Chapter Text
1.
Clarke looks up at the clock, then back at the trackboard with a sigh. There's only 20 minutes left in her shift, but she can't in good conscience start wrapping up with triage in this state - two more ambulances just rolled into the bay, and the waiting room’s already packed. She signs up for the most straightforward of the newly-roomed patients and grabs the chart from the rack, glancing at the nursing note. R arm lac, +workman's comp (FDAC).
She knocks twice before pushing aside the curtain and stepping into the room, glancing down at the patient's name as she pulls it shut behind her. "Good evening - Alexandria, right? I'm Clarke Griffin, I'll be taking care of you tonight."
The firefighter sitting at the edge of the bed is young - around her age, probably - and very pretty. Her heavy soot-stained pants are strapped over her shoulders and tucked into thick boots, but the rest of her uniform is nowhere to be seen and she's pressing a pad of gauze to the back of her forearm. The edge of a tattoo is just visible under the hem of her t-shirt sleeve. Stormy green eyes watch Clarke closely. “Just Lexa, please.”
“Alright, Just Lexa.” Clarke quirks a smile at her joke and sits down on the stool next to the bed. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"I was involved in an altercation, and was cut with a knife. The Chief made me come in because she thinks I need stitches."
Her voice is higher than Clarke expected, her words clipped and to the point. She answers the rest of Clarke's questions with similarly succinct responses - yes she can feel her fingers, yes she can move her wrist just fine, yes she has an up-to-date tetanus vaccination. Clarke snaps on a pair of gloves as they talk, brushing Lexa's left hand away and lifting back the gauze to reveal a deep slash across her arm, a good six or seven centimeters long and still oozing dark red blood.
"Well, your Chief was right - you definitely do need stitches." Clarke carefully replaces the gauze, padding it so Lexa doesn't get more blood on her clothing. "I'll numb it up first so you won't feel anything, but it'll take me a while."
"That's fine."
There's nothing hard in her tone - Clarke thinks maybe she's just a woman of few words. Even when Clarke flashes a smile as she leaves the room Lexa's expression doesn't change. She's always liked a challenge, though, so when she gets back to the room with a bottle of lidocaine she makes an attempt at conversation.
"Not trying to pry," she sticks a needle into the bottle, drawing the anaesthetic into her syringe, "but how exactly did you end up in a knife fight?"
Lexa's eyes flit back to hers. Clarke is thankful her hands are busy as she sets down the glass bottle and taps lightly on her syringe, pressing out the air. It keeps her from fidgeting under the intensity of Lexa's gaze.
"We went out for a medical call for a heroin overdose. We got him to the rig and he came to with narcan, but his friends were all tripping out on something else. Turns out they have this whole drug ring running out of this apartment complex, and when they saw us they panicked."
Clarke turns back to Lexa's arm and gently holds down her wrist with her right hand. "This'll burn a bit, just try and stay still, sorry." She moves slowly, injecting as carefully as she can, but Lexa doesn't even flinch. "So, what, one of them attacked you?"
A quick nod. "Several of them, actually.” She says it with casual derision, like being attacked by knife-wielding junkies is just an annoyance and not, in fact, terrifying. Like it’s just an inconvenience, like how Clarke would feel if there weren’t any clean scrubs her size, or if the coffee in the break room was too watery. “I had my jacket off so I could move more easily. I should have been prepared."
Clarke glances up as she draws out her needle. "I don't think that's the kind of thing you can really prepare yourself for." Lexa doesn't answer. Clarke doesn’t push. "Did he get arrested, at least?"
"Of course," Lexa answers, like it’s a silly question, and it's the most emotion Clarke's seen from her yet. "It takes more than a few tweakers with bowie knives to stop me."
Clarke bites back a smile at her affront, keeping her head down so it’s not obvious. She notices the light scars mapped across Lexa's hand, that tattoo curling around the hardened muscles of her upper arm - she wants to ask, but that’s pushing too hard, that’s beyond her need to know. “I believe it,” is all she says.
While a tech cleans out Lexa’s wound, Clarke heads back into the arena and discharges her other two patients, sending them home with careful instructions and soft smiles. She’s picking out the sutures she needs when one of the PAs offers to help - it’s the end of your shift, I can sew her up quick - but Clarke waves him off. It’s far from the first time she’s stayed late to help out, and she’s sure it won’t be the last. There’s nothing waiting for her at home anyway.
Lexa maintains her stoic silence when Clarke returns, pulling up a tray and lining up the tools from her suture kit. She tugs on a new pair of gloves, opens the first pack of thread, and begins to work.
