Chapter Text
When I wake up
The dream isn't done
I wanna see your face and know I made it home.
If nothing is true
What more can I do?
I am still painting flowers for you.
Clarke’s eyes shot open to the sound of muffled yelling through the walls. She turned over in her bed to glance with sleep-filled eyes at the time. 6:00 AM blinked back at her and she stifled back a weary groan as the volume in the apartment next door increased.
“And just be sure to get your ass to the grocery store today!”
Maybe if she could just close her eyes and settle back into the bed, she could sleep for just a few more --
The sudden and piercing sound of barking from yet another apartment cracked through the atmosphere of her room, completely dashing those hopes away. Did her apartment building even allow pets?
With the brilliant neighbors she’d scored herself, who would ever need an alarm clock?
Well, at least it would allow her an early start to her first day of work. Maybe she could treat herself to a coffee and bagel at the cafe building next door while she was left to contemplate for perhaps the hundredth time in the last week how she got to this point. She knew the answer, of course, but it didn’t stop her from carefully inspecting the timeline of the past two years in much greater detail than necessary. The past two years were the reason the last few days had held the most sleepless nights of her life for her.
(Which was actually kind of saying something.)
Two years ago, Clarke would’ve called the person she was now a coward. One year ago, she would’ve shaken her head at someone like the person she’d become, silently promising to never let anything turn her into that. Six months ago, she’d already begun to wonder what would even be the merit in keeping that promise to herself. One week ago, she had decided there was no point in trying to keep up the strong and resilient face. One week ago was the day she broke her promise to herself, her promise to not run away.
Clarke had always been the person to face her problems head on, make a way to get through them, and then be done with them before moving on to the next problem (because there was always a new problem, not in a pessimistic way but in a way in that she always had something she could be working on, fixing). She just didn’t know if there was a way to get herself through this problem, the problem. Running away felt like a good option when facing the issue meant saying to herself every day “there’s no way to move forward, you’re stuck, fucking deal with it” or something like that.
Today, she could finally understand the people who ran away. Today, she would look back on two years ago and wonder if she’d imagined it all; everything had changed, from her career path to whom she could hold a conversation with (without feel the urge to shut down). The only thing that was the same out of all of it, the only thing that had remained constant from two years ago, was the fact that she’d still call the person she was now a coward. She was a coward, no matter what way she decided to spin it.
Whatever. She had other things to think about at the moment, like getting ready for the day ahead of her.
A hot shower, while managing to pull her out of her half-asleep state, wasn’t very effective with soothing the persistent ache at the back of her head, although she didn’t really expect that to go away. She would get stress headaches from time to time, and in the past six days it had been ever-present. It would settle down again soon.
Hopefully.
Maybe. If her damn phone would stop pushing notifications at her, informing her of all the missed calls and voicemails and text messages she hadn’t even bothered to look at in several days. Yeah, if it could just stop doing that, maybe then she’d get a few seconds of peace. Her latest notifications might have pulled the same tired groan from her as the rest if they didn’t bear the name Bell on them.
She chanced it.
6:04AM
Jerkbucket Bell
Hey dipshit
6:04AM
Jerkbucket Bell
If you answer this I swear to
never upload an embarrassing
vid of you to youtube again
6:04AM
Jerkbucket Bell
And you can have a donut
or something idk
6:05AM
Jerkbucket Bell
If you don’t then I will do
something unspeakably awful to
you
6:05AM
Jerkbucket Bell
As soon as I figure out the awful
thing I’ll let you know but trust me
it’ll be bad :P
6:06AM
Jerkbucket Bell
You have 1 hour
She was going to have to talk to one of them eventually. Knowing her mother, Abby might’ve already set up some kind of manhunt for her. And out of all of them, Bellamy was the least likely to try forcing her to go back home. She didn’t have any time to consider it before her phone vibrated in her hand again.
6:18AM
Jerkbucket Bell
Clarke I can see that you read this
6:18AM
Jerkbucket Bell
Message me back damn it
She silently cursed the little Read 6:16AM that the damn phone felt the need to announce, before she began typing out a reply.
6:19AM
Dipshit Griffin
why are you up so early?
