Chapter Text
LEXA
As the countdown begins, you friends hush each other only to succumb to the laughter that has filled this night. Much like the many nights before, tonight has been marked with drinking and games and fun and happiness, much in contrast for the days before you married Clarke Griffin. In fact, from the moment that you said “I do,” and kissed your bride, the brightness that emanated from her smile and her eyes filled your life again, bringing with it the blueness of hope and the security in knowing that you could take on the world, no matter what it threw at you. And although it did just that, threw things at you left and right, with Clarke near you, you felt stronger-- now more than ever. With the countdown continuing, your friends’ voices mesh into one crowd-mentality kind of shout, the one unified voice ringing you and your wife into the fourth month of your marriage and into a new year.
In fact, this countdown was ringing in a lot of things, not just for you and Clarke, but for your family as a whole.
Tris is moving to Kansas City to play on a professional soccer league next month, taking Roma and their German Shepard named Ryder that they adopted together right before you and Clarke’s wedding with them. This was huge for your baby sister who was offered the scholarship during her second semester that you stressed over which prompted the KC professional Women’s soccer team to begin scouting her. Not only did she graduate college in two and a half years, but she wowed the coach at KC and was asked immediately to join them as their new striker, all expenses paid.
Octavia is 6 months into her pregnancy and looking more radiant and glowing than ever. As her belly continues to grow, so does her sass, continuing with her quick wit and always keeping you in check. No matter what situation arises, she always texts you after an argument with Clarke and reminds you to apologize and be patient-- more so now in the last few weeks than ever before.
Lincoln has taken a job with the fire department in Macomb and the academy is booming, opening its second location due to the growth patterns and demands. Although the stress of being a business owner has seemed to take a toll on him, even through his exhaustion, he still finds it in him to make it to every family game night and get coffee with you and Tris every Monday morning to catch up.
Bellamy and Harper just moved into a house that they bought together last week and have already started arguing over paint colors and the purpose of rooms in their home. Although Bellamy ceased his therapy sessions, he’s seemed to adjust well, Harper helping him through many nights when you were unable to. The amount that he texts you asking for you or Clarke to talk him through a panic dwindles with each passing week, reminding you that your friend is healing… as the amount that you text him for the same reason dwindles as well, reminding you that you’re healing too.
Raven retired from the military a little over a month ago, taking a job in the Netherlands with some company named Arcadis NV and although she’s not really allowed to discuss the nature of her work, she has told you that she’ll be working in sustainability… and the man that she brought to your wedding is coming with her.
And on the topic of Kyle Wick, the floppy haired blonde finally began fitting in with your friends, participating in every game night and every weird experimental liquor creation brought by Jasper and Monty. It was a weird road for the salty and sarcastic pretty boy as your friends, although extremely welcoming, are a very particular group of people, but you can’t even remember what days before Wick’s satirical and asshole comments were like-- and you’d have it no other way.
Your mother-in-law moved to Macomb in order to be closer to you and your wife and has taken a job at the hospital, helping bring in more financial support from large, corporate donors and really putting Macomb on the map as far as medicine goes. Although you weren’t entirely enthused at first about Abby being so close, especially with the way that Clarke’s healing had been going, that soon changed when Abby stepped up to the plate, making herself known at every family game night and physical therapy session. Honestly, you can’t even imagine what life without Abby would be like right now-- especially with Clarke’s progress. Any progress that had been made was mostly thanks to Abby-- and for that, you owed her the world.
In fact, this New Year marks a year of change for everyone, but hopefully, it’ll mark a year of greatness-- at least that’s the feeling that your swaying, drunk heart is crying for.
Surrounded by those that you love most with the taste of liquor on your tongue and the feeling of Clarke’s body backed into yours, you pull her tighter, listening to the catch in her breathing as your hands find her hips. Sliding your thumb between her tight, fitted jeans and the skin of her stomach, the tips of your thumbs dance across the matching tattoo that her hip bones share with yours.
It’s been a little less than three months since the needle of a Canadian tattoo artist with purple hair painted the mountain range across your pelvis with blue and greens, marking each other permanently with the colors of the other’s soul-- the sky meeting the ground and blending as perfectly as her breathing with yours when she falls asleep in your arms.
It’s been just under three months since the same catch in her exhale that is breathing into your ear now serenaded your first night of marriage in the airport hotel the night before your plane left for Whistler, B.C., leaving the drama of physical therapy and counseling far behind to be dealt with another day. And 2 weeks later, that battle began… first, in the form of cognitive therapy, pushing Clarke to remember the things that the coma stole from her. The first thing to come back was medical information: patient records, medication doses and spinal immobilization using a Kendrick Extrication Device… The treatment of intracerebral hematomas and the differences between male and female knife attack wounds. Things that didn’t even sound like necessary knowledge flooded her brain as she poured words out to you over dinner in your kitchen such as how many bones in the human body are disconnected (three-- as Clarke reminded you every day for a week straight) and what mnemonic device is used to collect medical history in emergency situations (which you can’t remember now to save your life…). To you, these little facts were useless… but to Clarke…
To Clarke, they were the world.