“Tell me if you feel any pain - you might feel pressure, but it shouldn’t hurt at all.”
It’s easy to slip into a rhythm, carefully placing each stitch and tying it off. Clarke’s always liked this part of her job, fixing people up in such a tangible way. Maybe it’s just the instant gratification - patient comes in, doctor fixes patient, patient leaves happy. Clarke's never regretted her specialization, but there’s something to be said for the closure that other doctors get by virtue of care continuity.
"You're good at this."
Lexa's voice breaks Clarke's focus, just briefly, and she pauses for a moment before snipping the end of her thread. "Thank you." A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Good to know those eight years weren't a waste of my time."
Her smile fades when Lexa doesn't respond right away - maybe that was a bit too snarky, maybe she crossed a line - but then Lexa's shaking her head. "I've gotten stitches before, and yours are very precise." She shifts a bit on the bed, careful not to move her right arm at all. "I thought emergency med was usually a three year residency."
"It is," Clarke comfirms, placing another stitch. "I did med school and residency down south, came back here to Ark City for an extra critical care fellowship. The emergency med group hired me once I finished." She glances back up at Lexa as she ties the suture off. “How’d you get into your line of work?”
From the corner of her eye Clarke can see Lexa thumbing at the rough edge of her suspenders with her free hand. “My parents were both military. I followed in their footsteps.”
“Yeah, I get that. My mom’s a doctor too, I dressed up in a white coat and a stethoscope for like...three Halloweens in a row.” Clarke says it with a smile, glossing over the fact that it wasn’t that simple, not by a long shot. She wonders if it was easier for Lexa, if it worked out for her in the end.
She isn't sure why she even cares, why she's even thinking about it. Clarke takes her bedside manner more seriously than some of her colleagues, but she knows better than to get invested.
She tells herself she's just curious. That's all.
It takes a few more minutes for Clarke to finish suturing, and she cleans Lexa's arm carefully before wrapping it lightly with fresh gauze. Instructions for care roll off her tongue by rote, and Lexa listens closely, brow furrowed just slightly as she commits Clarke's words to memory.
"Thank you, Dr. Griffin, for your help."
She shakes her head and schools her features into a sideways smile. "Please, Clarke is fine."
Lexa nods slowly. "Alright, then. Thank you, Clarke." Her mouth barely lifts at the sides, but her eyes are bright and honest, and she's so pretty that Clarke can feel heat rising in her cheeks as she leaves the room, trying not to think about the way Lexa’s lips curled around her name.
For the next week, every time she sees a flash of white-and-red lights out on the road, Clarke can't quite stop herself from remembering grey-green eyes and that small smile.
2.
It's 4am on a Thursday and the waiting room is empty - the last patient came from triage almost an hour ago. Clarke sips at tepid coffee and doodes aimlessly in the free space on a spare script pad, her bouncing knee betraying her restlessness, the tap of her heel an audible rhythm in the uncharacteristically quiet air of a department usually filled with the sounds of barely-controlled chaos.
There’s a sharp clatter when the team leader drops a chart in the rack. Clarke jumps for it before her PA gets a chance. When she looks his way he rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything, just leans back and picks up his crossword. Clarke glances over the chart on the way down the hall. Something about the patient’s name tugs at her memory, but she can’t quite place why.
When she enters the room, though, she stops in her tracks.
It’s the firefighter again, the one she sutured last month. Lexa. She’s seated on the edge of the bed, back turned to a hulking man sporting an FDAC t-shirt and an impressive beard. When Lexa sees Clarke her eyes widen in recognition, and she offers a small smile. “Dr. Griffin. Clarke.”
Clarke smiles back, maybe a bit too widely, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Maybe she overdid it on the coffee, because suddenly she's aware of how quickly her heart is thumping in her chest. “Hey, Lexa. How’s the arm?”
Lexa turns her forearm so Clarke can see the pink scar, just visible against the tan of her skin. “It healed very well, thank you.”
“Awesome, that’s great.” She sits down and crosses her legs. “So what can I help with today?”
The man against the wall takes a step forward, drawing her attention. “She needs to be evaluated for a head injury."
Lexa shoots him a cutting glare before turning back to Clarke. "I'm fine, but since Gustus already filed an incident report, I need medical clearance before I can return to work."
Clarke has to bite back her smile for the sake of professionalism, but any trace of amusement vanishes when Gustus interjects gruffly. "She took a hit during a training exercise. Lost consciousness and vomited twice when she woke up."
"Gustus, shut up."
"In that case," Clarke’s eyes flicker up to the man’s, "he was right to bring you in. How are you feeling now? Where does your head hurt?"