6:19AM
Jerkbucket Bell
Echo goes for morning jogs
6:19AM
Jerkbucket Bell
I got woken up from her alarm
6:19AM
Dipshit Griffin
my condolences
6:19AM
Jerkbucket Bell
Whatever smartass
6:20AM
Jerkbucket Bell
Wait. Hold on…
Her phone lit up, her ringtone -- the first blasting few notes of “Centuries” -- beginning to play with Bellamy’s contact photo appearing on the screen. She hesitated for only a second before swiping the screen and bringing the phone to her ear.
“What’s up dipshit?” were Bellamy’s first words, dipshit laced with a kind of affectionate sarcasm that Bellamy only dished out to a select few people.
“I’m sorry.”
She wasn’t. Or maybe she was, she felt like she could’ve been sorry on some level. But an apology was probably the best way to start the conversation she’d been dreading for the past few days.
“Sorry for taking off with half your stuff and leaving just a note to let us know you’re not dead? Sorry for your mom hounding us for a week to get a hold of you? Sorry for stealing my last box of oreos before you left?” he said with still further sarcasm. She knew he was only teasing, and somehow it managed to pull a light laugh from her.
“Yeah, basically. Especially the oreos, God knows you can’t live without them.”
“Where are you?” Bellamy asked, and this time his voice carried a certain level of cool concern that felt all too familiar coming from Bell.
She sighed. “I’m in D.C.” she said slowly, then went on, “I’m fine. You can tell my mom that I’m fine if I don’t talk to her soon. I just need some space right now. And please, don’t try bringing me back.”
“Hey, hey, don’t worry Griffin, I wasn’t planning on forcing you to go anywhere,” he said with a reassuring laugh, and Clarke was glad that she hadn’t been wrong in at least that regard. Bellamy wouldn’t be the one to try convincing her to come running back.
“Thanks,” she breathed out.
“Are you okay though?” Again that concern was back, and she had to bite back a laugh at how much Bellamy acted like a big brother.
“I’m fine. I’ve got a place to stay and I’m starting a job at a tattoo place today,” she said.
“You got a job? How long are you planning on staying in D.C.?”
“I don’t know. I need a change of scenery, something different, something new.” She stopped herself before saying that she had tried all that she could already, that she needed something else entirely, something she hadn’t thought of. “How are the others?”
“Octavia is spending just as much time talking about what a dick you are as she is saying she hopes you’re okay,” Bellamy said with another laugh. “Jasper’s pretty pissed but he and Monty are just worried about you.”
He paused, the silence speaking volumes. Clarke’s headache sharpened at this.
“And Raven?” Clarke asked tentatively. She heard a sigh coming through on Bellamy’s end, only confirming Clarke’s fears.
“Not gonna lie, Clarke. Raven went a little bit like the Hulk after she read that note. My ears are still ringing,” Bellamy said. “You know she loves you -- hell, I don’t know anybody so disgustingly close as you two morons, except maybe Monty and Jas -- but you also know she’s the last person in the world to take any shit.”
“I know, but I didn’t make this decision because of any of you guys. I did it for me,” Clarke said, popping a couple of Advil tablets in her mouth to try getting her worsening headache under control. She gathered her bag together and gave one last withering look to her apartment for the morning -- it didn’t look bad at all, in fact it was pretty nice, but the location with the neighbors meant she was definitely going to be woken up again -- before heading out. She made sure to double check the locks on her door before leaving the apartment and making for the stairwell.
“Don’t give me that bull, Clarke.” Bellamy’s words were icy cold. This was exactly why she’d been dreading talking to them. But even as she began to consider ending the call then and there, Bellamy’s voice softened. “Do you honestly think this is going to change anything?”
No.
Yes.
Maybe.
She stayed silent for a few minutes while descending the flights of stairs, thinking of what to say next. To Bellamy’s credit, he left her to sort through her thoughts and didn’t say a word.
“I needed something new, Bell. And sometimes to find something new you have to go back to something old,” she said finally, going down the last flight of stairs and walking out the building. The air was warm under the clear sunshine, and it carried back to her smells that sent her back in time to nearly a decade ago. “I know D.C. like the back of my thumb, Bell. It’s my old home. I can handle myself.”
