite at the inside of her cheek before she can answer calmly.
“You shouldn’t practice in your costume, what if something happens to it?”
“Like what?” Miya cocks her head.
“If it gets ripped or something.”
“But it won’t!”
“Oh my god, Miya go back upstairs!” Aden cuts in between them. “I have to study!”
“No!” Miya’s face crumples, “this is my house too!”
“Fine! Then I’ll go!” Aden grabs a few of his books, his face like thunder and storms past her so angrily that he knocks her shoulder.
“Ow!” Miya turns to Clarke self righteously for support and Tris has been distracted enough by the hubbub that she’s turned her attention back to the broken teddy bear. Comet barks at the door, pattering around between them.
“Aden!” Clarke hopes they can’t hear the way her voice wavers. “Come back here please!”
“No! She’s just ruining it.”
“Aden-”
“I am not !” There is a quiver of tears, the trembling of Miya’s lower lip, “I just wanted some help-”
“That’s okay Miya,” Clarke stands, letting Tris down to the ground and placing a hand on Miya’s shoulder, “Aden’s just stressed, but that doesn’t give him an excuse to be rude- Aden! Come back and apologise to your sister!”
“No!” Aden peers over the staircase, “She always gets her way, it’s not fair .”
“She’s seven Aden, she didn’t mean to interrupt you!”
“Yes she did .” Aden stomps back down the stairs, “You were meant to be helping me study, this is important .”
“So’s my recital!” Miya glowers at him, hands on her hips.
“Clarke!” Tris grabs on her hand, pulling her attention down and holds up the teddy bear with watering eyes. “Clarke fix!”
“Okay,” Clarke pinches her nose, closing her eyes for a minute to gather her thoughts. “Aden, stop being childish and come back here so that I can help you study, Miya go take off that outfit and I’ll help you practice later.” She turns her back to their protests, grabbing the emergency sewing kit that Lexa keeps in the top kitchen cupboard, there for last minute patches and rips.
The kids are still shouting, both at each other and her and Tris is starting to cry, so she takes the bear and its lost limb in hand and settles at the kitchen table to pull out a needle and thread. The moment she takes the cold instrument in hand, she feels her blood run icy in her veins. Her fingers are trembling so much that she can barely thread the cotton and takes a few moments to realise that the kids have all gone quiet.
“Clarke?” She hears Aden say, “Are you okay?”
“You’re all white,” Miya adds and when she lifts her eyes she can suddenly see the children laid out on stretchers and operating tables before her. Her hands feels stiff, as if they are still coated with blood and the phantom smell is enough to make her dive from the table and retch into the kitchen sink.
It feels like an age that she’s bent in two, the smell of metal hot in her nose, her throat scratched from so much retching, but it can only be a few minutes before a gentle hand comes to rest on her shoulders, rubbing softly and brushing away the hair that’s falling into her sweaty face. She peers around and it feels as if some of the knots in her body unravel at the sight of Lexa’s concerned face, still wearing her crisp business suit.
“You’re back.” She croaks and Lexa hushes her softly, passing her a glass of water.
“I came home a little earlier.” Warm, gentle hands smooth over her forehead and her hair, soothing her as Clarke takes the water and washes out her mouth. “Good thing I did, too. Are you okay?”
“Yeah just…” She slowly eases herself upright and has to put a hand to her head when the room swings around her. “Tired I think, a bit worn down.”
“Go have a shower and go to bed, I’ll sort everything out here.” Lexa places the softest of kisses to her forehead and for a moment Clarke sinks into her embrace, too weary to argue and lets Lexa hold her up.
The kids are clustered in the kitchen doorway, watching them and Clarke can feel their eyes on her, boring into her skin and settling beneath it like an itch. Just looking at them reminds her of the blood coating her gloves and staining her scrub top, small hands reaching out from hospital beds and crying children gasping for their mothers as surgeons rushed them to the operating rooms, and she feels the bile rise in her throat again.
---
She takes a few minutes in the shower to slide down against the cold tile and crumple herself into a small ball. The weight on her shoulders slips down, cloaking her whole body until she feels consumed by it and when she rests her forehead against her knees and lets the water run over her face she almost feels as if she’s drowning.