Lexa's glare is on her, now, but it's more petulant than intimidating. "Just the back of my head."
"Any neck pain?"
"No."
"Other symptoms - fatigue, dizziness, vision changes, disorientation? Are you still nauseous?"
"No." Gustus grunts. Lexa's jaw tightens again. "I'm still a little nauseous. Nothing else."
Clarke goes through her exam, and Lexa doesn't protest under Gustus' watchful gaze. She winces when Clarke touches the back of her head, muscles tensing. There's a big contusion but she's not bleeding and Clarke's pretty sure it's nothing emergent, but she'll obviously order a scan anyway. Lexa's not thrilled with the plan, but she agrees, and Gustus shakes Clarke's hand firmly in thanks before she leaves the room.
"Anything exciting?" her PA asks when she sits back down in the arena.
Clarke shakes her head, but she can't stop herself from thinking that it is nice to see Lexa again.
After she puts in her orders (for the CT as well as for Tylenol and Zofran, even though Lexa will likely turn them both down) the novelty of her new case wears off a bit, and she goes back to her doodling. She adds a bit of background to the forest scene she'd already done, and finds herself adding the profile of a face, a woman looking out over the trees with her chin held high.
"Hey, Clarke?" She starts and snaps her attention to the nurse that interrupted her. "Your patient's asking for you."
"I'll be right in." It's only then, when she looks back at her work, that she realizes how much the figure she’s drawn looks like Lexa.
She rips free the paper and crumples it deep into her pocket as she stands.
Lexa's seated at the edge of the bed again, resolutely refusing to lay down. Gustus is nowhere to be seen. "I appreciate your concern, Doctor," she announces before Clarke even shuts the curtain behind her, voice low but authoritative, "but I declined the medications you ordered for me. I'm feeling fine." Her clothes are back on, too, even her heavy black boots, and her hospital gown is folded neatly by her side - she would've had to wear just the gown for her scan, but Clarke imagines that it didn't take her long to change out of it.
"Are you sure?” Clarke shrugs, sitting on the stool and putting her hands on her knees. “They won't hurt you, and it won't affect your diagnosis, if that's what you're worried about. As soon as your CT comes back negative then you're cleared to go."
Lexa hesitates, and Clarke starts to think maybe she'll change her mind, but then she's resolutely shaking her head again. "Thank you, but no."
"That's fine, I'll cancel the orders."
It's Clarke's turn to pause, just briefly. She means to ask her if that's all she wanted to say or if there's something else Clarke can do for her - that's the right question to ask, the one actually relevant to her job - but something catches her eye and that's not what slips out. “Your tattoo.” She points to her own arm just below the hem of her scrubs. “Could you show me?”
Lexa’s eyebrow quirks at the question, but she turns her arm a bit and brushes up her sleeve. There’s four intricately detailed brackets, backed against each other and curling outward. Clarke likes the ebb and flow of hard lines and curling waves. Her fingers itch to draw it out. “It’s really nice, the line work is beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Why did you get it? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Lexa shrugs, lets go of her shirt. “I got it when I was an MP, after my first tour.”
"Oh. Right." Clarke mentally chides herself for not making the connection. Lexa had said she followed in her parents' footsteps, after all - Clarke just didn't realize that she meant it so literally. "So how long have you been a firefighter?"
"I've been with FDAC for a year."
She notices Lexa fingering the edge of her suspenders again, like it's an absent habit. "Do you like it?” Clarke asks. “Compared to the military, I mean."
Lexa considers her for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. "It is very different. I needed the change."
Clarke offers a small smile like she understands, because she's trying to, at least. "Sometimes change is exactly what you need."
The zone phone clipped at her side rings. Clarke almost drops it in her haste to answer. "What's up?"
"Doc, you busy?" the team leader asks. "We've got a STEMI en route, he'll be here in five. HUC's paging cardio now."
"I'll be out in a sec. Get me his twelve-lead." She clips the phone back at her waist and smiles at Lexa apologetically. "Sorry, but I have to step out. I'll be back when your scan's read, okay?"
"Of course, take your time," Lexa nods, watching with an expression that Clarke wishes she could read. If she thinks about it, it looks a little like concern, a little like intrigue, a little like -
No, she shouldn’t think about that at all, really. She leaves the room hastily and waits at the printer for the faxed EKG, using impatience as a distraction.
Clarke returns after sending the patient to the cath lab and printing off Lexa's paperwork. The firefighter is still in the same place at the side of the bed, though now she's absently scrolling through something on her phone. She looks up at Clarke when she comes in, sliding her phone back into her pocket and watching Clarke expectantly.