“God damn it C, any idiot knows you can handle yourself. That’s not what any of us are worried about. You need to talk about this sometime.”
“Enlighten me, please. What would talking about it change?”
“Nothing,” he said, conceding that to her. “But it’ll help. I’m not going to come dragging you back to Annapolis, C. You do what you need to do and I’ll support you, but this isn’t healthy.”
“And since when have I cared about what’s healthy?” she said, her voice heavy with dead snark. The kind that she had a habit of dishing out heavily after a few beers.
(Everyone always told her she could be an ass when drunk. Her fun side came with a dark bluntness.)
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here to care about it for you.” Ah yes, Bellamy the big brother friend (or the mom friend rather) of the group makes his appearance. “You should talk to someone Clarke. In the meantime, call at least once every couple days. If you don’t then I can’t make any promises to keep O from dragging your sorry ass back to Polis.”
“Fine.”
“Talk to you later,” he said, then added, “and don’t forget that we’re your friends, Clarke.”
A lump in her throat formed before the call even ended, and now she was standing in the middle of the sidewalk blinking back tears. Her phone vibrated again before she’d even let out the shuddering breath that was building in her chest.
6:32AM
Jerkbucket Bell
Don’t be a stranger dipshit :P
6:32AM
Dipshit Griffin
whatever jerkbucket
She didn’t go into her other messages. There were too many to even start at and she really didn’t feel like tackling that mountain this early in the morning. At least the Advil would kick in soon and then this headache would be gone for a few hours. The long term solution would, of course, be to get some more sleep and find an outlet for stress, but that didn’t feel likely at this point in time.
Walking down the street, which was now just starting to wake up as the sun began to slowly rise over the horizon, her eyes began to search out the little cafe two blocks away. It didn’t take her long to find it -- she’d been there before, but it was a long time ago -- and soon she was holding a warm bagel in one hand and a hot coffee in the other while walking down a semi-familiar path through the blocks.
“Walking down memory lane” now had a new significance for her. Making her way down the road, it felt like she was going back to her childhood and God she’s missed D.C. She’d visited once before since moving away, a last minute scramble to see Wells off before he was set to start in the military. She hadn’t had a chance to enjoy the city she’d grown up in on that occasion, since she had to be back in Annapolis the following morning for Raven’s birthday.
Now that she was back to stay for awhile, she could take everything in, all the things that changed and all the parts that remained constant. She passed by a line of trees that had been just freshly planted before she moved, and now they were gaining height, some of them sporting birds’ nests. There was a building that back then might’ve been an ice cream shop, or perhaps a small restaurant, but was now empty with the doors barred shut, the signs stripped away. Then there was the park that she’d always enjoyed spending time in back in freshman year of high school -- she still had the drawings of it in her sketchbooks somewhere lying around -- that looked more or less the same.
Sure, a couple of the trees appeared to have been cut down, and different parts of the view were now blocked by new buildings, but her old favorite spot -- a bench beneath an old oak tree -- was still intact and unchanged. It was here that she sat down (the bench was even more creaky and full of splinters than she remembered) and ate the last bite of her bagel, before pulling the fresh sketchbook out of her bag. It was still only 6:45 in the morning, meaning she still had an hour to kill before she’d have to start walking back in the direction of the tattoo parlor.
In a way she was glad for her obnoxious neighbors. They gave her the opportunity to get reaquainted with her city, her neighborhood, her place of origin. This place had nice memories attached to it, and for a moment she could pretend she wasn’t sad about that.
The river was in view from where she was sitting, the water reflecting the vibrant colors of the sky as the sun rose. Clarke used to come here at sunset to draw the river like that. Even though the positions of the lights were completely different, it still made for a nice picture, as was made evident from Clarke’s hand beginning to form the image on the sketch paper.
Wells used to make fun of her for the trance she always went into when drawing -- right before spending entire allowances, and later paychecks, on art supplies for her. She’d told him to stop spending so much on her, but he never listened. His face would light up whenever he showed up at her house one day with an art gift (sometimes a paint set, other times a nice sketchbook) and she was never able to keep the wonder off her face upon seeing whatever it was he had to give her, which would make Wells even happier to do it. She returned the favor in the form of books (a lot of them) on birthdays and holidays. Wells was probably the most well-read teenage boy she’d ever encountered; he always had something to read on hand and it made for decent debates about Harry Potter. Wells was one of the people Clarke had missed most.