She drags herself out of the water when her hands are wrinkled and her breathless sobs have turned to a sore throat and a headache and falls into bed, still curled in her towel, wet hair dripping down her back. The comforter is thick and heavy, but even when she piles it over her head she can still see helpless faces and reaching hands every time she closes her eyes. There is a knock on the door, but she stays silent. It swings open and she’s unsurprised to hear feet pad across the room and feel the mattress sink beside her. A hand comes to rest on the top of her head, smoothing down the shock of hair that sticks out from her cocoon and she steadies herself, wipes away the tears on her cheek with the corner of the comforter before twisting up to look at Lexa.
“Hey,” Her girlfriend is soft, her smile carefully understanding and she immediately feels guilt crashing through her at the sight. “I brought you something to eat, but if you just want to crash I can wrap it up.” In her hand is a plate of pie and vegetables and Clarke rubs at her eyes and levers herself up in the bed to take it into her lap.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Lexa swings her legs around so that she can sit next to her on the bed and they sit in silence for a few moments, as Clarke picks at her food. Her stomach is still in knots and despite the rigorous brushing and gargling of mouthwash she did earlier, she can still taste bile in the back of her mouth.
“Clarke,” Lexa’s soft voice breaks the silence and her hand comes to rest over Clarke’s, stilling her anxious movements. She drags her eyes up to look at Lexa, swallowing away the lump in her throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” She pushes away the plate immediately, easing down in the bed. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine,” Lexa doesn’t let go of her hand, tightening her fingers. “Talking about it could help.”
“Lex,” She pulls her hand away so violently that Lexa flinches. The guilt swells in her again and she makes an effort to soften her tone. “I’m really okay, just so tired.” She gives a weak smile, but Lexa’s uneasy expression doesn’t shift. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help out with the kids more.”
At that Lexa’s face cracks, turning to earnest worry, “Of course not, you need to sleep.”
She just nods, so weary that she feels almost blank and Lexa runs a hand over her hair again, leaning in to kiss her softly.
---
Hours later, when Lexa slips into the room and begins changing into her pyjamas, Clarke rolls over to look at her. She is sweat soaked from the nightmares that plague her each time she closes her eyes and she feels dangerously close to tears again, fingers trembling. Lexa turns, catching her movement and stills, cringing apologetically.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Not really,” Her voice is croaking and she can barely look at Lexa as she speaks. “Actually, I think I want to be alone tonight.”
Lexa freezes where she’s pulling on her pyjama shorts and turns slowly to look at her, hesitant when she speaks. “But… we never sleep alone.”
“I know it’s just…” Clarke gestures aimlessly, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m so tired, it would be easier on my own tonight.”
It’s impossible to avoid the hurt expression on Lexa’s face, the way her expression twists and Clarke feels almost breathless with guilt.
“Right,” Lexa answers, lamely, after a moment of silence. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry,” Clarke watches her go and her stomach curls into knots again. She sees Lexa hesitate at the door, watches her silhouette turn and catches the wavering smile on her face, as false as the words that follow it.
“It’s okay. Sleep well.”
The door shuts quietly behind her and Clarke twists, curling herself around the comforter until she is completely cocooned and no one can see the tears trailing down her cheeks and feel the guilt that seems to itch under her skin.
---
The next morning she leaves before anyone else is awake. Even Lexa hasn’t yet left for her morning run and Clarke feels a flush of guilt when she scrawls a hasty message on the pad stuck to the front of the fridge. She arrives at the hospital almost an hour early for her shift, but the storm cloud expression on her face must be enough to warn people off because no one questions it when she scrubs up and pulls on her white coat.
The kids from the car accident are still crowding the wards. They’ve lost a few during the night and the sight of nurses and orderlies stripping back the newly empty beds made her stomach turn nastily, a twisting reminder that she hasn’t eaten anything since the night before. The morning slips by as if in a dream and she tries to stay as detached as possible, but can’t help the lump that works its way into her throat every time she watches a patience cry or ask for their parents. Everyone else seems to be hustling around as normal, if anything they are more focused and determined, but she feels distant and absent from her body, as if every is happening very far away from herself.