"Good news," Clarke smiles, "you don't need neurosurgery." Lexa's brow rises as Clarke hands her the small stack of paperwork. "Your CT was normal. On the off chance there's a bleed that isn't big enough to see yet, there's a whole list in there of symptoms to come back for - worsening headache, intractable vomiting, confusion, stuff like that." She takes a breath, and her tone shifts a bit. "I know you'd probably rather be tough and shrug this off, but it's important, okay? If you're getting worse, come back. Concussions can cause all sorts of long-term problems."
"I know," Lexa murmurs, still looking through the papers in her hands. "I will return if I need to, Clarke. I promise."
She gets that feeling again when Lexa says her name, that drop in her chest like she's flying or falling or maybe both. "Good," she says, and maybe it comes out a little shakier than she meant it but she's not nervous, not at all.
Lexa rises to her feet, extending her hand toward Clarke. "Thank you again for your help."
For a brief second Clarke forgets to react because Lexa is taller than her, just by a bit, and for some reason that's important. She gives herself a mental shake and takes Lexa's hand, exchanging a firm handshake and a smile. "No problem. But for your sake, maybe we should stop meeting like this."
Lexa smiles - a real smile, this time, with teeth, and it lights up her whole face in a way that makes her look soft and young and pretty. Clarke watches as Lexa pushes through the double doors to registration, and tries to convince herself she's not sad to see her go.
3.
The shrill beeping of her pager cuts through the silence in the physician room. Clarke's on her feet in seconds, reading the text on her way out into the hall toward the trauma bay.
"Clarke Griffin, team lead," she says to the scribe when she enters the bay, scrubbing in as the other team members arrive. "Who has report?"
The nurse that took the call appears at her side. "Forty year old female firefighter with FDAC, blunt force trauma to the chest. Her squad members were able to lift the beam but said it weighed several hundred pounds. No penetrative wounds but her chest is tender. Vitals stable."
After the first sentence Clarke feels a nervous lump rise in her throat. The words echo in her mother's too-clinical tone, remind her of booming laughter and I love you, kid and a closed casket, because it's been ten years but she still can't stop seeing him here.
She situates herself at the head of the bed, clasping her hands behind her back and forcing herself to calm down. Her two residents come in together, twin looks of anticipation on their faces. Clarke busies herself with small talk with them as the rest of the team files in.
Once everyone is present Clarke relays the report and lays out their plan. "I want a chest x-ray and FAST stat after primary assessment, and be ready for chest tube placement. Unless there's airway compromise we're looking at bi-PAP, respiratory please prepare accordingly."
They wait for another half a minute or so for the patient to arrive, and it's like the calm before the storm. Conversation is casual but hushed. The air is filled with restless tension as everyone readies their respective tools. The paramedics arrive, wheeling in the patient, and controlled chaos takes over.
"Ma'am, can you tell me your name?" The airway resident’s voice rings out as several pairs of hands grab onto the backboard for transfer.
The woman is gasping behind the nonrebreather mask, but she's able to speak through gritted teeth. "Indra."
The team runs through the ABCs under Clarke's supervision before launching into the rest of the primary exam, after which Clarke gives the nurse to her right medication orders and calls again for an x-ray and an ultrasound. Every command is a reflex, intuitive, ingrained by years of schooling and hours of practice. It gives a confident edge to her voice that she knows is only skin deep, a veneer masking the thick pounding of her heart.
Movement at the entrance to the trauma bay catches her eye - a fireman with his head shaved but for a mohawk-like stripe down the center almost pushes his way into the room, but a shorter figure holds him back with a raised hand. Clarke almost looks away, but grey-green eyes meet hers and they both blink in mutual recognition. Lexa's covered in dark soot and her braid is loose and wild, but her eyes are full of ice and fire.
Clarke tries to say everything in her eyes that she can't say out loud - it's okay, she's one of yours and I'll take care of her, I promise - and maybe Lexa gets it, because she raises her chin and gives a short nod.
Thirty minutes later, Indra gets transferred to the trauma ICU with a tube in her chest and a surgical intern watching over her hawkishly. Usually Clarke makes a point of thanking the members of her team and hanging around to talk through the case with her residents and other newer staff, but she hangs back and scrubs out in silence. She tears off her gown with hands that won't stop shaking and curses under her breath, because everything went by the book and Indra will be just fine and fuck, she should be past this.
"Clarke."
Lexa's approaching slowly, questions veiled behind her stoic exterior. The other firefighter trails her closely.