I should really try to visit him soon, Clarke thought with a sad smile as the paper in her lap came to life in an explosion of color.
The colored pencils in her hand flew over the page, filling in the water and the streets and the spaces in between. She particularly enjoyed how drawing this view made her pay attention to small details, maybe see more of the changes, more of what’s stayed the same thus far and what’s gone forever. Was that a new building at the end of the block? And what happened to the houses across from the water?
Her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. She ignored it.
Soon enough though, she was making the trip back through the blocks, past her apartment building and towards the rows of businesses on the next block down. At least she had the first drawing of her new sketchbook down before having to go to work. Ark Tattoos was a nice place, decorated by a mural spanning the length of each of the walls. It was operated by decent people. The block the parlor was located at held an eclectic set of businesses -- the immediate neighbors were an antique shop, a hobby shop, and a flower shop. It was absurd and completely fitting.
“Hey, Sterling. Reporting for duty,” she said as she walked through the door, offering the guy a smile. He returned the greeting with a warm grin.
Her phone vibrated again.
7:38AM
Fucknugget Blake
psssssst dipshit, bell said
he talked to you
7:56AM
Fucknugget Blake
tell me about your new place
later, kay?
7:56AM
Fucknugget Blake
it’s getting boring round here,
i need to talk to my sort of
sister again
7:56AM
Fucknugget Blake
dipshit :P
7:56AM
Fucknugget Blake
i promise to not mention the
stolen oreos if you call
7:57AM
Fucknugget Blake
good luck on the first day at
work :P
Clarke found herself smiling at this. Bellamy and Octavia made her wonder why she was at all dreading going through the messages (she knew why, but the Blake siblings were still a dream).
7:57AM
Princess Dipshit
thanks, and will do, fucknugget
7:57AM
Fucknugget Blake
;)
Clarke could admit to herself that, in hindsight, it was rather foolish to let success with the Blakes lull her into a false sense of security. Not everyone was going to be so lax about the stunt she pulled, and looking back, she wondered what could have been going through her head at the time when she decided to dial that one number on her lunch break. Her mother had picked up on the first ring and the next several minutes were spent in a fierce shouting match in the back room.
“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?!” and “How could you do that?!” and “I was on the verge of calling in the national guard when you didn’t come home that night” “I don’t think that’s what the national guard is for, Mom,” “Is that really what you are focusing on here Clarke?!” were a few of the words exchanged. After five minutes of shouting loud enough to leave her ears ringing, Abby said the magic words: “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” she said back, letting out a long breath.
“I’m coming to get you.”
“No. You will not.” Clarke said this as firmly as was possible without provoking more screaming.
“Clarke, you need to be home,” Abby sounded tired and exasperated.
“D.C. is home too, Mom. I need to not be in Annapolis right now, okay? And besides, I’m an adult, you can’t force me to come back.”
“Clarke, I am your mother. I know what’s best for you,” Abby said, her voice lowering as anger set in again.
“Well, in the long run, that doesn’t matter, does it? You may be my mother, but I’m the one who makes the decisions concerning myself,” she said and damn, she was going to regret that one in a few seconds.
Three minutes later, she was walking out of the back room in a huff, having gotten another earful before telling her mother that she would be staying in D.C. as long as she likes and that Abby was in no uncertain terms allowed to call her if it was just to convince Clarke to go back to Annapolis.
“I need some air,” she said to Sterling in response to his questioning looks.
The sunshine in her eyes blinded her for a second when she stepped out onto the sidewalk into the warm air. Everything around her was quiet, a sharp but welcoming contrast to her phone call, but it did nothing to quell her frustration.
“So much for making good with Mom,” Clarke mumbled to herself. She needed to wind down, maybe take a walk down the road or go back to the cafe for lunch. Anything to get rid of the itchy lump in her throat and the headache that was now returning with a vengeance.
