Chapter Text
“Zachary, it’s time to get up,” Lexa tells her nephew gently as she runs her fingers through his thick mop of hair. It’s getting long, but he doesn't seem annoyed with it yet.
“I don’t feel good,” he mumbles in response, a blatant lie.
“Sounds like you’ve got the Monday Mopes,” she replies, pulling the comforter back, trying to jumpstart their morning routine. Zachary grabs the blanket back, flopping defiantly back against his pillow. “It’s not the Monday Mopes. I’m serious.”
Lexa fights to keep from laughing at her nephew’s obvious italics. “You’re serious?”
“Yes!” Zachary reiterates, slightly breaking character. “I think I have pumonian!”
“Pumonian?”
“Yes!”
“That does sound serious,” Lexa says, biting back a grin.
“That’s what I said!” Zachary reiterates.
She cups his chin. “Hmm, well, if you don’t feel well, I guess that means you won’t want to go to park like we talked about,” Lexa baits.
“No! No, no, no, I still want to go to the park!” Zachary sits up, fully shedding his charade.
“But if you’re sick—”
“It was just the Monday Mopes, Mama! I promise!”
Being called ‘mama’ still gives Lexa pause, but when Zachary started referring to her as such a year ago, she figured that if anyone could decide what Zachary called her, it should be him. Still, sometimes she worries that he is forgetting his parents.
Lexa pushes herself out of her thoughts, and smashes a kiss to his worried cheek. “Then get your butt out of bed, and get dressed!”
He smiles at her, knowing he’s had. “Can I at least have pancakes for breakfast?”
“Oh, at least. We gotta do something about those Monday Mopes,” she says pulling out clothes for him to wear. “Do you want to come back here after school to get your bike or do you want head straight to the park?”
“Straight to the park!”
Forty-five minutes, a belly full of pancakes, and a debate about whether or not a cowboy hat was necessary school attire later, Lexa and Zachary were out the door. Without the cowboy hat.
*
Lincoln is waiting for them outside with a big smile when they get to school, that only falters a little bit after Lexa pulls into her parking spot.
“You’re car is making that sound again,” he says.
“Yeah, it is,” Lexa confirms, handing him Zachary’s backpack.
“NER NER NER NER,” Zachary screeches, replicating the sound in question.
“Yeah, buddy, that’s exactly right,” Lexa says, ruffling his hair. “But we’re about to go into school, so that means…?”
“Inside voices only,” he answers solemnly.
“Correct,” Lincoln says with a smile, offering a hand, which Zachary gladly takes, allowing Lincoln to lead him to the art room with where the rest of the faculty’s kids wait to start the day.
Lincoln turns back to Lexa. “You know, I could take a look at your car this weekend, if you want.”
Lexa smirks. “Lincoln, you are an elementary school art teacher.”
“So?”
“So I know for a fact that whatever is going on with my car cannot be fixed via paper mâché or molding clay. I’ll take it over to Quint’s eventually.”
Lincoln rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Just be sure to do it sooner rather than later.”
“Okay, Mr. Forrester, some of us have class to get to,” Lexa deflects. “Have a good day, Zach,” she says with a wave.
“You too, Mama!” he replies, waving back with an impossibly large smile on his face.
Lexa blows a kiss in a final farewell, and then begins to make her way across campus to the high school.
*
The moving truck was late.
And, according to the recent email exchange she had with the company, it was going to be at least a day late. Which of course, makes no sense to Clarke, considering that they left at the same time she did and it only to her two days to make the drive from New York to St. Louis.
She didn’t speed that much.
Dejected, she slams her head back on the headrest of her seat a couple of times before stepping out of her car and into the driveway of her new home.
It’s a four bedroom two-story that looks almost exactly like all the other houses in the subdivision: white siding with red brick accents and dormer windows with red matching shutters. It’s situated in a cul de sac that’s only shared by one other house with aluminum fencing separating the backyards. Again, almost identical to Clarke’s in every way except for a classic wooden porch swing out front, an abandoned bike in the front yard, and green shutters instead of red. She only visited the area once before she put in a bid for the house, but the realtor assured her that Clarke’s new neighbors were good and quiet people.
