Chapter Text
Clarke wakes to something deep and unsettled in her gut. It’s familiar and instinctual and so very strong it’d ripped her straight out of a heavy sleep into alert awareness. She blinks as she sits up and looks around, breathing hard through the stress of her pounding heart.
Her stomach lurches slightly, as it always does, when her hand finds the empty bed space beside her. She settles again when she remembers that Lexa is just fifty or so feet away, right downstairs.
She’s still straining to remember that sound—whatever had woken her up, so familiar on the edge of her senses—when it happens again. She’s just barely able to hear it, but the unmistakable sound of her daughter drifts up the stairs and tugs at her, engaging with her deepest instincts; a maternal pull that beckons her out of bed for a better grasp.
As she pads down the hall, she hears a fit of giggles, and smiles in relief. She follows the sweet, distinct melody of her daughter’s laughter, comforted by the familiarity of the sound. With a calm contentedness that had lately been flighty, at best, she wanders down the stairs and into the living room where she finds her little ball of giggles splayed out on her stomach on the living room floor.
With matching heads full of wild, chestnut hair, Lexa and Lexi roll back and forth, Lexa on her foam roller, Lexie on a full paper towel roll, laughing up a storm.
“It tickles, momma!” Lexie squeals and Lexa chuckles, shaking her head at her little antics. “Look, I Supergirl!” Lexie tosses her arms out to the side and erupts into a fresh set of giggles as she rolls forward and face plants.
“Careful.”
“I careful.”
“Good.”
Propped against the door frame of the hallway, Clarke watches on adoringly, eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them. She bites her lip to keep from laughing as she watches on, never quite sure in moments like these how she’d manage to create this life for herself. Like straight out of a fairy tale, she’d gone from misplaced and misused to so very fulfilled and in love.
A mild sort of panic tugs at her chest when she remembers how she’d been so close to letting it all go, but it’s weak and fleeting. She’s learning and growing and healing, she can tell already.
“Why momma make funny faces?”
Clarke’s eyes drift over to Lexa’s prone form, catching her mid grimace.
“Momma’s sore.”
“Why?”
“Because I got a booboo on my tummy.”
“A booboo?”
“Mhm.”
Lexie slides off her paper towel roll and army crawls over to Lexa, nuzzling into her side. “I make better.”
Clarke and Lexa both smile, but as Lexa is focused on her rolling, Clarke’s eyes remain on her wife, roaming the length of her long, solid body. She drinks in her strong hips and slim core. Everything from her rippling shoulders and wide lats to her trim triceps, held in perfect ‘Ls’ keeping her upright, the left slightly smaller from where it’d atrophied in the cast.
She knows she shouldn’t be ogling, but it’s Lexa. Her Lexa. And she has her back and healthy and alive and she’s laying on their living room floor with their daughter full of sweet eyes and sweeter giggles and she can’t help but feel a deluge of emotion.
Her cheeks flush as she catches the dimples on Lexa’s lower back flex and accentuate with each roll, the tan skin standing out between the light blue of her pajama pants and stark white of her t-shirt. She pulls her lip in between her teeth and bites down, stifling herself. She almost laughs, staring at her wife as if she’s still a lust-struck teenager watching her girlfriend power through her workouts back in the high school gym.
Not able to stand the distance any longer, she steps into the room and chuckles when her baby squeals and jumps up to rush her and wrap her legs up in her tiny arms. Her eyes meet Lexa’s as she runs her hand through Lexie’s hair, and they share a small, open smile—fresh and full of potential.
“Morning,” Lexa greets and peels herself off the foam roller with a groan.
Clarke shares a sympathizing grimace and lugs Lexie up into her arms. “Morning. How was your rolling?”
Lexa flattens out and arches into a cobra stretch, hissing against the sting of the stiff scar tissue interlaced in her abs. “Rough,” she sighs, coming out of the stretch and crawling to her feet, “but getting there.” She crosses to her and places an easy, natural hand on Clarke’s hip as she kisses her on the cheek. “Sleep well?”
