Chapter Text
“Clarke Griffin, if you don’t shut that alarm off, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
Clarke giggles quietly at her friend’s empty threat, still half asleep. She peers over the edge of her bed, the creak elicited by her movements far too loud for hours as early as this one. A tiny groan from the ground below her seems to validate her feelings, and she smiles down at the pile of blankets and pillows that she can just barely make out in the dark.
“You act like it’s early or something,” Clarke says, her voice still rough from sleep as the abundance of fluff shuffles, making way for a head to pop out.
“You’re lucky that alarm woke me up. Lord knows if you had to wake me up, you really would be dead before we got to that school,” Octavia says, smiling up at Clarke. Her long brunette locks are all but a tangled mess.
“And it’s a good thing that you’re awake, because we still have to wake this one up,” the blonde responds, motioning to the still asleep girl in bed next to her. Octavia had protested against both of them the night before, complaining that Clarke’s floor was too hard, and that she never gets to sleep in the bed when all three of them were over. However, Raven was having none of it, and the two of them handled it in a very professional manner that resulted in a busted pillowcase and far too many feathers on Clarke’s floor.
Octavia quietly and carefully climbs onto the bed, cautious not to touch Raven. When she settles at the foot of the bed, she slowly and gently removes Raven’s blanket, revealing bare feet.
She glances up and meets Clarke’s eyes. The blonde shakes her head, and Octavia smiles deviously.
“Oh no,” Clarke says, but she can’t help the grin that spreads across her own face as Octavia reaches over the edge of the bed and picks up one of the feather casualties from the night before. She leans closer to Raven and ever so lightly pokes at the bottoms of her feet. The other brunette stirs again, an annoyed sound escaping her lips. Again, Octavia runs the feather up the length of Raven’s foot. Suddenly, she jolts up, kicking her foot out instinctively. It hits Octavia square in the thigh, and she doesn’t even wince. Instead, she giggles silently at her best friend’s glare as soon as she realizes what happened.
“May you both be struck by a flying drumstick,” Raven groans, running her fingers through her tangled curls.
“Oh, why so bitter?” Clarke teases, feigning pity on the barely awake girl. She receives a gentle shove and a half smile and decides that’s good enough for her.
---
A few people file into the band room slowly, trudging their feet in protest at the ungodly hour at which they had to wake. Their performance, the first of the season, wasn’t until 4:32 that afternoon, but the three hour drive plus food and rehearsal first thing in the morning required an ever so lovely call time of 7 am.
Lexa glances up at the clock, noting that they have exactly ten hours until their performance. She fumbles with the sticks in her hand, twisting them and spinning them with her fingers as she had learned to in her first year with the band. The senior on the tenor line was her only friend that year, and he taught her every stick trick in the book.
“You okay, squirt?” calls an all too familiar voice from the hallway behind her. Lexa turns around, and her older sister is walking toward her, gloves already in hand.
“You know I hate early rehearsals,” Lexa groans, and Anya smiles. She takes the gloves between her teeth and pulls her hair into a messy bun quickly as the two girls walk toward the percussion room.
“But you also know it’s worth it,” Anya quips. Both of them wince slightly at the scratching sound that fills the room as the younger of the two pulls a set of tenors off of the shelves. Lexa pulls the carrier over her shoulders and lets out a small grunt as the weight of the drums settles on her.
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” she says. Anya is about to respond when another familiar face pokes her head into the room.
“Sorry to interrupt bonding time. Kane is looking for us. Also, can you go yell at Bell and Murphy to shut up? You’re scarier,” Costia says in a hurried breath. Her dark brown curls are pulled into a rushed ponytail, and little pieces are sticking out in various places. Lexa smiles at her once-lover’s last statement and she can’t disagree with the accusation.
“What are they fighting about now?” Anya asks, and the three of them leave the room and head toward the football field, where Kane is surely waiting for his drum majors.
“Bellamy insists that tuba is the superior brass instrument, and Murphy disagrees. I swear, they both should’ve played trumpet,” Costia groans, swerving out of the way of a rushed flute player.
“They’ve got the egos for it,” Lexa chimes in. Jasper and Monty, both carrying the instruments in question, walk past the three of them just then.