“Home sweet home,” Clarke mumbles, as she pops the trunk and begins to bring boxes into what would be her home for the next five years.
Even with the moving truck snafu, Clarke still has the majority of her clothes, office stuff and bedding, so she spends the next few hours sort of psudo unpacking: When the dresser gets here, it will go here, so I will put my boxes of clothes there for now. The bookshelves will probably line this wall, so I’ll move the boxes of books into that room until then—Etcetera, etcetera and so forth. It’s vaguely productive.
She then constructs a makeshift bed out of three comforters, that half way through becomes a sort of blanket fort because why not? If Clarke Griffin is going to sleep on the ground, she’s going to have fun with it.
But eventually her car is unpacked and everything is in its theoretically correct place, so all that’s left is to check in with her mother like she promised she would.
The phone only rings once before Abby answers, “Clarke?” breathless and worried, like she had been waiting all day—which probably wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Clarke was supposed to call as soon as she got to the house.
“Hi, Mom.”
“I was wondering when I would hear from you. Did you just get to the house?”
“No, I just wanted to unpack a little bit before I called you.”
“I see.” Clarke can hear Abby’s displeasure through the phone, and this is precisely why she was putting it off in the first place. But Abby soldiers on. “Did everything make the move okay?”
“Uh, actually, the movers got delayed somewhere in Ohio, so they’re a day behind me.”
“What?!” Abby gasps. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Yeah, I’m not too happy. But there really isn’t anything I can do about it.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“The floor. It’s just one night, so I’ll make it work.”
“I guess.”
This conversation is dragging on much too long for Clarke’s liking, but she feels bad for making Abby worry all day.
“So Octavia will be arriving tomorrow?” Abby asks.
“Yeah. I talked with her on the way down today. Her flight will get in late tomorrow morning, so hopefully the movers beat her here. I don’t want to deal with a whiney Octavia.”
They both laugh softly, but then it stretches into a heavy silence.
And then: “Clarke, I don’t want you to think that I’m mad at you for this.”
“But I know you are, so what’s really the point in bringing it up?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth, Clarke.”
“I’m not. You wanted me to stay in New York with you. And I get that, but, Jesus, Mom, it’s WashU. It’s the third best program in the country. For the life of me, I can’t understand that I need to do this.”
“I’m just worried that you aren’t actually confronting your grief—”
“Did you get that from Jaha? Just because he lost his son doesn’t mean he knows what I’m going through. I think we can at least agree that it’s very different.”
“I just want what’s best for you—”
“Okay, well, it’s time for you to trust that I know what’s best for me.”
Clarke can hear Abby sigh on the other line, and she takes the opportunity to wrap the call up.
“I just need a fresh start, Mom. Somewhere I can be no one instead of poor Clarke Griffin. You have to understand that.”
Abby is reluctant, but eventually says, “I do. I just don’t like that your fresh start had to be so far away.”
“I know, but listen, I’ve still got some unpacking to do, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“I love you, Clarke.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
Clarke pockets her phone and leans back against the kitchen counter, trying to shake the conversation with her mother from her being. When that doesn’t work, she decides that it’s time to sample some Midwestern fresh air everyone talks about while she figures out if there’s anything worth ordering through GrubHub around.
As soon as she steps out to her back yard, Clarke can make out the melody of Hakuna Matata making its way down the road. The crescendo of the Disney classic is joined by a very discordant and high-pitched ner-ner-ner-ner of some poor car.
Of course, the car in question pulls into the driveway next door.
“Good and quiet people, huh?” Clarke says, laughing to herself.
Not one to be nosy and not wanting to draw attention to herself either, Clarke makes sure she is out of sight while her new neighbors make their way inside, and tries and fails not to eavesdrop.
“Can we watch it while we eat dinner?” a child asks, followed by the slam of a car door.
“Not so hard, Zachary,” a woman scolds.
“Sorry,” the boy says quickly. “But can we? In the living room with the tables?”
“I dunno, buddy. Spaghetti is pretty messy for the living room,” the woman replies.
“I’ll be careful!” the boy pleads.
The rest of the conversation is blocked off as the neighbors walk inside and shut the door, and Clarke smiles. She remembers having the exact same conversation with her dad when she was that age. Somehow it was always such a treat to be able to eat dinner in the living room while a Disney movie played.