“Clarke,” Wells appears behind her as if by magic and she jolts, looking up from the chart that she’s consulting. He’s still in his scrubs from the night before and she’d bet he’s had barely any sleep judging by the bags under his eyes. “How are you doing? Still exhausted?”
“Nope,” She forces herself to smile, though it’s weak and quavering. “Ready to get to work.”
“You sure?” Wells knows her better than she would like to admit and his gaze is suspicious. “You look tired.”
“Not as tired as you,” She tries to keep her tone as light as possible, averting her eyes back to the chart. “Go get some sleep Jaha, I’ll can cover you until your shift ends.”
“I’m fine,” He shrugs her off determinedly but when his pager beeps he can’t hide the exhaustion in his eyes. “I have to be in surgery, sorry Clarke.”
“Wait,” She reaches out and catches him by the arm, eyeing him critically. “You can’t perform surgery right now, you’re dead on your feet.”
“I can,” His protest is half-hearted.
“As if, let me cover you.”
“Are you sure?” His brows crease, “You were pretty shaken up yesterday, are you okay to be in theatre again?”
“Of course I am,” Her mouth sets into a thin line, “I’m just looking over recoveries, you handle that while I fill in for you in surgery.”
“Okay,” He lets out a breath that makes him slump, as if all of the air has deflated from his body. “Okay fine, but page me if you need me.”
---
Scrubbing in takes no time at all and she tries to ignore the ghostly feeling of the blood against her hands, under her nails, along her wrists. The gloves feel slightly too tight and the mask is hot around her face, but before she can really think about it they are called in to begin the operation and she is forced to push the worries to the back of her mind. The theatre is clean and white and busy with people in green scrubs. So many hands for such a little body. She catches sight of the child sprawled across the operating table, heartbeat and breathing monitored by the machines keeping him alive, oxygen mask against his face. His ribs are bruised, his leg twisted at an odd angle and already bandaged, a simple break they sorted the night before.
This operation will be more difficult, a complication with his breathing that they suspect is caused by broken ribs piercing the lung, allowing it to fill with fluid. It’s easily fixed if caught early but with so much confusion and the boy barely conscious enough to explain the problem, it had been missed until his breathing had become laboured that morning.
“Griffin!” She is brought back to attention by the head surgeon and hurries to hand him the right tools, watching as he cuts through the boys chest.
She has been stationed close to the patient’s head and when she glances away from the intricacies of the operation she can see his face, sandy hair slicked to his forehead by sweat, two pert and plump lips and pale skin. He can’t be any more than seven, a little younger than Aden had been when he had first come to them and she feels her throat tighten at the comparison, her breath suddenly caught.
Fumbling, she hands the surgeon another tool when he requests it, but she can barely stand to tear her eyes away from the boy on the table. If he opened his eyes would they be green, like Aden’s? This could have been any one of their kids, it’s so easy for them to be hurt, even when Clarke and Lexa are there.
There is a sudden beeping, a bustle of alarmed voices and she hears one pierce through the ringing in her ears.
“He’s crashing!”
“No!” Her voice rips through the operating theatre and several people turn to stare at her, alarmed. “No, no he can’t be.”
“Move out of the way Griffin,” The head surgeon looks at her, concerned, “you’re doing more harm than good right now.”
“I just- he can’t-” The words choke her and she can feel the sweat beading against her neck even as the gooseflesh travels up her arms. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows that she is having a panic attack, has talked Lexa through them before, but her brain can’t seem to process the idea that she is acting irrationally. Her knees shake beneath her and her colleague must notice because she reaches out at the last minute to catch her elbow, helping to steady her when the theatre spins around her.
“Get her out of here!” The head surgeon shouts and she just manages to leave the OR in time to vomit into a trash can in the corridor.
