Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lexa

“Once again we advise everybody to get off the roads and stay inside...keep your pets indoors...do not drive.”

Lexa Woods, lawyer extraordinaire, swore and turned off her car radio. She’d obviously picked the worst possible day to try and drive back to her family’s place for the holidays. Just that morning, the skies had been clear. But now? A massive snowstorm was headed directly towards her and unless she wanted to freeze to death and/or end up in a massive car crash, Lexa needed to find somewhere to stay fast. She pulled over to the side of the road and searched for nearby motels on her phone but, unfortunately, she’d ended up in a quiet rural area near the mountains, with the closest hotel an expensive resort ninety minutes out of Lexa’s way.

Lexa glanced out the window, watching the first signs of snow begin to swirl thickly onto the road. Ninety minutes up winding mountain roads, in this weather? No way. She felt panic begin to grip her throat and chest as she realised she might actually be stuck here all night. Breathe, Lexa told herself. Slow, deep breaths, four in, hold for two, six out. That’s it. Panicking wasn’t going to help anything. If worst came to worst, she had an extra coat in her suitcase. Would that be enough to stay warm all night with the car off? She didn’t have enough gas to keep the heating on overnight. Lexa opened her phone again and selected Anya’s number, calling and then setting it to speakerphone so she could rummage for a water bottle in the bag on the seat next to her. Anya answered almost immediately.

“Hey Lex. You almost here?”

“Actually, not at all. I’m like...halfway maybe?”

“You know there’s a snowstorm coming, right?”

“Duh, that’s why I’m calling you. The nearest hotel is too far away so unless you can pull some sort of miracle for me, I’m sitting in my car until it clears.”

“Fuck.”

Lexa took slow sips of her water, still breathing deeply and trying not to let fear take her. Her older sister Anya was a total badass, but also very far away. The snow outside the window was becoming thicker by the second.

“You don’t know anyone nearby?” Anya asked her. “Grateful clients? Friends from law school?”

“An, it’s a rural mountain view area. You think my clients could afford to live here?” Lexa represented mostly inner-city kids - kids who wouldn’t have anyone to help them otherwise. Seeing teenagers who would otherwise have been trapped in the prison system walk free was great for her heart (and reputation), but it wasn’t great for her bank account. “And I don’t have friends from law school. You know that.”

“I know, I know.” Anya thought for a moment. “Okay. Send me your coordinates, yeah? I’ll call around and see if anyone knows anyone round there.”

“Thanks Anya. I owe you.”

Anya scoffed. “Don’t die of hypothermia and we’ll consider it even.”

She hung up and Lexa texted her location, then turned the radio back on to wait.

“Even weather experts are baffled by this freak snowstorm which seems to have come from nowhere...authorities are predicting that it could last up to several days...we’ll provide updates as they become available...”

“Terrific. Awesome,” she muttered sarcastically, turning it back off. A moment later, her phone rang. Either Anya had serious pull, or she’d accepted the situation as a lost cause already. Lexa swiped the answer call image to the side, trying to ignore the fact that her fingers were already beginning to feel numb with cold.

“What’ve you got for me?” Lexa asked, trying for joviality and achieving anxiety.

“Okay, so I’ve got something,” said Anya. “But you’re not going to like it.”

Lexa sighed. Really? She knew she could be shy and even antisocial at times, but honestly. “I will like it if it means I don’t die on a highway in a snowstorm. Spill it.”

“She’s a friend of Octavia’s.”

Octavia, Lexa and Anya’s cousin Lincoln’s girlfriend, did have some wild friends. Honestly Lexa was kinda surprised any of them would live in a quiet area like this. Still, she could handle it for a night or so. “No big deal. I trust O.”

Anya was silent for so long Lexa began to worry the snow had cut off the connection. Finally, she said, “It’s Clarke Griffin.”

Lexa’s heart sank to the bottom of her stomach. She thought that she might actually throw up. “No - An - no way. She hates me, I can’t - no. No!”

“Lex, I know, I know. I get it. But I spoke to Octavia and she said Clarke lives like twenty minutes away from where you are and, look, whatever happened between you two, surely she’s not going to let you freeze to death.”