Clarke hums and leans into the touch, eyes fluttering, but all too quickly it’s gone and Lexa is talking about needing to go grocery shopping as she walks into the kitchen, leaving Clarke flushed and frozen with Lexie tugging at her necklace. “Don’t pull,” she murmurs absentmindedly as she watches Lexa go.
“Pwetty,” Lexa says in hushed awe.
Clarke wraps her hands around Lexie’s and gently pries the tiny little fingers away with a smile. “Thank you baby, but no pulling.” Lexie nods and lets her head fall to Clarke’s shoulder, tucking it into the crook of her neck as they follow after Lexa into the kitchen. “You hungry, pumpkin?”
Lexie nods, her silky little hairs tickling Clarke’s neck in a way that makes her smile because it still amazes her sometimes that she made something something so soft and sweet and warm—so filled with herself and Lexa and their fifteen years of history all rolled into this tiny human with her pink, puffy cheeks eyes and round, little nose pressed into the crook of her neck.
She runs her hand up her back as she lists through breakfast options, chuckling at her picky eater’s every “no.”
“Lexie,” Lexa warns loosely, “tell mommy what you want.”
“Nofing,” Lexie whines, shoving her head further into Clarke’s neck.
“What if we make extra special pancakes?”
Lexie considers, her little head perking up ever so slightly. “Mick mouse?”
“Yeah, we can do mickey mouse.” Clarke sets her down in her booster chair at the island and fixes her a sippy cup of apple juice before she slides over to Lexa. She wraps herself around her wife and presses her cheek into her firm, broad back, relishing this girl she loved and lost and loved again. This girl who she grew up with, who she spent her whole life with, growing and building and creating with. This girl who got rammed by a car and came back to her, stronger and softer than ever. She slides her hands up Lexa’s ribs and sighs.
Lexa catches her hands and draws them up, kissing her fingertips, nipping at one ever so gently to feel Clarke smile into the space between her shoulder blades. “Hey you,” she murmurs, pushing back into Clarke’s body just enough to reassure her wife that the touch is wanted and welcomed, still sensing that lingering hesitation in Clarke’s advances.
“Hey,” Clarke breathes. She trails a line of kisses across Lexa’s shoulders and lower neck, enjoying the feeling of her warm skin through the soft cotton of her t-shirt, wanting it. Craving it.
“You’re touchy this morning,” Lexa hums, sweet and easy as to not offend.
“I miss you.”
Lexa turns from the dishes and grips Clarke’s hips, pulling her close. “You know you can come down if you get lonely, right? Just because we’re taking things slow doesn’t mean you have to suffer.”
Clarke drifts a tentative hand to Lexa’s stomach. “You’re still healing. I wanna give you your space.”
Lexa presses in close, her nose brushing Clarke’s, forehead to forehead, lips inches away. She nuzzles and Clarke leans into, the two of them so very warm and soft and close. “I’m okay.” Lexa’s breath tickles Clarke’s lips. She licks them and Lexa catches the receding tip of her tongue when she pushes in and kisses her.
Clarke breathes through her nose and lets herself be held in place by Lexa’s sure hands. All she can think about is how warm it all feels. Warm skin and warm hips and warm hands and even the air around them heating up and encompassing them in a warmth.
The moment is shattered when Lexie squeals and slams her cup down onto the counter, indignant at the lack of attention.
Both chuckling softly, Clarke and Lexa pull apart, slow and languid in their movements as the haze stubbornly clings to their senses. Lexa kisses her on the head and smiles. “I’ll get the batter going.”
//
Abby comes around more often these days, helping wherever she can. Sometimes it’s just to be a third pair of hands with Lexie. Sometimes it’s just to make lunch and Lexa through some new PT exercises after. Sometimes the family isn’t home, but Abby lets herself in and makes the place shine.