Suddenly, Clarke hears a rustling coming from a bush that is closest to the wood line.
Clarke has lived in Manhattan practically her whole life. Yeah, that included yearly vacations to the Hamptons or the Florida Keys if her family was feeling adventurous, and maybe the occasional long weekend in the Catskills, but otherwise Clarke Griffin is one hundred percent certified a city girl. The only reason she even had a car was because she did her undergrad at UNC and it was just easier to have her own car to get around during the semester.
So, when she realizes that there is very real possibility of a raccoon coming out of the bush in her back yard and attacking her—and by a very real possibility she means simply a possibility—she quite literally freezes in fear.
She doesn’t blink as she watches as what she is sure to be a vicious woodland creature emerges from the bush, vowing to at least face her fate head on.
“Boof.”
What emerges is not a vicious woodland creature at all, but rather a very small, very cute mostly black pitbull puppy.
“Oh…hello there,” Clarke coos softly, not wanting to scare it off. She squats to get on its level.
“Boof.”
“So you’ve said.” Clarke holds out her hand, beckoning the puppy closer. “C’mere, you cutie.”
The puppy ambles closer to sniff at Clarke’s fingers, so she takes the opportunity to start gently scratching behind its ears. After a moment the puppy seems to deem Clarke safe, nuzzling against her leg.
“Well, this is certainly a warm welcome.”
*
Lexa quickly strips down in her bathroom, trading out her stylish teaching attire for a threadbare American University raglan and some joggers.
As she is letting her hair down from the severe bun she had it in, Zachary’s voice comes muffled through the door.
“What if I promise to be really, really, really careful?” he asks.
Lexa drags her hand through her hair to untangle it, and then pushes it out of her face, before swinging open the door.
“You seriously can’t wait until after dinner? It will literally only take you twenty minutes to inhale spaghetti.”
The boy shakes his head. “Twenty minutes is a long time. Twenty minutes is one of my recesses.” He slows as his mouth works through the plural of recess.
Lexa shakes her head and smiles in spite of herself. “Okay—”
“Yes!” Zachary exclaims, pumping his fist.
“But!” Lexa cuts in sternly, “only if you start your homework while I make dinner.”
He salutes and immediately starts marching downstairs to the kitchen. “I’m on it, Mama!”
Lexa shakes her head, toes her way into some Vans, and heads downstairs after him.
Minutes later, a pot of water is coming to a boil on the stove while Lexa helps Zachary through some math problems.
“Okay, so count the paper clips on the left.”
After a moment: “Six!”
“Great! Now count the paper clips on the right.”
Another moment: “Eight!”
“Alright, eight. So which side has more?”
“The right!”
“So which side does the mouth want to eat?”
“The right side!” He exclaims, beaming up at her.
“Bingo, buddy,” Lexa says, smiling back. “Okay, do the next two on your own, and I’ll check them after.”
“Okay,” he agrees.
Lexa turns back to check on the water, which is still not to a boil, when the doorbell rings, followed by three quick raps on the door.
“Who is it?” Zachary asks.
“I don’t know. Stay here while I go see,” she says, without waiting for confirmation as she makes her way to the front door.
Lexa tentatively opens the front door part way, sticking her head out first.
Maybe it’s the fact that the sun is setting and it’s literally golden hour, but the woman on her doorstep looks ethereal—with golden hair, bright blue eyes, and a bright smile to match. And on top of that, she’s holding a small black puppy.
Lexa blinks a few times, trying to determine if this is real life before opening the door a little wider. “May I help you?”
“Uh, yeah!” the woman says, a little breathless. I, uh. I just moved in next door today, and I found this little guy in my back yard.” She holds up the puppy for emphasis. “I heard you guys come home and since you have a kid I thought that maybe this guy might belong to you.”
Lexa raises her eyebrow at the woman, who is now looking a little sheepish, but before she can respond, Zachary is pushing past her legs.
“Who might belong to us? OH! A puppy!”
“Zachary, I told you to stay in the kitchen,” Lexa scolds lightly.
“What’s his name?” Zachary asks, completely ignoring Lexa.
“Um, I haven’t really thought of one yet. I just found him,” the woman answers.