“You don’t know Clarke.” Lexa replied flatly. Fuck. She really was doomed. Panic bit at her stomach and the air inside the car felt too stuffy and hot suddenly. She felt unexpected tears sting the backs of her eyes at the thought of seeing Clarke again, and fiercely blinked them away. “Anya, NO.”

Anya sighed. “Tell you what. I’ll get Octavia to call her and double check it’s fine. Which it will be, because Clarke’s not the devil. I’ll call you back.”

Lexa let Anya hang up the phone and tried to regulate her breathing again. Ever since the disastrous case she and Clarke had fallen out over - Lexa’s biggest regret - she and Griffin (a fierce activist and doctor) had been sworn enemies. So far, Lexa had done a pretty good job avoiding her, even though they had similar social circles. She’d assumed that she and Clarke would just avoid one another until one of them died or moved to Australia. There was no way Clarke would just let Lexa casually crash on her couch. No way. Lexa’s phone beeped with a text from Anya. O says all okay with C. Address is 47 Arkadia Drive. Storm’s getting closer, hurry up. Text me when you get there.

Lexa felt sick with fear and tried to remember where she’d put the vomit bags. This was really happening. Why would Clarke agree to let Lexa stay with her? What choice did Lexa have other than gratefully accepting? Lexa looked down at her hands, which had become blue at the nails. Her anxious hyperventilation was visible in the frigid air. Be brave, Woods, she told herself. You’re a survivor. You’ll survive Clarke Griffin. Resigning herself to a painful and potentially explosive reunion, she put Clarke’s address into the GPS and started to drive.

47 Arkadia Drive was smaller than Lexa had expected it to be. A modest farm-like home set almost a kilometre away from 45 Arkadia Drive, it was surrounded by trees and there was even an area that looked like it was a vegetable garden in the summer. As Lexa drove carefully up the long snow slippery driveway, she noticed wind chimes in the trees, their bright colours illuminated by her headlights. Clarke had always been an artist. Lexa wondered if Clarke had made these. As Lexa reached the end of the driveway, she felt her stomach flip over. The sight of Clarke’s familiar battered u-haul, affectionately nicknamed ‘the Rover,’ made her heart ache with an intensity Lexa had thought had gone. It had been so long since she’d seen Clarke and despite everything that had happened between them, she missed the woman she’d been proud to call a friend.

The porch lights were on, which seemed like a good sign. As Lexa parked her car and turned off the engine, she saw the front door open and a figure step outside. Clarke Griffin stood silhouetted by the warm light inside her home, regal despite being wrapped in a bulky coat. There’d always been something special about Clarke. Lexa realised that she’d been staring rather than getting out of the car. She did so hurriedly, almost slipping in the snow. Clarke took a step forwards as though to help, then stopped herself. Her eyes were still shadowed by the porch overhang. Lexa righted herself, grabbed her overnight bag from the back seat, and gingerly walked through the snow towards the house. She could feel her heart hammering wildly in her chest, and pretended it was from the cold.

As Lexa stepped onto the porch, Clarke’s eyes met hers for the first time, making Lexa recoil. They were the same brilliant sky blue as Lexa remembered, but now, rather than being full of kindness and thoughtfulness, they were lucid with fury. Lexa felt the urge to turn and run, to get away from this woman who she’d hurt so badly. Instead, she took a step closer.

“Hi, Clarke,” she said softly, extending her voice like a truce, a peace offering. It hovered in the frigid air between them.

Clarke turned away and spoke coldly without looking at Lexa. “Shut the door before we freeze like I should have left you to.”

Clarke

“I have a favour to ask.” Octavia Blake’s voice crackled slightly over the phone to her friend Clarke Griffin, broken up by the snow and wind.

Clarke Griffin sighed internally. Octavia’s favours were rare but invariably troublesome. “Spill it, O,” she said aloud.

“So, you know how there’s a huge and very dangerous snowstorm happening right now? Well, a friend is stuck in her car like twenty minutes away from you and she really needs somewhere to stay for the night. Can she crash at your place? Please?”

This time Clarke sighed aloud. She looked around her art studio, wincing at the thought of a someone else invading it. Since Finn and then the disaster at Mount Weather when Lexa Woods (someone she’d trusted and thought of as a friend or maybe even more) had betrayed her leading to horrific consequences, Clarke had secluded herself in her mountain cottage. Sure, she’d been up to see her friends and her mother a few times, but nobody had come here. It was her world, her safe place where she was safe from the pain and suffering she’d been through over her life. She didn’t like the thought of one of Octavia’s boisterous friends breaking the contemplative silence with loud laughter and chatter. Still. She glanced out of the window, looking at the snow that had begun barely an hour ago and was now thick upon the ground. Someone could die of hypothermia in this cold. And human life, as Clarke had been reminded numerous times over her short life, mattered more than anything.