Other times, like today, she shows up after breakfast, whispers those magic words of “Chuckie Cheese” into the little one’s ear, and gives Clarke a pointed look as if to say, “utilize the alone time well.”
Which is how Clarke and Lexa find themselves here, awkwardly pressed between a window and a bookshelf in their local bookstore/cafe, squeezed into a space much too small for either of them.
“Remind me again why we’re hiding?” Clarke whispers as she tries to pull her neck back and alleviate some of the pressure from her chin on Lexa’s chest.
“That’s the chick,” Lexa responds, craning to see better.
“What chick?”
“The barista chick. The one I told you about when you got here.”
“I don’t—oh. The one who was flirting with you?!”
“Yes. Now, will you hush. She’ll find us.”
“Let her. I’d like to show her just how taken you are.”
Lexa grins and drops a quick kiss to the top of Clarke’s head. “Yeah?”
“So taken,” Clarke huffs. “So taken even Liam Neeson couldn’t find you.”
Lexa snorts and wraps her arms around Clarke’s waist, pulling her closer. “Good one.”
“Right? I just came up with it.”
“I liked it.”
“Is there a reason we’re still whispering?”
“Because she’s still there.”
Clarke peers around Lexa and rolls her eyes. “Babe, she’s literally just cleaning off tables.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want her to come over here. She was quite…forward.”
Clarke arches her brow, but elects to stay silent as she cranes around for another look.
“I can feel you ready to pounce,” Lexa says, chuckling.
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’re like cat. Cute wiggly butt and everything.” She pinches Clarke’s butt for emphasis and Clarke yelps and glares at her, but she can’t hold back the smile that surfaces at Lexa’s antics.
“I’m not wiggling. I’m shifting. This isn’t exactly comfortable.”
“You used to like being pressed up against me and a bookshelf.” Lexa tosses her head back and pretends to recall a memory. “Ah, the college library stacks. Those were some good times.”
With a chuckle, Clarke pokes Lexa in the ribs and shakes her head, letting it fall to her wife’s shoulder as they settle into this new, old familiarity and youthful, jovial bliss they hadn’t had in a while. She sighs, quite comfortable (despite what she’d said) in the warm slant of the sun and the steady post of Lexa’s body. “Today was good,” she murmurs.
Lexa hums and runs her hands in agreement up and down Clarke’s back.
“Though, getting stuck in an alcove was not exactly on my list of things to do today.”
“I like to think of it as me being charming.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm. Spontaneous. You used to like that about me.”
Clarke rises onto her toes and kisses Lexa on the tip of her nose. Chaste and silly and happy. “I still do. I love it about you. I love you.”
“You know, I’m really enjoying the way you say that more often these days. I shoulda gotten hit by a car sooner.”
Clarke’s smile falls and her stomach flips and her pulse races. Lexa can see immediately that it’s still too soon. That Clarke is still reeling, still fighting her way to the surface for that long last gulp of air. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs quietly, hands pressed flat against Clarke’s back. Holding her close. Holding her present. “Not funny. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Clarke says it, but it doesn’t quite reach her tone.
“It’s not. I know. I’m sorry. I’m bad about it.”
“I think…it’s just still a little too real?” Clarke drifts a hand towards Lexa’s scar and looks up at her. “I was so, so close to losing you. I could feel it, you know? Taste it, even. It still keeps me up at night. I don’t like to think about it if I don’t have to.”
Lexa wraps around Clarke’s wrist and brings it away from her stomach, up to her lips. She kisses her fingers gently. Lingering. Clarke closes her eyes and lets the sweetness of the gesture ease her aching heart. “I’d like to be in our room tonight. I’d like to hold you. Kiss you back to sleep if you wake up. I miss you,” Lexa murmurs.
“I miss you too. But you’re—“
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Hardly no pain anymore.” Lexa twists her torso as much as she can in the cramped space, by way of demonstration. “See?”
Clarke nods.
“Can we try? Tonight? It doesn’t have to be a thing. No pressure. No sexy times. Nothing you’re not ready for.”