“That’s so cool! I wish I would find a puppy!”
“Yeah, it’s pretty neat.” The woman then focuses her attention back on Lexa. “Um, can he—he can pet him, if you’re okay, with it.”
Zachary immediately whips his head around, fixing his own version of puppy dog eyes on Lexa. “May I, Mama?”
Between Zachary’s puppy dog eyes, the actual puppy, and the ethereal goddess on her doorstep, Lexa is defenseless. “Alright, but be gentle.”
The woman squats to bring the puppy down to Zachary’s level. “My name is Clarke. What’s your name?”
“Zachary Green. I’m in the first grade.” The answer is automatic since Zachary’s full attention is on the puppy in front of him.
“The first grade? That’s a pretty good grade to be in.”
“Yeah, I like it a lot.” The puppy nuzzles at Zachary’s face and he laughs.
“I bet.” Then the woman—Clarke—directs her attention back to Lexa. “And what’s your name, neighbor?”
“Lexa Woods,” she answers simply. Simply because all other words fail her.
She can see the beat of confusion pass through Clarke’s eyes at the different surnames, but thankfully she doesn’t ask. Instead she smiles. “So you’ve never seen this guy around the neighborhood?”
“I’m afraid not,” Lexa answers.
Clarke looks back down at the puppy. “A stray, huh? Well, isn’t that something.”
“Are you going to keep him?” Zachary asks.
“Hm, I don’t know. I’m in doctor school, so I might not have time to take care of a puppy.” Zachary’s face begins to fall, and to Lexa’s surprise, Clarke seems to notice this as well. “But he’s at least going to be with me for a few more days until I figure out what to do.”
“So tomorrow he’ll still be at your house?” Zachary asks.
“Yup. He sure will.”
Zachary whips back around to face Lexa. “Can we visit tomorrow after school, Mama? Please?”
Lexa smiles at him, slightly embarrassed. “That’s not up to me, buddy. That’s up to Clarke.”
Zachary turns back around to Clarke, but she answers before he can even ask. “Sure you can. But only if you finish you’re homework first.”
“Yes!” Zachary exclaims, pumping his fist for the second time that night.
“What do you say, Zachary?”
“Oh, yeah. Thank you, Clarke!” Zachary says beaming.
“No problem, Zach Attack.” Zachary blushes and giggles at the nickname, stepping back behind Lexa’s legs, uncharacteristically bashful.
Clarke takes the opportunity to stand back up and focus on Lexa. “Anytime tomorrow is good with me. Just stroll on over.”
“What about doctor school?” Lexa asks with a grin and confidence she didn’t know she had.
“Right. Yeah, my residency doesn’t start until next week,” Clarke says with a smile. “I wanted to have time to settle in and get to know my neighbors.” She winks at Zachary. He giggles again.
“I see,” is all Lexa can say.
“Well, I better get out of your hair,” Clarke says, turning to leave. “See you tomorrow, Zach Attack!”
“Bye, Clarke!” he squeaks out.
For a moment, both Lexa and Zachary are content to watch Clarke and the puppy walk the short distance to their home. Until, that is, Lexa starts to hear a loud sizzling coming from the kitchen.
“The water!” Lexa exclaims, darting back into the kitchen.
When she gets there, the majority of the water has boiled over onto the stovetop and floor.
“Holy crap!” Zachary yells.
Lexa quickly turns the burner down, and pushes the pot onto another burner. “Zachary, this is not a ‘holy crap’ moment,” Lexa scolds as she grabs a towel to sop up the water.
“There was water all over the place, Mama! I definitely think it was a ‘holy crap’ moment!” Zachary argues.
“Not quite, buddy,” Lexa says as she carefully refills the pot and starts the boiling process over. “How about you go set up the TV tables in the living room?”
“Okay!” Zachary says, darting into the living room.
Lexa begins to ring out the wet towel over the sink. She takes a moment to let her heart rate come back down after dealing with the mess, taking a couple of deep breaths. However, when she glances up through her kitchen window, she makes eye contact with her new neighbor—ethereal goddess, Clarke—from across the yard through her own window.
She smiles at Lexa and winks before walking out of sight.
It comes out as an unbidden whisper: “Holy crap.”