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Who is it? Is it Harper?” Clarke cheered slightly at this thought. Harper McIntyre, her and Octavia’s mutual friend Monty’s girlfriend, was a sweet, earnest person who could definitely be depended on to keep out of her studio if asked.

“You have to promise you won’t change your mind when I tell you who it is,” Octavia warned her. Dammit. What had she agreed to? Clarke ran through a mental list of Octavia’s friends, wincing as she thought of Luna (troubled, hippy anarchist) and Monroe (who had a penchant for explosives). Still. The snow.

“Yeah, yeah I promise.”

“It’s Lexa Woods. Oh, what’s that Lincoln, you need me? Okay, gotta go, bye Clarke, thanks a million!”

And before Clarke could protest, Octavia had hung up the phone. Clarke sat still in shock, the realisation of what she’d agreed to slowly sinking in alongside a stomach-turning dread. Lexa Woods, the woman she’d come here to run away from, the woman who’d taken her heart and stamped it into a million shattered pieces, was coming here. To stay the night. To crash on Clarke’s couch like a casual friend. Clarke looked across her studio at the shadowed acrylic mural that had been the first thing she’d painted in her studio – a wall of weeping, grey faces, faces that haunted her all the time, awake and asleep. Faces she doubted she’d ever escape.

She should have let Lexa Woods freeze to death on the highway.

In the twenty minutes it took Lexa to arrive, Clarke wandered restlessly around the house, picking things up and then putting them down roughly, seething with rage. She was almost surprised at the quiet around her, sure the intensity of her emotion must have shattered the silence. Despite her fury, Clarke sensibly remembered to turn on the porch light to guide Lexa in, and this simple act of tenderness made her irrationally all the more angry. Lexa didn’t deserve her kindness.

The grumble of a car engine alerted her to her enemy’s arrival. A sudden anxiety caught in Clarke’s chest and although she pushed it away quickly it still prompted her to march outside to get a first glimpse of Lexa. She wouldn’t let Lexa catch her by surprise again. Clarke pulled on her bulky red anorak over the top of her well-worn leather jacket then opened the front door, stopping at the sight of Lexa’s small beaten up blue car. The shape of Lexa’s head and body were barely visible in the near dark of early evening. Clarke could just make out Lexa opening the car door and stumbling out, almost pitching forward in the already thick snow. Clarke felt her body tense with the instinct to run and help her up, restrained herself. Lexa opened the back door of the car and hefted out a bag, then walked towards the house. Clarke felt herself inadvertently holding her breath. She let it out as Lexa stepped into the light.

Lexa was just as beautiful as Clarke remembered. Her hazel eyes were bright and hesitant, encircled by long dark hair that broke like waves about her sharp jawline. Lexa’s lips, pink with cold, were open slightly, and her breath came in short, anxious whisps of fine steam.

“Hi Clarke,” she said softly.

Her voice set alight an aching fire in Clarke’s heart that Clarke had thought died a long time ago. It burned and she felt a lump of want and regret and loss rise in her throat. She turned away quickly and spoke angrily. “Shut the door before we freeze like I should have left you to.” She didn’t need to turn around to know that Lexa’s face would be shining with hurt.

Clarke stomped into the warm living room, wondering what Lexa was thinking about her home. For the first time, she saw her house through the eyes of someone else - the open wood burning fireplace, the soft couches complete with artistic cushions and cuddly blankets. Despite the physical and artistic warmth, Clarke was acutely aware that her home was almost entirely impersonal - there were no photographs, none of her own artwork, no books lying half read. It was a home nobody lived in. Clarke did most of her living in her art studio - it was the only place she could process the guilt and grief she felt so strongly. Everywhere else was just window dressing. Again Clarke felt the ache in her heart, and ignored it. So what, if her house looked as full of pain as Clarke felt. Good. Lexa deserved to see the hurt she’d caused.

