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Clarke shuts the door to the tiny water closet and leans her forehead heavily against it.
Breathe, Griffin.
She sucks the air in, deep, filling the space between her ribs, and exhales hard. It’s been a long day. It’s been a long crazy year. Make that three. She can feel the weight of it on her, caking her skin.
But she did it.
She’d just emerged from surgery to be handed an envelope by Dr. Garett Anderson no less. The envelope, to be precise, the one she’d been waiting for and dreading in equal measure.
She clutches it now, unopened, but her mentor’s little nod and the rare approving smile told her all she needed to know.
Clarke Griffin, certified physician.
She laughs then, a loud, hysterical bark of incredulity that bounces around the little room. She’s done it. By Asclepius she’s done it. If only her father could see her now. Perhaps he’d share her awe at what she’s accomplished. Perhaps he’d known she would all along.
She hurries to wash the day’s grime from her face and hands. Ah to be home and run a bath. Her stomach protests this plan vociferously. Maybe she can pick something up along the way. Did she eat lunch today? Breakfast? There was definitely coffee at some point.
And Lexa! Perhaps she can ask her landlady to make an exception to the ‘No telephone calls after 6S pm’ rule. She doesn’t think she can wait until tomorrow.
She hurries through the dim halls and out the front door. Things are quiet now, nothing compared to the three-ringed circus of the day. She almost envies the night shift crew.
‘Would the good doctor care for some company this evening?’
She freezes at the words. The person’s face is hidden in the shadow of their hat, but she’d know that immaculate posture anywhere. And the voice.
‘Why Mr. Woods,’ she lilts teasingly, ‘is it not rather presumptuous of you to assume that a woman unchaperoned must be in want of company?’
‘A thousand pardons, my lady, I meant no impertinence. I only thought that you might be tired and in need of sustenance, what with all the added weight of your new title.’
Clarke laughs, sprinting airily down the last few steps to stand before Lexa. A little too close for propriety, perhaps, but five days is a long time.
‘How did you know?’
'Dr. Griffin,' Lexa tsks, 'you should know by now that I am a very resourceful person.’
‘That you are,’ Clarke replies, leaning a little closer.
She smells like Lexa; unmistakable, if tastefully understated. Clarke wants to bury her nose in her neck and lose herself in the scent. Her eyes stray to plump lips, linger on the bob of Lexa’s pretty throat when she catches the intention of her gaze. It’s too dark to see the flush on her cheeks, but Clarke feels it anyway, the little shift in her stance is a dead giveaway.
‘I’ve booked us a table for 9,’ Lexa says, voice only a little uneven. ‘I wanted to make sure you had enough time to finish.’
‘And the children?’
‘Anya is staying over. I won’t be driving back tonight.’
‘Mr. Woods,’ Clarke places her palm on her chest dramatically, ‘was that a hint at impropriety?’
‘One could argue that it is rather your interpretation of a fairly innocent statement that is tainted,’ Lexa deadpans.
Clarke laughs, fiddling with her bowtie. She can see her eyes clearly now that she’s close. They have that warm, hazy look reserved for her. The one that makes Raven roll her eyes dramatically. She basks in it for a moment before closing her own eyes, biting her lip in what she deems admirable mastery of the urge to close the distance between them.
‘Well then, I suppose you have made a good enough case for your company. Lead the way.’
Lexa offers her her arm and Clarke takes it gladly, reveling in her warmth as she leans into her. A contented sigh escapes Lexa’s lips as she presses a little closer against Clarke.
‘I’ve missed you.’
The admission is quietly sincere. Clarke feels it warm in her belly.
‘Me too. And how!’ she replies.
‘Dr. Clarke Griffin.’
There’s something about the way Lexa says it; awe, pride, affection, but no surprise.
‘You are a truly remarkable woman,’ she adds.
Clarke shrugs, embarrassed by the praise. ‘Well, if you look at all the things you’ve done…’
‘No,’ Lexa says firmly, bringing them to a halt so she can face her. ‘We’re only talking about how amazing you are tonight.’
Clarke feels her cheeks burn, gropes the edges of her mind for a comeback.
‘You know nine o’clock is forty minutes away. We might be stretching that topic a little thin.’
‘I beg to differ,’ Lexa replies. ‘Also, I’ve brought refreshments.’
And with that she holds up the other hand to reveal a bottle which had hitherto conveniently remained in the shadows.
‘Champagne in the streets of London? I will make a philistine of you yet,’ Clarke grins impishly.
Lexa just laughs and shakes her head.