“Heard that,” they say in unison. Anya and Costia grin, and Lexa playfully rolls her eyes.
When the three of them reach the field, sure enough, Bellamy and Murphy are at each other’s throats already.
“Do you even know what an eighth note looks like?” Murphy asks. Behind him, someone snorts not so quietly at the comment, and Lexa catches a flash of blonde hair.
She walks toward the blonde, and sure enough, Clarke is setting her baritone on the dark green turf. She throws her head back and takes a quick drink of water, then sets it down and jogs out to the center of the field to meet her friends. Lexa bites back the urge to smile and sets her tenors down next to what she presumes to be Raven’s snare, then walks out to her spot in the block as well.
---
As the last chord of Jupiter rings out, the wall of sound so loud that Clarke is certain her eardrums will burst, Costia’s hands come down once more. The sound stops all at once, and it echoes in the distance for a solid couple of seconds. The corner of Clarke’s mouth pulls up in a satisfied smirk, and it widens to a full smile when she sees Kane clapping from the bleachers.
“Do that tonight and we’re golden. You’re dismissed. Load first, then lunch is waiting,” he says into the microphone, his voice booming through the speakers above. Costia lets her arms fall, and everyone on the field collectively relaxes. Clarke’s arms burn from the effort of holding up a ten pound horn for a full seven minutes, never breaking from her near perfect posture. She’s certain she’s going to need crutches to get inside, because her legs almost couldn’t handle the two runthroughs back to back.
“You done good, kid,” Bellamy says. He walks up next to her and throws his arm around her shoulders, carrying his tuba in another. Next to him, Lincoln is doing the same as he holds Octavia’s hand.
Clarke smiles at the compliment, and her eyes then fall to the gigantic instrument once again.
“How in the hell do you carry that thing with one hand?” she asks, and Bellamy smirks.
“It’s called upper body strength. You should try it,” he says. Clarke scoffs and shoves him away gently.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice in the matter, Bell,” she says, recalling her first year. While he was only a sophomore, Bellamy had already made a name for himself in the low brass section. He was one of the most dedicated there, and was essentially the section leader. Everyone listened to him, anyway. Because of this, every mistake was met with at least five pushups. By the end of the season, Clarke had biceps bigger than half of the guys in the section. Big Brother Bellamy couldn’t have been any more proud.
Bell keeps his arm wrapped around Clarke as they talk into a the building, a comfortable silence settling around them as the rest of the band is bustling with life.
----
Loading and lunch pass by rather quickly, as they always do. They had an hour and a half to complete both of those tasks, and even then it hadn’t felt like enough. Several kids are still chewing their last bites of specialty sub sandwiches (rather, meat and cheese on bread) as they load the bus.
Clarke walks toward the very back of the bus, grateful that the seniors didn’t all decide to take the last seats. Anya sits on one side of the back seats, and Clarke immediately claims the other. She practically throws down her duffel bag stocked with food, then gently places her blanket and pillow to the far edge of the seat closest to the wall.
“You have enough there for you to survive an apocalypse,” Anya teases, and the younger blonde smiles as she leans back in her seat, the pillow now propped against the wall. She unfolds her blanket, her father’s blue and black one, and pulls it over her body. The air still holds a slight chill though it is nearly eleven.
“Never know when it could happen, gotta be prepared,” she says, the soft fleece of the blanket covering her nearly bare shoulders. Her tanktop didn’t provide much coverage.
“Anya! Switch me, Lexa’s being a butt,” calls a voice suddenly. Clarke looks up, and Costia and Lexa are sitting a few seats ahead of them, Lexa on one side of the bus and Costia on the other. The accused brunette scoffs at her now-best-friend and the hint of a smile plays at her lips. Clarke can’t help but admire the friendship they were able to keep even after they decided a relationship wasn’t for them.
“See ya, kid,” Anya says, complying with Costia’s request. Lexa rolls her eyes and gathers all of her things.
“God, both of you. I’m pretty sure zombies won’t attack today, you don’t need to have enough to last you three years on your own,” Anya groans as Lexa comes back to her seat. Lexa has just as much as Clarke, if not more, and she plops into the seat with a grunt as she nearly drops her bag.