Clarke swallowed and spoke without looking at Lexa. “I am going to make us dinner. You’re going to put your stuff down and do whatever you want, but you will not speak to me, and you will not go in my studio.”

From the corner of her eye, Clarke saw Lexa open her mouth, then close it. The silence between them was heavy and thick with memory. Clarke shoved away the memories and strode into the small and functional kitchen that adjoined the living room by a bar like countertop. She pulled an onion out of a cupboard and slammed down a plastic chopping board, peeling with shaking hands and starting to chop roughly. Her heart was racing. She could feel rather than see Lexa standing helplessly in the middle of the living room, still clutching her bag. A million memories flooded Clarke’s head and she slammed down her mental barriers, fiercely forced them out. She heard Lexa moving about, putting her bag down. Hesitant footsteps drawing nearer. Lexa opening and closing cupboards, clearly looking for something. Clarke could feel herself holding her breath again. Lexa pulled one of Clarke’s chopping boards and knives onto the counter and silently began to slice, the heady aroma of fresh garlic mingling with the burning wood.

Another memory infiltrated Clarke’s head, and this time she couldn’t keep it out. It was a weeknight during the case. They’d gone back to Lexa’s apartment to work but had ended up making pasta and watching bad horror movies. Lexa sitting on the marbled counter swinging her legs, laughing. Clarke standing between her knees, cheeks flushed from the stove, feeling like they were on the cusp of something huge, something wonderful. The cold counter under her fingertips. The smell of fresh garlic.

It was too much. Clarke dropped her knife with a clatter and whirled around. Her cheeks felt hot with rage and firelight. “Get out of my kitchen,” she spat at Lexa, who drew back looking apologetic and nervous.

“I just wanted to help –“

“Get. Out.” Clarke took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “You’re my guest and I’ll feed you but I’m not cooking with you like this is normal. You broke my heart, Lexa. So go away.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa mumbled.

“I don’t care.”

Lexa put down the knife and went back to the living room, thankfully sitting down where Clarke could only see the back of her head. Clarke tried to steady herself against the counter, realising that she’d shredded the onion to almost nothing. She breathed in the smell of firewood, reminding herself that she was in her own home, the place where she was strongest, then pulled Lexa’s garlic towards her and began to slice. The hour it took to cook spaghetti bolognese and garlic bread, plus the routine of cooking itself, calmed Clarke enough to decide that even though she was furious with Lexa, the night would be less painful for them both if Clarke could be civil. Maybe if she reduced the anger, the burning in her chest would lessen. One could hope, anyway. Clarke dished up the pasta and stepped into the living room, bearing the plates before her as a peace offering. She stopped when she saw Lexa’s face.

Lexa’s cheeks were streaked with still-wet tear tracks, her smudged mascara coagulating in the shadows underneath her eyes. Her face was pale and drained, as though she’d been fighting the same memories that had been consuming Clarke. She was looking down, pretending to do something on her phone. Clarke wanted nothing more than to wrap the other woman in her arms and hold her tightly. Instead she cleared her throat. Lexa looked up, startled, and quickly wiped at her face with the back of her hand. They both avoided each other’s eyes.

“Here.” Clarke pushed the plate of food into Lexa’s open hands, then sat down opposite her. Immediately she regretted her decision, as the position meant she had to work in order to not look at Lexa. She focused on spinning the long strands of spaghetti around her fork, trying not to listen to Lexa’s quick breathing.

“Thank you for dinner, Clarke,” Lexa said eventually, calm and controlled.

God, Clarke had missed the way Lexa said her name - that clicked C, the way she gentled it in her mouth like she was carrying it carefully. Like a prayer.

“You’re welcome,” Clarke managed evenly. The silence between them seemed to settle a little after this exchange, each of them focusing on eating the hot food. After a while, Lexa took Clarke’s plate and went into the kitchen, and Clarke heard the water running and the clatter of dishes being washed. She opened the news app of her phone and clicked on the latest weather video, turning the volume up so Lexa could hear without thinking about it.

“...predicting that the snowstorm could last up to three days, with authorities encouraging people to check on their friends and neighbours, especially those who are elderly...”