And the excitement that emanated from your wife when she remembered something for the first time made not having a clue what she was talking about worth it.
The second thing that started returning to her consciousness was the story of your break-up. Before she even remembered all of the great times that you shared, she remembered the worst. And before she could even tell you how therapy went, on day 27 with Adrian, she stormed into the home that you two built, shouting as her open palm met with your cheek, her words burning more than the palm print that she left across your face.
“You left me,” the words echoed, reminding you of your mistakes. Of course you did… and of course she remembered that, but you couldn’t let her win-- you never could. And so you followed up with more words only prompting more shouting as tears began to flow from both of you. She was stubborn, but that was a part of her-- one of the very many perfectly imperfect parts of Clarke Griffin-Woods that you loved… even if in that moment, love was the furthest thing from your mind. After hours of shouting and blaming each other for previous failures in your relationship, a broken vase, scattered papers and a pair of your car keys chucked through the open window into your backyard, she retired to the bedroom, leaving you wrapped up in a blanket on the couch to fall asleep on your own to only the sound of your phone which somehow found every terrible song ever created: your first huge fight. As Matt Nathanson sang out to you, you couldn’t help but hit the back button at the end of the song every time, replaying the words over and over again as the rage continued to surge through your body.
So we lie here in the dark. All the wrong things on fire. In sickness and in health. To be with you, just to be with you.
“How could she blame me after everything?” you ask into the darkness, not even fully agreeing with the words coming from your mouth. Of course she could blame you-- you left. You’re just mad that you’re having to face it all again…
In your wedding dress. To have and to hold. 'Cause even at my best. I wanna let go.
“I mean, I left… but she let me…” Rolling over onto your back, you fold your sore hands underneath your head, realizing for the first time that they’ve been clenched into fists for the entirely of the last few hours. With a slight chuckle, you wonder where you inherited this rage. I wasn’t your father’s and for definitely wasn’t your mother’s. You didn’t learn it from Toni and neither Tris nor Lincoln exhibited it as far as you knew. What made you so different?
And you hold me in your arms. And all that I can see. Is my future in your hands. And all that I can feel. Is how long ever after is. It's all that I can do. To be with you, just to be with you
“This song fucking sucks,” you finally decide, clicking the next button without any remorse. “We’re not getting a divorce, she’s just fucking mad.” As you brush your brown hair from your eyes, you pretend to listen to the next song that plays, not really even hearing it as the panic begins building up in your chest at the thought of losing Clarke. Weirder things have happened. People have gotten divorces over way less. What if, now that she remembered how much of an asshole you were, she chose to walk away? Could you blame her? I mean, you walked out on her…
But again, just like always, however, Clarke couldn’t just let it go and before the end of the night, she joined you as you laid on the couch, falling asleep with her head on your chest after her breathing steadied, her apologies ceased, and her tears dried.
The next memory that returned came while your sister and her girlfriend laid in your bed with you and Clarke, wrapped up in the comforter surrounded by the smell of extra buttered popcorn and Divergent playing on the television mounted on the wall across from you. At a slower moment in the film that Clarke had made you watch at least ten thousand times before, you glanced over at your wife, tears swelling in her eyes as she turns just slightly to meet your stare. Grabbing your hand, she brings it slowly to her lips; kissing your fingertips as the words “I love you,” exit her mouth at the same time they did for the first time over two years before. With a smile across your face, you pull your wife in, breathing in her scent, the smell of home, as you kiss the top of her head, silently thanking whatever god was out there for the moment that you were experiencing now-- and every day since she said “I do.”
“Jesus-fucking-Christ, can we not make it through one movie?” Tris hisses, a pillow extending from her hands to meet the side of your head. “You two are like goddamn rabbits… We’re still here!”
Roma’s cold feet connect with your bare shins as she shoves her toes under your legs, smiling back. She doesn’t talk much, but just like your sister, she knows all of the best ways to irritate the shit out of you…
And this was all part of it…
Part of being a family…
Part of falling in love…
Part of living your life…
After the stress of cognitive therapy began, the overwhelming anxiety of psychological therapy came flooding in, opening an entirely new world for you and your wife as you finally began processing the grief in your life. Day one, you were forced to explain your story to a complete stranger, omitting details as Melissa Knu, a small, blonde therapist only a year older than you scribbled notes across her clipboard, nodding through phrases such as “that must have been hard for you” and “can you tell me more about that.” Coming home to Clarke, at first, was a blessing after therapy days-- it was home-- but as you dove deeper into your troubles and the truth of many of your insecurities surfaced, Clarke found herself at the center of much of your anxiety and you found yourself unable to forgive her for the pain that you endured at the mercy of her brain. More words, more shouts, and a hole in the drywall accompanied Clarke’s migration to the guest bedroom as the slamming of doors and the blasting of music attempted to drown out the words of the other, but after the sixth week of bi-weekly sessions with Melissa, the root of your psychological trauma dissolved Clarke of all blame, allowing you to finally forgive her and allowing her to finally move back into your bed after two weeks. And she did that, holding you as you cried for days, processing your despair at last, understanding that the death of your parents-- all 3 of them-- affected you more than you ever though. It was also in these sessions that you learned that your greatest fear isn’t falling, but in fact, not being good enough. At first that didn’t make sense, but the more you thought about it, the more it clicked. You never did anything halfway and while you were afraid of falling… you were actually afraid of not finishing-- even if that meant falling completely. If you were going to succeed, you were going to succeed completely. If you were going to fall, you were going to fall completely.