---
Wells find her in the on-call room. He slips inside quietly and though she knows it’s him, she doesn’t turn from where she is curled up, staring at the wall. He says nothing, just slips onto the bed beside her and places a hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently. She stays in her cocoon, struggling to breathe deeply and staving off the despair and humiliation that rages in her gut. Finally it is desperation that forces her to twist and ask, her voice croaking.
“The boy?”
“Made it out of surgery in one piece. He’s going to be fine.” Wells squeezes on her shoulder and she lets out a soft sigh of relief, mingling with a sob.
“I think… I need to go home.” She admits into the darkness and sees Well’s dimmed form nod.
“I already called Lexa, she’ll be home in half an hour. I’ll drive you back myself, my shift has just ended anyway.”
She’s too defeated to argue and swings her legs off the bed, sitting for a moment as she collects her bearings. “Everyone will hate me.”
“No they won’t,” Wells answers instantly, firm.
“I was weak, I freaked out in the middle of theatre Wells.”
“Clarke, listen to me,” He huffs, “You were in the thick of it yesterday, you saw some of the worst stuff and you’ve worked yourself to the bone, you have to give your mind and body time to recover.”
“There are other doctors who saw worse and they aren’t freaking out like this.” She spits, irrationally furious with Wells.
“You don’t know that! Plus they’re experienced, you’ve never seen this before.” Wells wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer even as she tries to struggle out of his grip. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”
---
Wells is the perfect person to drive her home. He puts on some quiet, inoffensive talk radio and when they switch from talking about some movie to the news he changes the station so smoothly that Clarke barely realises he’s done it. She isn’t asked to talk, she isn’t given any further words of wisdom, instead she is allowed to lean her cheek against the cool window and listen to the radio and forget herself for a little while. Wells lets her sit in the car for a few moments when they pull up in the driveway. Lexa’s car is already there and Clarke thinks that she sees the curtains twitch, but no face appears. Slowly, she begins to unbuckle her belt and Wells turns to look at her, and says softly.
“Let Lexa help.”
She only nods, opening the door and swinging her legs out before she pauses to croakily thank him.
Lexa is sat conspicuously at the kitchen table when she opens the door and she looks up hurriedly when Clarke walks in. She is cradling a cup of something and another mug sits beside her. She offers a wavering smile and the soft kindness is enough to make Clarke crumble. Her eyes fill with tears and her knees tremble beneath her, hands reaching out to clutch at the wall and steady herself and Lexa’s eyes widen.
She stands from her chair, approaches tentatively as Clarke crumbles against the wall and when her shaking voice asks: “Clarke?” Clarke falls into her waiting arms.
It feels so good to be held, soothing hands in her hair and rubbing over her back, strong arms keeping her upright and Lexa smells familiar and calming when she buried her head into the crook of her neck. She’s wearing the cashmere sweater Clarke’s mom got her for Christmas last year and Clarke almost feels bad balling her hands into fists in the soft fabric, but it’s desperately grounding and she wonders if she doesn’t whether she will disintegrate.
She isn’t sure how long they stand in the hallway, leaning against each other. The only sound is Clarke’s hiccoughing sobs, snot snorting from her nose to cover the shoulder of Lexa’s lovely sweater. Lexa doesn’t hesitate or fidget, even after a few long minutes of holding Clarke’s weight and when she gently starts to guide Clarke to her room it takes them settling on the bed together for Clarke to realise where she is.
In a daze, she allows herself to be changed out of her clothes and into the soften pyjamas she has. Lexa wraps her up in her dressing gown and helps her settle under the covers, before she slides in behind her and wraps an arm around her waist.
---
A few hours later she wakes, groggy and disorientated. She’s stiff in a way that tells her that she has been sleeping deeply for a long time, barely moving and when she shifts onto her stomach and cranes her neck there is a flash of pain. Beside her, Lexa’s eyes are open and she watches quietly as Clarke comes back to herself. At some point she must have slipped out from behind Clarke to change into pyjamas, but there is a haziness to her gaze that tells Clarke that she’s been sleeping too. Her arm is still wrapped lightly around Clarke’s waist and when she sees her eyes flicker open there is a moment of hesitation before she slowly begins to draw away. On instinct, Clarke’s fingers wraps around hers and pull her back.