Three days? No way could she be stuck here with Lexa Woods for three days! She could only be civil for so long...at least she had her studio to retreat to...but the thought of Lexa, completely alone in a strange house with only Clarke’s cold shoulder for company, made something feel odd in her insides. She turned the news off and looked up to see Lexa drying her hands on her navy denim jeans and looking at her with an unreadable expression in her eyes. Lexa opened her mouth as though to speak, then hesitated, uncertain, and this annoyed Clarke. Lexa didn’t get to be the victim here! She should be apologising to Clarke, not making out like Clarke was some big scary villain Lexa was too nervous to speak to! Clarke stood up and lifted her chin, meeting Lexa’s gaze.

“Thank you for washing up,” she stated coldly.

“That’s okay.” Lexa fidgeted with her hands, her anxious movements so familiar to Clarke. “Clarke, I - I really appreciate you doing this. You didn’t have to.”

Clarke resented both the fact that she was doing this, and the fact that Lexa thought she might not have. She took a step towards Lexa, feeling the warmth of Lexa’s breath and body. Lexa didn’t move. “Just to be clear, Lexa, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because I’m a decent human being and it’s snowing outside but if you think this means I don’t hate you anymore or that I forgive, then you’re wrong, okay?”

Lexa lifted a hand slightly, as though to touch Clarke, and Clarke watched it drop with a feeling akin to disappointment. “I get it, Clarke. I really do. As soon as the worst of the storm’s past, I’ll be out of your hair and you’ll never have to see me again.”

Clarke nodded. Licked her lips, which suddenly felt dry. Her heart was racing, she noticed absently. After a year of avoiding her, Clarke suddenly didn’t want to walk away from Lexa. “Perfect,” she said, just to say something.

Lexa’s eyes seemed to track Clarke’s tongue against her dry lips, then snapped back to her steady, accusatory haze. “Clarke. Maybe you don’t want to talk about it, but I just wanted to say, what happened at Mount Weather -“

The name slapped Clarke across the face. Without being aware of it, she got closer to Lexa, effectively pushing her up against the wall of the living room. Lexa made a soft sound, like an exhalation, as her back made contact with the wall. They were so close they were breathing the same hot, fevered air. “Don’t say that name to me, Lexa,” Clarke spat out. “Don’t you dare make excuses for what you did! Just shut up!”

She slammed her hands either side of Lexa’s head, wanting to press them against Lexa’s hips, wanting to drag her inside her own body, make her feel the heated anger and betrayal and grief that Clarke herself felt. Trying not to. “Shut up!” she repeated. Lexa didn’t flinch. Even after all this time, Clarke knew that Lexa knew she’d never lay a violent finger on her. That she’d choose to run rather than fight every time. Lexa wasn’t like everyone else to Clarke, Lexa was special. The stakes were higher. The thought of hurting her still burned Clarke’s chest up. The knowledge that despite the layer of pain and anger Clarke still felt the same towards Lexa filled Clarke’s chest and her mind with crackling, rushing fire. She hated it, hated it, hated it. Her voice broke out like a sob. “Shut up, shut up!”

Lexa looked at Clarke with an unreadable expression on her face, her green eyes black with blown pupils. “Make me,” she murmured.

Clarke looked at her, at her face so close to Clarke’s thumb that she could reach across and swipe her hair to the side with one movement. Lexa’s lips, parted and soft, pink as a summer sunset. Her chest rising and falling too quickly under the bravado of her black leather jacket. And the tears that had been threatening to spill since Lexa arrived finally came to her eyes. She dropped her hands and took a step back, letting the cold saltwater spill over and fall down her face. A hard sob broke in her chest and she took another step backwards.

Lexa’s eyes were full of shame and guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said. She took a step towards Clarke, opening her arms as though to comfort her. Quick as it had gone, Clarke felt anger replace the loss in her heart, welcomed it in.

“Just leave me alone,” she sobbed out, then turned and ran from the room.

Chapter Text

Lexa stood where Clarke had left her for longer than necessary, sucking in ragged breaths. Guilt flooded her. She should never have said that, should have respected Clarke’s obvious discomfort with her presence. Still, something burned at the back of her mind – the knowledge that Clarke had closed the distance between them first. The image of Clarke’s blue eyes blackened with…something, burned into Lexa’s brain. She didn’t follow Clarke, respecting her old friend’s request to be left alone.