Clarke grins slightly. “You’re the one not ready for sexy times. I spend most of the day trying not to jump your bones.”
Lexa chuckles, bows until she’s curled around Clarke with her cheek resting atop her head. “I’m sorry. Just a little longer for me. Yeah?” She feels more than hears the acceptance in the soft swishing of Clarke’s nod against her chest.
“Of course. There’s no race.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“Because I do.”
“I want you too.”
“It’s just been a while. I’m not sure how to—things are still—“
“Things are different.” Clarke wiggles free and looks up at her. “ I get it, love. Things are different. We’re different.”
“But still good. Right?”
“Super good,” Clarke reassures with a gentle smile. “So good I’m willing to spend five minutes shoved into a window with you.”
Lexa lets out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding and laughs, shimmying out of the small space, almost missing the way the sun against the glass had kept her warm and cozy.
“I think she’s gone,” Clarke checks.
“I was never really worried. I just wanted you to myself for a second.”
“We came alone, Lex. You had me to yourself to begin with.”
“Yeah, well. I wanted you closer.”
“You could have asked.”
“Spontaneous. Remember? You like it about me. Love it even. Or so I’ve been told.”
“You are something else, you know that?”
“But you love me.”
Clarke smiles. “I do.”
“And I love you.”
“You do.”
“Wanna go for a walk?”
Clarke chuckles. “Getting stuck wasn’t enough Clarke-time for you?”
Lexa grabs their bags from the table and loops her arm around Clarke’s waist, sliding her to her hip. “I’ve got about—“ she checks her watch, “—an eternity left in my Clarke-time threshold. So we better get going before I get sick of you.”
//
“Grey tie,” Clarke murmurs, running her hands across Lexa’s chest, smoothing the fine fabric out. A tense and anxious sigh expands in her chest and sits, tight and heavy.
“You don’t have to come, you know.” Clarke’s brow creases as if to tell her not to be ridiculous. Lexa catches the wanderlust hands roaming over her suit and holds them still. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I don’t want to see her again.”
“I know you don’t.”
“I’m embarrassed.”
“Hey.” Lexa dips, trying to find Clarke’s downtrodden eyes. She taps the underside of her chin, beckoning her upwards. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Clarke laughs. One little puff of annoyed, humorless amusement. “Now you’re just lying to me.”
“You could stay home. Be with Lexie. Pretend nothing’s happening—“
“No.”
“No?”
Clarke shakes her head adamantly. “Hiding from my emotions and my fears is what got us into trouble. I’m not going to avoid this. I need to face this. Face…her.” She says it like even just forming the syllable causes her great disgust. And it does.
“She may not even be there.”
“She’s her daughter. Of course she’ll be there.”
“You know I love you?”
It takes her a while, but Clarke nods, fingers latching onto the tip of Lexa’s tie.
“And…that I’ve forgiven you. Long since. Yeah?”
That sigh, the one that’d still been sitting in her chest, festering, biting—it releases, wet and shaky. She doesn’t resist when Lexa tuts at her and brings her into her arms, squeezing her gently. “We’re okay, Clarke,” she soothes. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
//
The court room is large and austere with it’s white marble finishes and commanding stone columns. It leers down at Clarke. Cocks it’s head, as if to ask her, who dare goes here? She feels like she might faint, each foot on each stair shakier than the last until she’s barely climbing the last step.
“You okay?” Lexa’s voice vibrates differently than what’s around her. It pulls her out of her head, out of the weightless ringing that’d taken over her worldview for a few seconds. Maybe minutes.
She nods and takes her outstretched hand. It’s cold, but sure. Strong. Competent. This is Lexa’s playground, she reminds herself. All those years spent at that law firm before deciding to redefine the business world. This is where Lexa comes to feast. Where she comes to conquer.
She’s not even representing herself, but Clarke knows that her wife is the one in control. The one with the power. It’s reassuring as the press lights blind their entrance into the lobby. Faceless name tags, merciless microphones, incriminating tape recorders—they’re all shoved into their faces as they make their way across the floor.