Their gazes meet and Clarke sees the fear in Lexa’s eyes, that she will once again turn her away. Softly, she squeezes her fingers and sees Lexa smile. It’s enough to lighten her heavy heart at least slightly.
“How are you feeling?” Lexa’s voice is rough and low.
“A little better,” Clarke admits, swallowing heavily. “Thanks for staying with me.”
Lexa’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. “Of course, always,” the promise is whispered fervently between their sheets, but Clarke carefully wraps it away to store between the folds of her chest. There is a moment of silence before Lexa says, unsurely. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Clarke’s eyes dart away and she has to take a moment to gather herself before she can answer. “Um, not really?” She tries for a smile, but it wavers.
“That’s okay,” Lexa answers immediately. “Whatever you want.”
Her gaze is so earnest that Clarke has to ease her eyes away and fix on a spot on the comforter. It’s a dark mark, from years ago when Lexa had spilt coffee all over her bed. She can distinctly remember the feeling of an arm around her shoulders, as if she was surrounded by tentative hope.
“I should tell you,” She confesses, quietly and Lexa’s fingers tighten around hers.
“You don’t have to,” Lexa insists, but Clarke shakes her head and burrows into the crook of Lexa’s shoulder. Arms slide around her like clockwork, pulling her closer instinctually and it’s too easy to sink into Lexa’s embrace and breathe in her soft scent. It feels like coming home and this is eventually what makes Clarke begin her story.
“Do you know about that bus accident? The one with all of the-” The word catches and tears in her throat, like silk against a nail. “The kids?”
Lexa nods wordlessly above her and Clarke curls her fingers into the washed out material of her shirt. It sits too big on her body, wrinkling beneath her and Clarke’s tears leave dark spots on the red fabric.
“Most of them came to our hospital.” Above her, she feels Lexa tense, but now she’s started she can’t stop. “Some of them were dead before they even came in. Most of them had to be rushed straight into surgery. It was…” Her voice breaks again and tears rush over the bridge of her nose. “It was horrible. There were so many of them and when I came home I couldn’t…” She trails off, the words are caught in her throat and when her hands curl into fists and her nails bite into the palms of her hands, she lets herself feel the pain because it’s real and it’s there. She leaves half crescent moons of white, but gentle fingers curl around hers and ease her hands to splay out before she can draw blood.
When she dares to lift her head, Lexa is watching her with painful tenderness.
“It’s okay,” She whispers, promises , and it is folded into Clarke’s heart like pressing flowers. She brings Clarke’s hands up to her lips and lays two kisses to each palm.
Clarke lets out a breath and it feels like a release.
“I couldn’t look at the kids without seeing them. Seeing all of their faces.”
There is a flicker in Lexa’s expression, a slice of agony through her eyes before it is expertly smoothed away.
“That’s okay,” Lexa reassures her, quietly. “I understand, you went through something traumatic.”
“It wasn’t traumatic ,” Clarke spits the word out, suddenly angry, “everyone keeps saying it’s understandable but I’ve seen awful things in hospital before. This is just the same.”
“Things change when you have your own kids, it becomes personal.”
“I couldn’t… I kept thinking,” It hurts to keep going, but it’s too late to turn back so she steadies herself for Lexa to pull away. “I kept thinking: thank god it wasn’t any of them.”
Her shoulders are so tense that when Lexa runs a hand over them, she startles. Fearfully, she raises her eyes to meet Lexa’s, but they are free of disgust and anger. Instead there is sorrow and understanding.
“That’s okay Clarke,” She soothes a hand across her shoulders again. “Being a parent sometimes means being selfish. It’s okay.”
“But…” Her voice breaks over a sob and she curls herself closer to Lexa beneath the comforter. “I felt so guilty. I shouldn’t care about them more, I’m a doctor, I’m meant to care about everyone!”
“Clarke,” Lexa’s fingers beneath her chin nudge her gently and she peers up through watering eyes to see Lexa’s expression drawn with pain. “You may be a doctor, but you’re also human; it’s normal to be happy that they’re safe. You have a huge heart, if you didn’t you wouldn’t be so affected by this.”