She almost walked right past the shop, but out of the corner of her eye Clarke caught sight of her through the glass front, and she suddenly found that her feet were stuck to the sidewalk, all anger in her system forgotten. She couldn’t keep walking down the street even if she wanted to. Clarke’s eyes trained in on the woman standing beside the counter inside the store. She had her hair braided down her back and out of her face, and she was wearing a blue button-up and black leather pants, and everything about this girl was pulling at something in Clarke’s head. Maybe Clarke would be able to put two and two together if her mind hadn’t gone blank. She was just standing there staring in at this woman who was sorting through flowers, completely unaware that she’d managed to make someone outside mentally and physically blank out.
Holy frick, was Clarke’s first tangible thought.
Slowly, she came back to herself. She stepped back a couple feet to get a look at the overhead sign -- Woods Flowers -- and suddenly she wanted to burst out laughing or slap herself for not being aware of this little detail of her workplace earlier, maybe both. And in the back of her head Clarke knew that she shouldn’t have been that surprised to find her in D.C. but she still couldn’t help but feel shocked.
Okay, maybe the surprise was because, out of all people, Clarke never expected her to remain in the city.
Clarke found that her feet were moving of their own accord in the direction of the entrance to the flower shop. The girl had moved to the doorway in back of the counter and was apparently searching through crate, still unaware that she had Clarke’s full attention. Clarke registered the sound of a bell as she walked through the door.
Clarke stood there for a moment, her eyes still trained on the girl and hoping that when the girl finally turned around, her first (first?) impression of Clarke was not that she was creepy (because staring this hard at anyone probably looked really fucking weird but Clarke just couldn’t stop). Clarke noticed all of the differences immediately: she was taller, albeit only slightly; her figure had matured since Clarke last saw her. She noticed some of the things that were the same too, like the way her hair looked when braided down her back, or the way her outfit was almost like a name tag because it was just so completely her aesthetic, or the pale scar on the side of her neck (Clarke was there when that happened, some might say Clarke was a part of the reason why it happened, but it was a great laugh in the end).
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” the girl called back as she picked up a vase out of one of the crates.
Clarke was smiling, genuinely smiling, because this was ridiculous and perfect. She’d told Bellamy that for her to find something new she might have to go back to something old, but this wasn’t exactly what she was expecting.
“Lexa?”
The sound of a crash and shattering glass echoed throughout the small shop, and Clarke didn’t have time to apologise before Lexa stood up straight and faced her.
The unexpected isn’t always bad, Clarke thought.
“Clarke?”
Lexa’s mind, for a solid five seconds, went completely blank. She stood stock-stick, looking back at the girl before finally managing to make her lips move and form the name. Clarke Griffin was standing in front of her for the first time since they were fifteen, eight years ago. Lexa wished she had a bit of warning so at least there wouldn’t be that stupid hazy look on her face.
“Um, sorry about the vase,” Clarke said, gesturing to the glass remains beside them.
Lexa was trying very hard to wipe the dumbstruck expression off her face, speaking was a whole different obstacle. A muffled “Huh?” was all she was able to get out, which sparked a laugh from Clarke.
The sound of it felt like a jolt of electricity. Her breath quickened, her pulse raced, and the tips of her fingers were shaking. It also brought on a genuine smile.
“The vase is kind of my fault. I can pay for it,” Clarke suggests with a shrug of her shoulders and a grin.
“Clarke Griffin.” So her voice was working after all. Nice.
“Surprise?”
“Clarke. Griffin.”
“That’s the name, don’t wear it out.”
“Clarke,” Lexa said incredulously, breathlessly. “What are you doing here?”
Lexa could see Clarke wringing her hands, a tentative look in her eyes beneath the jovial expression. Was Clarke nervous? That was new… and oddly endearing…
“What am I doing back in the city? Or, what am I doing standing inside your fine establishment filled with delightfully scented plants?” Clarke replied humorously and perhaps a little sheepishly. “I’m going to be living in D.C. again for awhile. As for me standing in this spot? That might be the happiest coincidence I’ll ever have the pleasure of experiencing.” Clarke paused for a moment, before saying with a soft smile, “My new job is in the tattoo place next door. I had no idea you were working here.”
Lexa knew she still had a stunned expression, but she didn’t feel too self-conscious about it. She was never all that good at taking surprises with a breeze, and besides, Clarke had never been the kind of person she was self-conscious around in the past. Clarke had a habit of lifting tension from just her mere presence in a room. It had been years, but that’s one thing about Clarke that Lexa was sure would never change.