Lexa’s back. Clarke focuses on Lexa’s back as she pulls her along, ignoring the masses. The wide set of her shoulders. Her slim waist. The crisp middle seam that fits her perfectly. No horizontal pulling to be found. The beautiful, subtle glen plaid pattern of the fabric. Without the grey tie—with something spicier, maybe her navy blue one, or her emerald green one—it might be one of Clarke’s favorite suit outfits to date. Right behind the tight, burgundy one with the satin lapels, only brought out for the ridiculous occasions. The occasional Oscar invite. The random New York Elites parties.
“Clarke?”
Clarke’s head snaps up and it takes her a moment to take in the quietness of their new surroundings.
“You okay?”
Clarke breathes. One large inhale. An equally large exhale. She nods.
Lexa nods too, places a brief, reassuring hand to Clarke’s shoulder, then she’s gone. “What was that?” She snaps, turning to their lawyer. “That was a shit show.”
“Someone must have tipped them off. This is a hot case. Nia Azgeda is the queen of Wall Street and you’re here to take her down. What do you expect?”
“I expect you to have kept a handle on this. My family’s been through enough, Mike.”
Their long-time lawyer shrinks under Lexa’s gaze and tugs nervously at his tie. “They won’t be in the proceedings. I promise you that.”
Lexa stares at him hard before her gaze flicks over to Clarke. She looks so beautiful, her navy blue A-Line dress perfect for the occasion. She’d forgotten to tell her so, in the rush of the morning. She’d forgotten to just, be still with her. Be present. She’d forgotten to run her hands up her arms like she longed to do now, and kiss her forehead. Forgotten to compliment her pretty up-do. She watches Clarke pace, her fingers absentmindedly picking nervously at the crease of her elbow.
“Mike, I need a second with Clarke. Do you mind?”
He shuffles out without having to be asked twice, and when the door closes to the chambers, Lexa calls to her wife gently and draws her into a hug. “Doing alright?”
Clarke settles against her and nods as her fingers walk up Lexa’s back. Restless. Worried. “Overwhelmed,” she admits in a breath.
“Understandable.”
Clarke pulls back to look up at her, keeping connected by their hands, and tries to mirror within herself the calm, sureness on Lexa’s face. “Are you nervous?”
“No. The case is solid. Really this is just to insure that Nia is gets what’s coming to her. The charges brought against me were dropped and it’s too late to bring about any new ones. At least today.” She reaches for Clarke’s cheek. “So nothing to worry about.”
//
Clarke fidgets through the entire first half of the proceedings, shifting left and right between her mother and Anya until Marcus squeezes her reassuringly on the shoulder from behind. She turns to look at him and does her best to return the smile he gives.
Lexa looks so calm surrounded by members of her company’s board and their army of lawyers. She doesn’t even flinch when Nia is called to the stand. She’s stoic even when Echo slams into during a small recess.
When she herself takes the stand, she sits talk and answers efficiently. She speaks with grace and a tone that dares anyone to argue. When her gaze occasionally finds Clarke, it’s strong and confident and full of love. It makes Clarke fidget harder, restless to get her hands on Lexa. Restless to hug her and hold her and kiss her and tell her what an amazing job she’s doing and that she’s proud of her and loves her and trusts her.
She’s still restless during the lunch break when she has her face in a water fountain, fingers tapping rhythmic-less against her thigh while she waits for Lexa to finish her quick meeting with her council.
“You okay there, Sparky?”
Water splashes against her chin as she jerks up at the voice and the subsequent hand on her back. She’s still swiping the back of her hand against her chin when Raven gives her a small wave and goes for a hug.
She steps back and tries to ignore the way it registers on Raven’s face and in her shoulders. “What are you doing here?” She looks past Raven and inhales sharply. “What are they doing here?”
“We wanted to support Lexa. Maybe…make up a little for how we acted.”