“I’m just-” Her voice wavers again, but she keeps her eyes on Lexa, fingers tightening their grip on her. “I’m scared I’ll never be able to go back into the hospital and not see them- or even you - on one of those beds.”
“You will,” Lexa promises her firmly, “you love being a doctor too much to let this stop you.”
“But how can I ever forget those kids… the sight of them all-” She stalls over a sob, pushing the tears down in her throat and wiping irritably at her cheeks, tired of her tears. Soft fingers wrap around her hand, stilling it and Lexa gently unfurls her fingers from their tight fist, pressing a kiss to her palm that makes her blink back another swell of tears.
“Listen to me Clarke, please. There’s no way of knowing that the kids will always be okay, but we can’t live our whole lives worrying about them.” Lexa offers her a small smile, curling their fingers together. “All we can do is be thankful that they are and know that we’re blessed.”
“Blessed,” Clarke echoes, softly and the word opens up on her tongue like butter, filling her mouth with warmth.
“Blessed and lucky,” Lexa runs her thumb over Clarke’s knuckles. “And I know you’re going to go back, you know why?”
A faltering smile cracks across her face at Lexa’s tempting tone. “Why?”
“Because you’re a good person and if you can do anything to help other people, you will. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”
Her smile widens, watery, and she shakes her head, veering forward to press a kiss to Lexa’s lips. An arm curls around her and their clasped hands stay squished between them, above their hearts.
“You’re a sap,” She whispers against Lexa’s lips and feels them turn up beneath hers, before Lexa inches away to gaze down at her. The strength of the emotion in her eyes almost takes Clarke’s breath away as she says, seriously.
“You’re a miracle worker.” A moment of silence passes between them, before Lexa smiles a little, teasingly. “But even miracle workers need sleep. You’re exhausted.”
“I’m not-” Her words are cut off by a jaw cracking yawn that makes Lexa laugh.
“Come on,” As Clarke shifts onto her other side, Lexa curls up behind her. “You’re as bad as Miya, get some sleep.”
---
When she wakes again, she can tell that it’s much later. The house is dark and still and Lexa’s body is warm and heavy beside hers, their feet touching beneath the comforter. She feels disorientated and her eyes are scratchy with the tears she shed hours ago into Lexa’s shirt. But her heart and her head are finally at peace with each other and when she sucks in a breath, it doesn’t tear at her lungs. It feels like progress.
At first, she’s not sure what woke her. Shifting in the bed, she eases herself up, blinking as her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. The alarm clock on the bedside table, an addition of Lexa’s, blinks 1:14 at her and she’s fumbling for where her phone is buried somewhere in the pillows when movement in the corner of her eyes catches her attention.
The door creaks on its hinges as it swings a little further open and she spies a small figure in the doorway. It’s a common enough occurrence now, with two children still young enough to regularly have nightmares, and one who will only sometimes admit to having them, but the little figure stays stuck to the doorway, staring at Clarke with wide eyes, instead of burrowing beneath their comforter.
“Tris?” Clarke eases herself out of bed, hoping not to wake Lexa. The floor is cold when her feet touch the ground and she grab a sweater from the end of the bed, pulling it on over her pyjamas.
Tris stays in the doorway, watching her, but Clarke can see that there are tears on her cheeks. She’s still young enough to be wearing her footsie pyjamas and she’s mclutching her stuffed lion in her hands. The sight of it makes Clarke’s heart clench, Tris had long ago grown tired of the toy, as children are like to do, but she always returns to it when she’s sad or lonely. When they had travelled to her parent’s this Christmas, the lion had almost been left behind and Tris had cried for twenty miles before they finally acquiesced and turned back.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Her throat is still rough and her words catch and tear.
“Had bad dream.” Tris admits, her lower lip trembling and Clarke smiles ruefully.
“Do you want to get into bed with us?”
Tris’s little brows furrow and she looks between Clarke and the bed uncertainly, hands twisting the toy in her hands in a way that reminds Clarke unnervingly of Lexa.
“Aun-y Lexa says you’re poorly.”