"Lexa," Clarke greets in return before turning her attention to the man. "I'm Dr. Clarke Griffin."
"Lincoln." He shakes her hand firmly, but his expression stays hard and serious, mirroring Lexa's at his side. Clarke’s eyes skate over the soot marring Lexa's face, framing her features in shadow and trailing down her face in rivulets cut by sweat. She cuts a striking pose, even with her mess of a braid and her open jacket. Everything from her squared shoulders to her glare commands respect. She holds her head high and schools her features carefully, and Clarke can't help but wonder what she's trying so hard to hide.
"She'll be okay?"
It's a question, but Lexa says it with conviction, like she's just waiting for Clarke's official confirmation. "Yeah, she will. As long as her bleeding slows down, she won’t need surgery and she’ll be out of the ICU within a day or two.”
Lincoln’s shoulders sag just a bit. Lexa doesn’t move, but the look in her eyes softens into something like relief. "And the recovery time?"
"That's out of my jurisdiction, to be honest. Like I said, a day or two in the ICU at first, and then she’ll stay on the floor until her ribs heal enough for her to be safe at home. I can put you in touch with her admitting physician if you'd like.”
The two share a look and must come to an unspoken agreement, because Lincoln nods and steps forward. Clarke calls over a tech to point him in the right direction, and just like that he’s off following her down the hall. Lexa studies her carefully, and after a moment gestures the opposite direction with a nod. “I can wait for him in the break room. Join me?”
Clarke agrees and follows her out of the trauma bay. The EMS room is, surprisingly, empty, so Clarke makes herself comfortable at one end of the table. Lexa grabs a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and offers one to her, but Clarke declines with a wave of her hand. She opens the bottle as she sits next to Clarke, taking a long sip before speaking.
"Indra is very important to me. Thank you, Clarke.”
“I’m just glad she wasn’t in worse shape.” Clarke paints a sad smile over her grimace. “These kinds of injuries don’t always end so well.”
Lexa nods slowly, eyes never leaving Clarke's. "I understand."
Silence stretches between them, but it's not uncomfortable, just...heavy in a way Clarke can't quite place. She tucks an unruly hair back over her ear just to keep her hands busy. When she finally opens her mouth to say something, Lexa beats her to it.
“I lost someone special to me, before I left the service. Her name was Costia.”
It’s an admission, like a secret, but the hand twisting at the orange cap on her drink is the only outward sign of Lexa's apprehension. Clarke doesn’t ask, just waits until Lexa continues. “She was working with a nonprofit group helping refugees near a base where I was on security detail. There was a bombing. Their camp went up in flames. Costia kept going back to help more people, even when everyone told her to just stay put, and then,” Lexa swallows thickly but keeps her chin held high, “she went in, and never came back out.”
A weight drops in Clarke’s chest and her stomach twists. “So you became a firefighter.”
Lexa nods, setting down the bottle. "My contract was up a month later, after the end of my tour. They wouldn't let me re-class so I left. Indra was one of my instructors at the training course I got into, and while we don't always see eye to eye, I have a lot of respect for her. She was the one that got FDAC to hire me."
A million questions cross Clarke's mind, but she only asks one. "Does it help?"
It takes a long time for Lexa to answer, for her to straighten her shoulders and meet Clarke’s eyes again. “The change is what I needed.”
It's not exactly an answer, but it resonates with Clarke so viscerally that she can't stop the words that spill out of her mouth next.
"My mom's a CT surgeon," she finds herself explaining, and they're words she's never said to anyone, "but my dad is the reason I became a doctor. He died in a factory accident when I was still in undergrad. He was a Senior Engineer, so he didn't even need to be there, but he liked meeting with the entry-level workers so that they knew he appreciated them."
"He sounds like a great man," Lexa comments in a way that's soft with respect.
"One of a kind." Clarke shrugs, breathing in tightly against the lump in her chest. "I see him on the table all the time, crushed and covered in blood and knowing there's nothing else I can do, but..."
Lexa cuts in when Clarke can't find the words. "But you see him when you do save them, too, and that helps."
Clarke exhales all in a huff, and her lips curl into something almost too sad to be a smile. "Yeah."
Silence falls between them again, filled with understanding that makes Clarke's heart hurt in a way she hasn't let it in years. Lexa gets it, she gets Clarke, and it makes her feel a little less lonely for the first time in...well. In a long time.
Clarke’s pager breaks through the silence. She slaps her hand over it to stop the shrill noise, smiling at Lexa apologetically as she stands.
“That’s me, so I’ll just -” she waves back toward the trauma bay.