“I think it’s a little late for that, Rae. And I’m not sure this is the appropriate place for an apology. She’s got a lot on her mind.”
“We don’t even have to talk. We just wanted to be here. In the audience, or, you know whatever. Just so she knows we’re behind her.”
Clarke considers, caught between wanting to encourage amends and beings so incredibly angry on both she and Lexa’s behalf.
“It doesn’t have to be a thing. We’ll just sit there quietly. Be silent bodies. Numbers. On her side. You know?”
“You realize she’s not on trial, right?” Clarke sighs, tired and emotionally overcharged. “She just has to be here to represent her company.”
“Okay. Then.” Raven looks around, clearly unprepared for this wrinkle in her planned speech. “Well then we can be here to just show the jury that Lexa and her company are good people.”
“There’s no jury, Raven. It’s not that kind of case.”
Raven’s eyes fall as she admits defeat, nodding slowly and distancing herself from Clarke. “So we should probably just go?”
“That depends.” A new, solid, resounding voice beckons their attention as Lexa crosses to them and stands next to Clarke, hand on her back.
“Lexa—hey, we just—”
“I’m not finished.” It’s not mean, but it effectively silences everyone within earshot. “There are two things that are gonna happen right. One, you’re going to apologize for the absolute shit you put me through and have been putting me through since high school.”
“You’re right, Lex, and we’re—“
“I said two things, Raven. Please. You’re an engineer, I know you know how to count.”
Raven’s mouth snaps shut and all she can do is nod.
“Two things. One, you apologize. Two, understand that if you stay today, in support of me, that will mean you are actively standing against Echo and her mother. You need to accept that, you need to embody that, and you need to want that. If that’s not something you can do, then you need to take Bellamy and Octavia, and you need to leave.”
Clarke leans her head on Lexa’s shoulder and interlaces their fingers, a united front.
“Those are the terms. Take them or leave them, but I’d like to go grab lunch with my wife sometime in the next two minutes, so. Ball’s in your court.”
“We want to stay,” Raven offers without hesitation. “We want to be here for you. We know we made mistakes, I made mistakes, and we—”
Lexa silences her with a flick of her wrist and sighs, trying to discourage the headache wanting to form between her eyes. “Yeah, we’ll talk about those mistakes after this is all over, don’t you worry. If you think you’re going to waltz back into my life with a simply apology and an appearance at my case, you’re not as smart as I thought you are. This—“ she gestures to the fact that Raven, Bellamy and Octavia are present, “—this means nothing. You—”
She clenches her jaw, swallows several times, and leans in because she promised herself she wouldn’t make a scene the second she’d walked out of her meeting and saw them standing with Clarke.
“—You broke me,” she breathes. Her eyes water before she can stop them, but she doesn’t waver. She stares Raven down, then Octavia. Bellamy. “Every single one of you. You watched me get torn down and then you kicked me while I was face first on the ground. And you’ve been doing it since high school. And I’ve had it. I’m not doing it anymore.” She straightens back up and clears her throat, adjusting the knot of her tie that had suddenly gotten too tight. “Consider this a wake-up call. I’m done putting up with your abuse. You didn’t like me in high school because I was other from you. You didn’t understand me and you didn’t even want to try to. Even after your best friend fell for me. And you know what, that’s fine. We were young. We were all a little stupid. But we’re all adults now. It’s time to grow up. I’m willing to let you be here today, to try to start to mend things between us, because Clarke loves you, and I love Clarke. But this is by no means an end all, be all. I’ve put up with your shit for too long, and I don’t have to. So I’m not going to. Be better, or don’t bother.”
Before anyone can even attempt to come up with a response worthy enough to be vocalized, Lexa turns to Clarke and gives her a tight, but effortful smile. “I’m going to use the restroom before we go. I’ll meet you outside?” She starts to pull out of Clarke’s grasp, but Clarke tightens her grip and shakes her head.