Clarke pauses, her heart sinking and she glances back at Lexa’s sleeping form beneath the comforter. After a second of contemplation, she reaches out a hand for Tris to hold. “Let’s go cuddle on the couch and have a chat, hmm?”
Tris happily takes her hand and lets herself be led from the room. Clarke shuts the door quietly behind them and guides Tris into the living room, clicking on the lamp beside the couch to cast a soft, golden pool of light. Tris climbs happily into her lap when she gestures and Clarke takes the blanket off the back of the couch to swaddle them both in. It’s still early in the year and the nights haven’t quite warmed up. Tris nuzzles into her chest, a little arm happily curling around her while the other continues to clutch the lion.
“What did Aunty Lexa tell you, sweetie?” She smooths a hand over Tris’s soft hair. It’s finally long enough to pull into little pigtails and she’s had to talk Lexa out of braiding it.
Tris thinks for a moment, before recounting. “You poorly. Taking a nap.”
Clarke swallows and forces herself to concentrate on Tris in her arms for a second, warm and alive. Her voice is shaking a little when she answers. “Yeah, I was poorly.”
“Better now?” Tris asks, earnestly, peering up at her and Clarke gives her a nod.
“Much better. Your Aunty Lexa looked after me really well.”
“Really?” Tris smiles a little smugly, snuggling into her arms and her eyes droop a bit. “Aun-y Lexa fix you.”
“I know,” Clarke smiles fondly and soothes Tris’s back. “She’s wonderful.”
In her arms, Tris nods against her chest and Clarke rubs comforting circles against her back.
“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”
Tris brows pull together, but she doesn’t return to her tears. She snuggles closer and Clark wraps her arms around her more securely, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“On my own.You and Aun-y Lexa and Miya and Aden all gone. And Comet.”
“Even Comet?” Clarke raises her eyebrows, surprised and concerned and Tris nods determinedly.
“Was lonely.”
“Oh baby,” She pulls Tris into her arms a little more securely, shifting her so that she’s almost cradled, like she used to do when Tris was a baby. “You’re not alone. You never will be, I promise. We’ll always be here for you, me and Aunty Lexa and your mom and your brother and sister.” She squeezes her. “You have so many people who love you, you know that?”
Tris nods sombrely. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” Clarke lets her curl up against her, tucking the blanket closer around their bodies. Tris has fallen asleep and she is beginning to doze when the living room door eases open. She blinks her eyes open and frowns when she sees Miya stood in the doorway. “Not you too?”
“I didn’t have a nightmare,” Miya shakes her head, toeing her way across the room until she settles on the other side of Tris. “She came down a while ago, I was worried.” Miya looks suddenly older than her years and Clarke feels her heart clench when she sees the shadow of the woman Miya will become.
She opens her arms up and the little girl cuddles up on Tris’s other side, tucking her feet under the blanket. “You’re okay then?” Clarke asks quietly, over Tris’s sleeping head and Miya nods, looking at her anxiously.
“Are you?”
“I’m fine,” Clarke gives her a reassuring smile, squeezing her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Aunty Lexa said you needed to sleep.” Miya’s brows are still creased, uncertain and Clarke shakes her head.
“I’ve slept enough,” She promises and Miya settles into their embrace, forming a little cocoon around her sister.
Clarke looks down at them both and there is a twinge, a ghost of a memory. It must show on her face, because Miya asks, quietly.
“What’s wrong?”
Clarke’s eyes flicker down to her and she takes in the earnest blue eyes staring up at her. “Nothing,” She says and finds that she is telling the truth. Her heart feels full, but the sadness is only a shadow, emphasising the joy she feels at having her family close and safe. She tucks her arms around Miya and feels Tris shift in her arms. “I’m just happy that you’re both safe and happy.”
Miya hums, already fading into sleep again and Clarke runs a hand over her hair, soothing her to sleep. She spends at least an hour taking in their soft, sleeping faces, memorising every line and feeling blessed for it, before finally falling asleep.
When Lexa finds them in the morning, she wakes each one with a kiss and finds the shadows gone from Clarke’s eyes.
---