Lexa gives her that little smile that just brushes the corners of her expression, the one that makes Clarke’s heart race. “I’ll see you around, Clarke.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Her smile widens. “See you, Lexa.”
4.
Clarke does see Lexa around, actually.
Not long after Indra’s accident, Clarke cuts through the back hall by the EMS room on her way out after her shift, and a deep laugh from inside the door makes her look inside. She does a double take, because it’s Gustus, the big stoic firefighter that brought Lexa in for her concussion, lounging with his feet kicked up in the seat of another chair and his arm braced against the table, an easy smile on his lips. And sure enough, there’s Lexa seated across from him, sporting a smaller but no less self-assured grin.
Clarke averts her eyes and keeps walking - it would have been intrusive to butt in, after all - but she finds herself using that hallway a lot more often.
The next time it’s during her shift. Her excuse is that she’s getting a cup of water, even though there’s a dispenser closer to her workstation. The exercise is probably good for her, right? When she ducks into the room and glances around, her heart skips a beat because there's Lexa, sitting at the table with her legs crossed as she absentmindedly swirls the cup of coffee in her hand.
Their eyes meet as Clarke steps up to the ice machine. She offers Lexa a smile as she grabs a styrofoam cup and fills it. "Hey, Lexa.”
“Clarke.”
“You guys bring in that MVC? One of the residents mentioned it to me, sounds like it was a nasty one.”
She nods. “He’s lucky to be alive.”
Clarke snorts at the understatement, snapping a lid on her water and poking her straw through as she sits in the seat across from Lexa. “Will you be here long?”
Lexa’s cup stops moving. “No, just waiting for my partner."
"What's the holdup?"
"She's running some paperwork down to the medical director for me."
Clarke smirks. "Didn't want to do it yourself?"
Lexa doesn't shy away, just gives her a look. "Delegation of tasks."
"Right."
"It's a basic principle of leadership."
"Uh huh. So what is your delegated task, then?"
The question seems to take Lexa off guard - she blinks and lifts her chin, leaning back into her chair a bit. "Someone has to stay here in case the treatment team has questions."
Clarke hides her grin by taking a long sip of water. "Of course."
Lexa frowns. "Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke."
"I'm not mocking you! Just making conversation."
"Don't you have work to do?"
Clarke studies Lexa's face, trying to decide if she's actually annoyed. Her face is an impassive mask, stern and controlled. Clarke shrugs and sticks with an honest response. "I can leave if you want, but when I saw you I figured I'd take my break in here today."
Something flickers across Lexa's eyes that makes her look very young. "No," she eventually says, "of course you can stay."
It makes Clarke smile, and she raises her cup like a toast. "Thanks."
The corner of Lexa's mouth curls upward, and she tips her cup just slightly to mimic Clarke's.
A hand slams into the door frame behind them. Clarke jumps at the noise.
"I swear to God, Lex, he is an absolute bastard. You owe me -" The woman at the door freezes when she sees Clarke, taking her hand off the door frame to stand at her full height. She’s not much taller than Clarke, but there’s a hard set to her expression made more intimidating by the harsh lines of her cheekbones. Clarke is struck by the feeling that she's being sized up, or something, which - okay, is probably ridiculous, but the glare she's receiving is as cold as ice.
She stands and offers her hand. "I'm Clarke. You must be Lexa's partner."
Amusement flickers across the woman's eyes as she glances over Clarke’s shoulder. "Partner? Something like that." Her handshake isn't returned. Clarke lets her hand drop along with the edges of her smile.
"Lay off, Anya. She's a friend."
Anya's eyes widen like she's surprised, and Clarke thinks hers must as well. Friends. They've only met a handful of times, all of which have been at the hospital, but - Clarke thinks about how she came all the way over to this side of the department on the off chance she'd run into Lexa, and feels the tips of her ears burn.
Friends, then.
The appraising look that follows is a lot less of a glare this time, and Anya's mouth curls into a knowing smirk. "So you must be that doc that stitched her up a while back."
Now Clarke's definitely surprised, because that means Lexa's talked about her at work, enough so that Anya knows who she is. She grins and ignores the butterflies rising in her stomach. "Guilty as charged."
Lexa's sitting at the edge of her chair with her back ramrod straight and eyes fixed on Anya. “We should get going, then,” she says pointedly, pushing out her seat to stand. "Anya, go start the rig."
She's still wearing that grin and looking down at Clarke, only glancing away briefly to catch the keys Lexa tosses in her direction. "I thought I wasn't allowed to drive with you anymore. Must be my lucky day."