And now, you find yourself here-- 30 seconds remaining in the best year of your life so far, surrounded by the most important people in your life, in a house that represents nothing but love with pictures lining the walls of the best times in your lives and your wife in your arms. As the blonde turns towards you, she pulls your arms tighter around her waist, leaning into your grasp even more. As her hips push against yours, you can feel her drunken swaying and hear the words “I love you,” flow from her tongue, entirely too close to your ears. With liquor coursing through your veins, the sounds of your friends begins to fade as the pounding of her heart against your chest echoes through you, louder than the rhythm of the countdown exiting your family’s mouths. Leaning in to kiss her, you smell the rum on her breath for a moment before she pushes a finger to your lips, pulling from you slightly and smiling. “Not yet,” she says after she’s leaned back in, her lips grazing the sides of your ear. And with that chill that runs up your spine, you hear her whisper the numbers as the group does, her body melting into yours more with each beat as your hands struggle to find somewhere to grab that won’t make you feel the urge to lock the two of you in your bedroom away from the group.
But it’s not working…
“5…”
You begin backing towards the hallway, pulling your wife by her belt loops with you as she still finds a way to grind her hips into yours.
“4…”
You reach the door, tugging her body against yours even more as your lips meet, the feeling of warmth flooding through your body from your chest.
“3…”
Her hands reach behind you, twisting the door knob that you’ve been struggling with as you kiss her passionately, filling her mouth with your tongue and tangling your hands in her hair.
“2…”
The door closes quickly behind her as Clarke pulls her brown long sleeve over her head, her soft skin leaning against you as you struggle with your own shirt, only joining her without your top after she helps you free your arms from it.
“1…”
She pushes you onto the bed, sliding her body on top of yours as her hands find the button on your pants and tugging at it slightly. “I want you to scream my name,” she drunkenly slurs into your ear before kissing you, sliding her hand into your pants and thrusting a finger into you gently before you can even speak, stealing the breath from your lungs as she kisses her lips to yours, muffling the gasp as it exits your mouth.
“Happy New Year!” you can almost hear the words coming from the room down the hall over the sounds of the two of you and your labored breathing, but nothing else really matters now-- except for the blonde who is sliding one leg over yours, leaning back to sit on your thighs as she lifts her arms over her head, taking her bra with them and tossing it to the side, smiling down at you before she leans in slowly to kiss you.
“Happy new year,” she whispers, the breath from her mouth sending yet another shiver through your spine and out of your toes before she nips slightly at the tip of your ear. Before you know any better, your hands grip her tightly, rolling her underneath you and you kiss her passionately, sliding one knee between her legs and pushing your bare hips into hers.
“Happy new year,” you repeat your reply, lacing your fingers into hers and pushing them onto the bed underneath her.
Happy New Year.
---
Octavia
Honestly, you’ve given up on keeping up with Lexa and Clarke-- especially when liquor was involved or there was a room that could be locked for their use. It’s not that they fucked too much… I mean, a part of you doesn’t even believe that’s possible… It’s just… You’d rather not think too much about the moans exiting your best friend’s lips as her wife brings her to the edge of the earth… there’s just something slightly odd about it.
So when they disappear in the last 10 seconds of the year and you hear the door to their bedroom slam down the hallway, you don’t even question it, finishing the countdown with your husband’s arms wrapped around your waist.
This year….
This year was a rollercoaster-- and that was putting it lightly. Between you and your husband opening another academy, your pregnancy, Raven’s pregnancy scare, all of the changes occurring with everyone as a whole, and everything that occurred with Clarke and Lexa, you’re honestly surprised that everyone survived as well as they did, but you’re incredibly thankful for it… And you’re reminded of this when Lincoln’s arms tighten around your shoulders, pulling you into his kiss.
“Happy New Year!” he contributes to the shouting, swaying through the liquor as he thrusts a fist into the air, a wide smile spreading across his face.
Smiling back, you wrap your arms tightly around his waist, breathing in his scent and praying for an easier year.
It had to be easier.
Your family couldn’t take any more drama…