She settles into a position matching Clarke’s in silence, then lets out a sigh as she pulls her blanket up to her chin. Clarke notes that the brunette is donning a muscle tank only slightly more covering than her own and wonders why the girls in the band are often so ill-prepared for the chill of the autumn air.
Lexa’s eyes fall shut and a breath of air escapes her lips. She looks peaceful in a way Clarke had never seen before. The girl is normally quite reserved and quiet, and doesn’t show emotion outwardly. Here she looks almost...human.
She opens her eyes slowly, and for a moment their eyes meet. Clarke looks away hurriedly. She reaches down toward her bag to pretend she was looking for something.
“You’re the one who ended up stronger than half the brass section in her first year,” a sudden voice says, pulling her from her momentary panic. Clarke looks up toward the voice and finds that Lexa has not looked away.
“You’re the one who got a spot on the tenor line without even auditioning,” the blonde quips back. Lexa nods, smiling slightly.
Silence falls over the two of them, and Clarke notices a heaviness weighing on her eyelids.
“You should rest, Raven mentioned you didn’t go to bed until one,” Lexa says, and Clarke smiles, remembering the adventures of the night before. Wordlessly, she settles into her makeshift bed and lets sleep take over.
Lexa pretends that it’s only because it’s natural to stare ahead that she finds herself sneaking glances at the sleeping girl across from her.
----
An eternity passes before Clarke finally returns to her the warmth and comfort of her father’s blanket. The bleachers are frigid from the falling temperatures of the evening air, and despite the warmth of the blanket, she finds herself shivering slightly.
“You’re sharing,” Raven says, sitting down next to her with sour Skittles in hand.
“You owe me,” Clarke responds, and she opens the blanket to let her friend in. The shared body heat makes the blanket just a bit warmer and the night air just a bit more manageable. Raven deposits a handful of skittles into Clarke’s hands, and the blonde smiles gratefully.
Octavia, Lincoln, and Bellamy are soon to follow the pair. The trio sits in the row in front of Raven and Clarke. Lincoln and Octavia are wrapped in a blanket, and Bellamy is wearing only a coat.
“You cold, Bell?” Octavia asks him, and he shakes his head.
“Nah. This is good weather,” he responds, unbuttoning his coat to further his point. It’s cold enough to see his breath, but he seems unfazed by the cold.
“You’re crazy,” Clarke says, her teeth still chattering.
Before anyone can add to her conclusion, a booming voice comes over the speakers.
“Now, from Azgeda county, you know them as the Ice Nation...the Azgeda High School Warriors!”
It is all Clarke can do not to roll her eyes and let out an audible groan of dismay at the announcement. Azgeda, coined as the Ice Nation due to their signature white, blue, and black uniforms, was Arkadia’s arch enemy in every way. The football team was one of the best in the state, and their band was no different. Year after year, Azgeda and Arkadia were neck in neck. Yet, Azgeda always prevailed. And Arkadia was tired of it.
“Let’s see what lovely show we get to see today,” Octavia says, her dislike toward the band quite obvious.
As the field is being set, Clarke scans the pieces that are coming together. On the left side of the field, there is a platform with a strange looking throne. It appears to be made from tree branches. Though Arkadia couldn’t hate Azgeda much more, all of them has to admit that it’s a well done prop. To the right side of the field, an incredibly intricate beaten down version of the Lincoln memorial sits on the 30 yard line. The rest of the field is scattered lightly with debris and pieces of things we know in today’s world, battered but still recognizable.
No one could deny that it was already impressive, and Clarke wants to scream.
The show begins with a booming opener that everyone in the stands recognizes. Azgeda is not well liked by anyone, so the collective eye roll that resounds through the crowd puts a smile on Clarke’s face.
“Les Mis? Seriously?” Bellamy complains. “That’s my favorite SCV show. And they just ruined it.”
“Oh shut up, Bell, we know you’re going to play that tuba feature until your last breath,” Octavia quips back at her brother, and he smiles and nods, not denying the accusation.