Lexa gives an exasperated glare. "Just do it, alright?"
"Sure thing, Commander." Anya gives Clarke another look and a small nod before she disappears down the hall.
Lexa looks as wound tight as Clarke has ever seen her, though she's not sure exactly why. Clarke pushes in her chair with her foot and grabs her drink in preparation to leave. "It was good to see you again, Lexa."
"Likewise." She thumbs over the rough material of her suspenders, gestures toward the door. "I’m sorry if she made you uncomfortable."
"No, it's -"
It hits Clarke then, all at once, as she takes in Lexa's crossed arms and hesitant expression, adding everything up in her head. Lexa’s not angry, just self-conscious.
Clarke tries not to think about that too much, because what does she have to be self-conscious about?
"It's fine, don’t worry about it," she finishes with a wave, trying to normalize things. "For what it's worth," she rambles, "the medical director really is a dick."
It must be the right thing to say. Lexa blinks once in surprise before huffing a small laugh. She opens her mouth to respond, a smile hidden at the corner of her eyes - but the long blare of a horn from outside cuts her off.
"Wait," Clarke scrunches her nose in confusion. "Was that your ambulance?"
Lexa's already on her way out, expression a mix of exasperation and alarm. "I should've never given her the damn keys."
"I didn't know they had horns -"
"Goodbye, Clarke."
"- I mean, other than, y'know, the sirens, and all -"
"Goodbye, Clarke."
Clarke doesn't bother hiding her laugh. "Bye, Lexa."
5.
"This is bullshit. Recount."
"Oh my god, Bell, stop being such a sore loser." Octavia swats him on the shoulder. "We already did one recount, that's the limit."
Bellamy purses his lips and tosses his cards back down on the table, glaring at his sister. "Raven didn't even finish one of her routes, how the hell did she beat me?"
Raven pops her head out of the kitchen. "Because I'm better than you," she singsongs.
"At what?"
"Uh, everything?"
Clarke shakes her head and starts clearing the board, pushing the plastic trains into piles sorted by color. Bellamy eventually helps her, after Octavia hops up to join Raven in the kitchen.
"How are things, Princess? Haven’t seen you in a while." His voice is quiet enough that the two other girls won't hear. Clarke's eyes flicker up to find him watching her softly.
She nods, smiles. "I'm good, Bellamy. Really." He raises his eyebrows skeptically. "Work has just been busy, I picked up a string of shifts to help out -"
"Clarke," he interrupts, shaking his head. "You're thirty one years old. You aren't in school anymore, or residency or whatever." He shrugs, purses his lips. "Don't you think it's time to take a break? Live a little?"
She opens her mouth to protest, but everything she thinks to say dies before reaching her lips - the words all ring false, and Bellamy knows her too well for her to get away with a lie. She grabs her beer from the table and leans back in her chair. "I'm here tonight, aren't I?"
His mouth twists to the side in a look that‘s way too close to pity, but before he can say anything else Octavia appears back at the table with shot glasses and several bottles of hard liquor, plunking them unceremoniously onto the table.
"Ohhh, no, no, no, -"
Octavia stops Clarke short with a pointed finger and a glare. "Uh uh. None of that. And you gave us a lecture about how alcohol ruins your liver last time, so don't try that again, either. What happened to Certified Party Animal Clarke Griffin?"
Clarke pointedly avoids Bellamy's eyes and puts on a stubborn grin. "Chill out, O." She clinks her beer against the bottle of Jose Cuervo perched precariously close to the table's edge. "I just meant you're crazy if you think I'm doing tequila shots without salt and a lime. I'm not a barbarian."
Raven laughs in approval - "atta girl, Griffin!" - and Octavia claps Clarke hard across the shoulders before grabbing the bottle and pouring out shots. Even Bellamy gives her a small smile after he catches the salt shaker Raven tosses his direction.
They’re several more shots deep into a game of quarters - which Clarke is winning handily, much to Raven’s amusement and Octavia’s indignation - when the fire alarm goes off.
She's used to having to be somewhere when an alarm goes off, so she reflexively turns toward the door so fast that she almost knocks the table over. Which reminds her that she's definitely not at the hospital, and she's definitely been drinking, and definitely should not have moved so quickly.
“Oh, what the fuck -” Raven’s limping to the door of her apartment, brow curled in annoyance.
“Aren’t you a mechanic?" Octavia whines, fingers plugging her ears against the noise. "Can’t you turn it off?”
Raven shoots Octavia a scathing glare before opening the door and glancing around. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just ask me to commit a felony. Come on, guys, grab your coats, everyone's leaving."