“You’re staying?” she said, forcing her voice to not betray the emotions coursing through her.
(This couldn’t be actually happening. There was no way this girl had just miraculously appeared out of nowhere. There was no way she was actually standing in front of her. It felt like some childish fantasy, and more than anything, too good to be true. It had to be some silly dream… right?)
“Yeah, I moved into the apartment building down the street.”
“And you’ve started a position at Ark Tattoos? Without realizing it was directly next door to my flower shop... ?”
(Had Lexa hit her head in the back room? Maybe she was lying on the floor and this was really just the work of her unconscious imagination. This situation was ridiculously unlikely. That had to be the case.)
“Yes?”
“Really?”
(Lexa was struggling to make sense of the past two minutes of her life. She had always been a realist. Miracles do not exist. Fate was a rope that the foolish held onto like a lifeline. She refused to entertain the thought that her bad karma had ended, because she didn’t believe in karma in the first place.)
“Really,” Clarke said with a shaky breath.
Clarke stepped closer to her and, after a split second of hesitation, moved forward to throw her arms around Lexa. Lexa tensed for a moment, the alarms in her brain that were telling her that this girl was a mirage not quite lining up with the familiar warmth running through her at the very solid and very real touch.
(Holy frick.)
Clarke tensed as well, as Lexa still hadn’t moved to return the embrace. The blonde had just begun to withdraw when Lexa’s arms snaked around Clarke’s middle, and for a second Lexa could entertain the idea that maybe they were back in high school, that no time had passed and they were right back where they had left off. The corners of her lips turned up for a second at the idea, the image of the two of them eight years ago before Clarke’s family moved away.
(A dream, but not a bad one. And for once, not one filled with that worst kind of longing.)
“Hey, I still have almost half an hour left of my break. Can I buy you a coffee?” Clarke said, and Lexa had to wonder which god it was that was bringing all of this about and what was in it for them. Everything came with a price, after all.
“I’d like that,” Lexa replied, surprising herself at how quiet her voice sounded. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Just, um, just give me a moment.”
Lexa did a short jog -- her legs still worked even though they sort of felt like jelly? -- to the refrigerated back room at the back of the shop that stored freshly cut plants. Clarke’s eyes followed, smile never leaving her face (Clarke could imagine it would be hours before she finally stopped smiling). Lexa pushed open the door and her eyes immediately found the woman going through the bunches of baby’s breath.
“Er… I’m going out for a bit. Can you run the store on your own?” Lexa asked, putting everything she had into making sure her voice did not shake. She’d never hear the end of it if the other woman could hear that she was nervous.
“And handle all of these bustling customers by myself? I think I can handle it,” Anya said, gesturing vaguely through the wall to the silent and still interior of the building. She smirked, putting down the handfuls of white flowers and making her way toward Lexa and raising her eyebrows curiously at Lexa’s shell-shocked face.
“You okay Lex? You look like you just saw a ghost,” she said, pushing past her in the direction of the front counter and stopping dead in her tracks. Lexa almost found it comical, the way Anya switched her gaze back and forth between Lexa and Clarke with wide eyes. “Maybe that wasn’t so far off.”
“Hi Anya!” Clarke greeted happily with a little wave.
“Yello,” Anya said with a little wave of her own and laugh, her expression turning amused as she continued to peer between Lexa and Clarke. “I expect a detailed explanation for this when you get back. And you’re doing the dishes tonight in return for me taking care of this mess.” This mess, referring to the pile of shattered glass still sitting on the floor.
Lexa had to wonder if she was actually floating as she followed Clarke out the door, because her feet didn’t exactly feel like they were connected to the floor at all. Lexa might have been disappointed in herself at how easily her defenses had been totally dismantled, but she’d berate herself for it later. Way later.
Even when Anya audibly laughed at her as she stumbled on the way out -- Anya would never let her hear the end of this, that was a given -- she couldn’t bring herself to do anything except go with it.
Because as crazy and unlikely as it sounded, Clarke Griffin, Lexa’s oldest best friend, might have actually just popped back into her life.