Instead, she tried to make herself useful. Lexa selected some logs from Clarke’s pile and added them to the fireplace. She found a broom in the pantry and swept up some bits of onion peel and cheese that had fallen to the floor while Clarke cooked. As she replaced it, she couldn’t help snooping a little at Clarke’s pantry. The shelves were spartan, occupied with a few packets of pasta, a glass jar full to the top with oats, a tin of tuna, and a 100 box of black tea bags. A fond smile played at the edges of Lexa’s mouth as she remembered teasing Clarke for a similar spartan apartment pantry, back when they’d been friends. Grief twisted Lexa’s smile into a grimace and she quickly shut the pantry door.

Lexa settled down on the couch with her phone, scrolling youtube and settling on a video about dinosaur evolution to distract herself from the current situation. Forty minutes later, the internet cut out.

“Of course the internet’s gone,” Lexa muttered to herself. The wind outside was howling and although it was too dark to see, Lexa suspected it would be difficult to see a foot in front of herself from the snow outside. Fuck. Even if the snow stopped in the morning, her car would be snowed under for sure. Lexa yawned and glanced at the time on her phone – 9:47. There was still no sign of Clarke. Lexa figured she might as well get some sleep; she’d need energy in order to murder Anya at the first opportunity. She grabbed the slightly scratchy plaid woollen blanket from the end of the couch, wriggled off her jeans, and curled up to sleep.

Clarke had run to her art studio. Her studio was her safe place, where she could be herself and be free from other’s demands and expectations. But it was also a place of grief, where Clarke reckoned with her own demons in the private of the usually light-filled room. Tonight though, it was dark and quiet, much colder than the house. Clarke didn’t care. She flung herself into the comfy two seater she’d installed in one corner of the room, covered herself with her favourite plush blue blanket, and gave herself over to sobs. The shame of wanting Lexa’s closeness again mingled with the familiar grief of remembering their old friendship and Lexa’s betrayal. Clarke’s tears fell steadily and she cried until her stomach hurt and snot trails were dangling from her chin. Eventually a sense of calm fell over her.

“Nothing like a good cry,” she murmured to herself, groping in the dark for some scrap paper to blow her nose on. She pushed the blanket back and stretched, shaking out her stiff limbs. It had gotten terribly cold in the room, and without her blanket on Clarke immedietly began to shiver. She was reluctant to encounter Lexa again, especially while in this state, but Clarke was a sensible person and a doctor so she knew she needed to get to her bedroom with it’s oil heater and electric blanket, unless she wanted to trade places with Lexa and freeze to death in the storm. Wrapping herself in her blanket for strength, Clarke took a look around the oil painted faces that dotted her studio, the same 15 over and over again, to remind herself – Lexa Woods was not a sweet, innocent old friend. She was a monster. Mt Weather had proved that.

Clarke crept into the house, relieved to see that Lexa was asleep and wouldn’t require a conversation. Her relief quickly turned to alarm as she felt how cold it was in the room; the fire had burned out. Looking closer in the darkness, Clarke swore she could see a blue tinge to Lexa’s lips and cheeks. Her medical training outweighed her reluctance to speak to Lexa. She knelt, shaking Lexa’s shoulders.
“Lexa. Wake up! Lexa!”

“Wha-” Lexa blinked her eyes open blearily. The first thing she noticed was the cold. Her bones ached with it and her teeth were chattering. “I did add wood to the fire,” she muttered, almost in apology.

Clarke placed her own plush blue blanket around Lexa’s shoulders and turned away, kneeling to fix up the fire and get it roaring again. “You added soft wood, dumbass,” she said, but there was little venom in her tone. “That burns hard and fast. You needed to add a big hardwood log like this,” she gestured with the one she was holding before placing it in the fire and raking over the ashes, looking for a spark. “This will burn slow and steady all night.”

“Oh,” Lexa said. “Sorry.” Chills were quaking her whole body and it was hard to think clearly. She didn’t want to ask Clarke for any more help but she didn’t think she could figure out what to do alone in this state. “Clarke?” she said reluctantly. “I don’t know how to warm up.”

Clarke looked back at her, calmer now that Lexa was alert and responsive. “I know. Hold on.”

She chewed on her lip trying to decide what to do. Really, the only truly warm room in the house in weather like this was her own bedroom – specifically, her own bed. But if she put Lexa in there, she’d not only have to sacrifice her own comfort for the night, but she’d have to let Lexa into her space even more. Clarke imagined the next night crawling into bed only for the scent of Lexa’s shampoo to be lingering like a ghost on Clarke’s pillows.