“I want to say something. And I want you all to hear it, so come here.” She nods towards Octavia and Bellamy still lingering a few paces behind Raven. The Blakes look like scolded children as they shuffle forward, eyes flicking between Clarke, Lexa and the back of Raven’s head. She takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the feeling of Lexa’s eyes on her.
“Look. This is mostly my fault. I—“
“Clarke,” Lexa chides, baffled.
“No, it’s okay. Really.” Clarke gives her a hand another gentle squeeze. “A lot of this is my fault. I watched you treat Lexa like an outsider all through high school and I never did anything about it because I was selfish. And I thought you’d stop once you saw we were serious. Once you saw how happy she makes me. I know that the four of us grew up together, since we were tiny monsters terrorizing the neighborhood, and I know that makes you think you have some sort of claim over me. But that doesn’t mean you get to terrorize Lexa into being exactly what you want her to be for me. I let you because it made me feel good to have so many people caring about me and looking out for me, but in reality, I was letting you ostracize the one person who cared for me and looked out for me the most. I know that now. I’ve messed up, but I’m working on it, we’re working on it. Lexa is my sun and moon and stars and she’s an amazing mother and an incredible wife. And she deserves to be treated as such. And as much as I want to put all of this on your shoulders, this starts with me.” She turns to Lexa, eyes wide and emphatic. “I’m going to be so much better for you, Lex. I promise. And that means—“
She takes another deep breath. Hesitant almost.
“—That means…I don’t want you here today.”
The looks on everyone’s face is almost enough to stop her in her tracks, but she plows forward.
“I appreciate the gesture, but…but you don’t get to just walk in here and be seen as our friends and family and bask in our success when this case closes and Lexa comes out on top. After everything, this is just not something I want to share with you. Not yet. This is about Lexa and her company. It’s about our family. It’s about…closure and healing and…forgiveness.” Her voice wavers on the last word and she has to stop for another shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, dipping her face to wipe away a tear. “I’m sorry. I just, I want this to be about Lexa. And her triumph. And then I want it to be about us and our family. And I need you to resepct that.”
“Wow,” Raven breathes, much sooner than anyone is expecting her to speak. She nods, slowly, sadly, but agreeable. “Speaking only for myself, I’d say I’ve got a lot to…digest. And I think you’re right. I think maybe today isn’t the day. So…you’ll text me? We can do coffee or something…” She can barely meet the Woods couple’s eyes as she acquiesces with as much grace as anyone can in such a situation. Bellamy and Octavia are not quite as verbal in their acceptance. Bellamy takes a fleeting glance at Lexa while Octavia shoots Clarke a weak, apologetic smile before following Raven out of the courthouse.
“You didn’t have to do that, baby,” Lexa says, breathy and rushed like she’s in awe of Clarke. She is. She really is.
“I had to put my foot down. I had to show them once and for all that you’re my family and my priority and nothing is ever going to get in between us.” Never again, she seems to say as she leans into Lexa’s chest. “I love you so, so much, Lex. You’re my world.”
As tender as ever, Lexa caresses Clarke’s face, pets her hair, traces her jaw, simply loving. Simply enjoying the togetherness. The understanding and respect and fierce adoration. “I love you too, sweetheart,” she murmurs, eyes bouncing around her wife’s face like they can’t find a place to land because it’s all so captivating.
“Lexa?”
The couple turns to see a regrettable looking Mike poking his head out of the courtroom doors. “They’re back early. We’re ready to start again.”
With a tired, easy chuckle Lexa folds Clarke into an embrace and hums, giving her a gentle spin until Clarke is laughing with her. They still and Lexa returns her back to her feet, eyes sparkling. “I guess we’ll just have to make dinner an ordeal.”
“We could make it a date?”
“Oh yeah? How about you, me, and a certain city-overlook. Maybe some candles and wine?”
Clarke plays with her lip, flirty and lighter than she’d been even just minutes ago. She nods. Kisses her wife and smiles. “I’d like that.”