The menacing chords of Look Down fill the stadium and everyone seems a little jealous of how powerful they sound already, on the very first night.
The familiar Les Mis tune fades away into nothing, and is instead replaced by an ominous sounding ballad that must be original, because no one seems to recognize it. There isn’t much power behind it, but it leaves Clarke with a certain uneasiness that she suspects is meant to be there.
“They’re good, I gotta admit,” Raven says, her eyes fixed on the musicians on the field as they moved swiftly and effortlessly.
As the ballad reaches what Clarke assumes is its final few lines, she lets her eyes wander through the crowd in search of the rest of her band. Jasper and Monty are sitting a few rows below them, chattering about Lord knows what. Nathan Miller, a softspoken mellophone player, is sitting next to Monty, a small smile on his face as he observes the pair’s antics. Murphy is sitting with the rest of the trombone section, apart from Octavia, a few people over from them. On the other side of the stairs, Costia and Anya are sitting behind a quiet, focused Lexa.
Before any thought can come to mind, Clarke’s attention is pulled back to the field when another familiar tune fills the chilly night air.
She had kept in her groans and complaints the whole show thus far, but she can’t help but let out a quiet yet still audible moan of displeasure as soon as she recognizes the piece.
“They’re joking. Mars? Seriously? Who’s the one with the space show again?” she says, voicing her frustrations. Raven chuckles next to her at the fiery blonde’s response.
On the field, one of the members of the guard walks out from behind the Lincoln memorial. She’s changed outfits and now dons what can only be described as a battered queen’s clothes. A long cape flows behind her, and she carries a staff fashioned from branches, just like the throne she is walking to.
“Okay, that’s cool,” Lincoln admits, and it’s the first thing Clarke has heard him say all day. He is nearly as softspoken Miller.
The show comes to a close, and then the wait for awards begins.
----
Lexa practically collapses into her seat as they load the bus at the end of the night. It is now pushing 9:45, and the three hour drive ahead puts them reaching Arkadia around 12:45, likely closer to 1:00. Lovely.
Per the usual, Azgeda came in first, and Arkadia was just a few points behind. It was never by much, but Azgeda always just had something that was a little bit better, a little more powerful, a little more developed.
This would be the year, though, and Lexa was sure of it. They may not defeat Azgeda, but they would compete alongside them at State. Nothing could get in the way of that. Not again.
A second person collapsing into their seat brought Lexa out of her determined trance. Clarke was sprawled across the seat, her legs hanging off the edge and her left arm dangling from the side. The corner of Lexa’s mouth curls upward involuntarily, and she bites her cheek.
“Tired?” she says quietly, her exhaustion so great that even the slightest sounds are much too loud. A soft chuckle comes from the seat across from her. Clarke sits up slowly and grabs her blanket, promptly wrapping it around her shoulders, then kicks her shoes off and removes her worn black socks. The bus jolts slightly forward, and they’re finally on their way home.
“Aren’t you? Did you sleep on the way here at all?” Clarke asks, a yawn cutting off the end of her sentence. She leans her head against the seat in front of her as she looks over at Lexa.
The brunette shakes her head, and soon finds herself yawning as well. Her eyelids feel heavy and already she wants nothing more than to sink into the pillow behind her and sleep for three years straight.
“You should rest,” Clarke says, repeating Lexa’s own words from hours earlier. Lexa nods slowly. She follows the blonde’s actions and removes her shoes and socks, finding herself somewhat more comfortable than before. After they are stored safely in her bag, she settles down into her pillow and pulls her blanket up to her chin.
Suddenly, Lexa feels a bare foot touch her leg and she nearly lets out a yelp of surprise. She looks up and finds that Clarke has stretched out her legs so that her feet rest on the edge of Lexa’s seat.
“Clarke?”
The blonde looks up, and Lexa can just barely see her eyes widen as she realizes what she’s done. She immediately goes to pull her feet away.
“I’m so sorry, it’s just a habit, I didn’t even - “
Lexa stretches out her own legs and feels the soft fleece of Clarke’s blanket cover her own cold feet.
“Your feet are cold,” she says simply. Clarke smiles gently, and both of them lie back down, letting sleep pull them in shortly after.