Still, her doctor’s ethics won out.

“Follow me,” she said, not looking at Lexa, who obediently stood and shivered her way behind Clarke up the stairs and down the hallway. Clarke opened her door and switched the heater on, pulling back the blankets and gesturing to Lexa. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her.

Lexa gazed around the room, taking in the galaxy print duvet cover, pink sheets, and the modest pile of books, ibuprofen, and half-eaten bags of candy on the bedside table. There were clothes strewn across the floor and Clarke’s ancient teddy bear nestled into the pillows. “Is this...your bedroom?” she asked weakly.

“Yeah,” Clarke said, more aggressively than she meant. “I’ve turned the electric blanket and the heater on. Just get under the blankets and try to get warm,” she added in a gentler tone.

“You don’t have to...I mean, I can sleep on the couch. I was fine on the couch,” Lexa said. She didn’t know if she could bear to curl up in Clarke’s bed, smell the scent of her hair on the pillow, lay her head next to Mr Teddy. And she balked at leaving Clarke to shiver on the couch.

Clarke snorted. “You almost became hypothermic. At least I know how to keep the fire going. Get in the bed, Lexa. I’ll make a warm drink to help your temperature regulate.”

When Clarke returned with a mug of hot chocolate (plus marshmallows, of course – she was furious at Lexa but she wasn’t actually evil), Lexa was sitting gingerly in the bed, knees up. She looked small and fragile and Clarke had to remind herself of the portraits in her studio so she didn’t melt and fall totally for Lexa’s innocent act. She was glad at least that Lexa’s lips and cheeks had lost their blue tinge. The room felt cosy and warm. Clarke shoved the mug at Lexa.

“It’s my least favourite mug,” she muttered childishly, to excuse giving cutesy marshmallows and sweet chocolate to her sworn enemy.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Clarke,” said Lexa sincerely. Her mouth, sipping the drink, was returning to pink. Her cheeks were becoming slightly flushed in the heat, and her green eyes shone sincerity and gratitude at Clarke. Clarke couldn’t bear it.

“Come and tell me if you’re dying,” she murmured, and fled to the living room.

Chapter Text

Clarke woke up to the alarm on her phone ringing out insistently. Up here in her alpine hideaway, she no longer had to wake at 5 for early shifts at the hospital, but she preferred to be up by 8 anyway. Without some internal discipline, Clarke knew she could easily spend weeks to months watching Gilmore Girls and napping, instead of working on art, healing, and renovating the house. So she forced herself to sit up on the couch where she’d spent the night, feeling her joints ache from the cold.

“I’m freezing my tits off,” she muttered to no one in particular. “Coffee...need coffee.”

As Clarke dumped instant coffee in a mug and boiled water, she listened to the latest weather broadcast on the radio. “Experts are still forecasting a storm of at least three days and advise that people stay home, keep pets indoors, and listen for further emergency advice. We’ve had reports of electrical and internet outages throughout the region. If this happens to you, do not panic. Check the radio at intervals, stay warm, and phone or radio emergency services if you need to.”

Clarke sighed and switched the radio off. Maybe she could pretend Lexa needed emergency medical care after ysterday’s near-hypothermia, and get her shipped off to a warm, cosy hospital to wait out the storm. But alas – Clarke knew no ambulance would get through this snow, and besides, she would never waste medical resources, especially during an emergency when they’d be stretched so thin already. Clarke would just have to put up with Lexa for a few more days. She wanted to feel annoyed thinking about this, and about Lexa curled up all cosy in Clarke’s bed, but when she thought about it she instead got a strange gooey feeling in her stomach, almost like...affection? Ew. For Lexa? No. Not anymore. There had been a time, but that was long gone. Her gooey, soft feeling must just be a doctor’s pride at a life saved.

Still. Maybe she should peek in on Lexa? Just to make sure she hadn’t died in the night, or anything. Clarke chugged her coffee and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She cracked the door as quietly as possible. It was warm in the room, and Lexa’s cheeks barely visible above the duvet were rosy. Her chest rose and fell steadily under the blankets, and her arms were flung out to the sides, one hand tangling in her long, loose hair, the other lightly grasping Mr Teddy’s ear. Clarke’s stomach felt warm and sore, affection tinged with grief tinged with something else. She shut the door and took a deep breath. If it hadn’t been so medically inadvisable given the weather, she might have prescribed herself a long, cold shower.

By the time Lexa wandered blearily down the stairs in search of her own coffee, it was 10am, and Clarke had already sketched a study of the snow, fixed a loose cupboard hinge, made eggs, eaten eggs, and was making cinnamon roll pancakes. Lexa looked on in astonishment. Where had the food even come from? The pantry had been bare as hell yesterday.
Clarke looked up. “Sleepyhead,” she observed before she could stop herself, wishing as she heard herself that she could take back the note of tenderness in her voice.

“Hi,” said Lexa. “I think that was the best sleep of my life. Thank you for the bed, and everything.”

“Great,” Clarke said, reining herself in and returning to terseness. “I’m making pancakes. And there’s no internet.”

“The lights are on, though,” Lexa observed, yawning and opening the cupboard to grab plates. A feeling of painful nostalgia hit as she remembered Clarke’s old apartment, how often they’d done this routine, although usually with Lexa cooking or with takeout.

“I have a generator,” Clarke interrupted Lexa’s thoughts. “And a big fuck-off solar battery. We should be set for 3 or so days. And if not, there’s candles and torches. Not a lot of firewood, though.” She looked worriedly at the already dwindling pile. Clarke was still fairly new to rural living, and tended to forget to replenish her pile. Snow would have cut off the house from the plentiful piles of timber in the woodshed by now. She shook her head and focused on the smell of pancakes and the sound of sizzling butter, grounding herself like her therapist had taught her. One moment at a time, Clarke, she told herself.

They ate in awkward silence on the couch. Lexa was busy marvelling internally at how far it seemed Clarke had come since they’d last known one another – she’d learned how to live in the country, seemed calmer and less frantic than before, and could even make amazing pancakes. Lexa hadn’t been able to suppress a moan of delight at the buttery cinnamon-y swirls on top of the pancakes, a sound which had seemed to crystallise in the cold air and make both women blush and look away from one another. Despite the grief aching in her heart, Lexa was proud of her once-girlfriend. She only wished Clarke would forgive her for whatever it was she was so angry about.

Lexa washed the dishes while Clarke went upstairs. Lexa heard the shower turn on and the sound of water hammering down for a few minutes, combined with the faint sounds of Clarke singing pop songs (badly). Lexa grinned to herself; at least some things hadn’t changed. She wiped her hands on a cloth and decided she might as well work on a case. Even without internet, she could plan her defence and draft a few letters. She knew her paralegal would stay ahead of the situation and postpone any upcoming court appearances, but Lexa liked to be organised and ahead of the game. She headed upstairs to find her phone then hesitated outside Clarke’s bedroom door; the shower was off, but the bathroom door was closed, so probably Clarke was still in the bathroom?

Lexa turned the bedroom door handle and pushed it open. Immediately, her stomach flipped over as she realised she’d been mistaken. Clarke was by the chest of drawers beside the door, half dressed as she rummaged for – presumably – a bra and shirt. Her blue eyes opened wide in surprise at Lexa’s intrusion.

“Shit.” Lexa slammed the door shut again, heart hammering. “Sorry, Clarke, I’m so sorry! I was just grabbing my phone!”

“It’s fine,” Clarke’s voice was faint through the door. “I’ll bring it downstairs for you in a minute.”

“Kay,” Lexa murmured, cheeks aflame and heartbeat erratic. She traipsed down the stairs again and sunk onto the couch. Guilt at intruding on her once-best friend while she was so vulnerable chewed at her and she nervously bit into a hangnail, an old habit she had never been quite able to break.

Clarke appeared at the top of the stairs after a long moment, dressed in a tattered blue shirt and jeans. She came down and handed Lexa’s phone to her.

“I’m so sorry about that, I thought you were in the bathroom,” Lexa said sincerely.

Clarke waved a hand. She didn’t look angry. She just looked tired, and kind of sad. “It’s fine,” she said flatly. “I’m going to the studio.”

She walked away before Lexa could reply, and silence descended on the house, broken only by the soft click of Lexa’s teeth bumping against nail, the click clack of her keyboard, and the soft roar and whoosh of the fire.