Clarke stumbles forward, but Bellamy's strong grip catches her before she can fall. "Easy there," he smiles, offering her the jacket she'd left hanging on the edge of his chair. Clarke takes it but brushes his hand away when he tries to help her put it on.
"I'm fine, Bell," she says. She’s not drunk, not really, but her mouth feels funny and a little numb. She resists the urge to bring her hand to her lips just to check on them. Instead, she focuses on putting one foot in front of the other after she slings her coat over her shoulders like a cape. Trying to get her arms in the sleeves the right way sounds like way too much work.
The four of them parade down the hall and out of the building. Clarke tugs her coat more tightly over her shoulders, but the chill of the air still manages to cut through the thin material and the haze from the alcohol. An approaching siren wails in the distance, only just audible over the murmurs of the growing crowd on the sidewalk.
“This better not take long,” Raven mutters under her breath.
“Relax. Someone probably just forgot about their popcorn again.” Bellamy gives Raven a pointed look. “Maybe if you moved farther away from Ark U you wouldn’t keep having these problems.”
“And have to fork over my good leg just to pay rent? As if.”
Their banter continues, but Clarke stops listening. The sirens are much closer, now, and she can’t help but watch the red lights flickering in the darkness as they approach. When the fire truck pulls up across the street, Clarke watches three figures hop out. They speak to a woman that Clarke assumes is the building’s night staff, and one of them peels away and disappears into the building.
“See something you like, Clarke?”
Clarke starts at the voice, glancing over at Octavia. “Just watching.”
Another firefighter strides up to the group, and says something that catches their attention. This one is shorter than the rest, but somehow still exudes authority, with a straight back and quick gestures. A wave sends one of the others into the building, too, and when they leave the light of the streetlamp catches the newcomer’s face. Clarke’s breath catches in her throat.
It’s Lexa.
“Is that one a girl, d’you think?” Octavia asks, gesturing with a nod. “Good for her.”
“Yeah,” Clarke confirms, working to keep her voice casual. She remembers how Lexa introduced her to Anya last week and smiles. "She's a friend of mine."
Octavia elbows her in the side. "A friend, huh?" Clarke shoots Octavia a look and shakes her head, but the younger girl just laughs. "Easy, killer, I was just joking."
They watch in silence for a bit. Clarke thinks the other firefighter might be Lincoln - he's the right height, and missing Gustus' trademark beard, though he's turned away from the light and his helmet obscures most of his head. Lexa's helmet covers most of hers, too, but Clarke can make out the curve of her mouth and the lines of her jaw. She's so busy staring that she misses when Octavia says something else, earning her another elbow to the side.
"Earth to Clarke."
"What? Sorry." Clarke tears her eyes away to find Octavia looking at her with a small smile. "What did you - why are you looking at me like that?"
"It's nothing. Sorry.” Octavia rolls her eyes and looks back toward the firefighters, shifts her weight on her feet. “I know it’s been a rough few years, but I’m glad you made it out with us tonight. Thought you might bail again.”
She feels a brief pang of guilt - she almost had bailed, actually, to stay home and catch up on sleep - but it disappears with a smile. “I’m glad I came, too. It’s been fun, except for this whole thing,” she says as she waves her arm out at the crowded lawn.
“Nah, this is fun too.” Octavia smirks. “So your friend over there - what’s her name?”
Clarke’s eyes flit over to her - one of the other firefighters is back from inside, and Lexa’s listening to his animated report with one hand resting on the mask strapped to her side. “Lexa. We met at work."
Octavia huffs a laugh. "Of course you did."
"What does that mean?"
"That you work all the time, so of course that's the only place you'd be able to meet anyone."
Her words are teasing but loaded, laced with enough accusation that Clarke feels regret pooling in her stomach again. Apparently Bellamy isn't the only Blake that sees right through her. "Octavia -"
"I know, okay?" Octavia fixes her with a somber gaze, eyes flashing in the darkness. "I get it, but there's ways to deal with your problems other than by overworking and isolating yourself. Bell and Raven and I have always been here for you, that's not changing any time soon." She shrugs. "You said it yourself, tonight has been great, so maybe stop being such a stranger, alright?"
Clarke just nods. She doesn't trust her voice, not with that feeling in her throat like she might burst into tears. She blinks hard and rubs at her nose and blames it on the alcohol - she's never been a sad drunk, but maybe things have changed over the years.
Octavia nudges her and offers a sideways grin. Off to their side Bellamy curses loudly when Raven shoves him in the side for saying something dumb, more than likely. He scowls and Raven smirks and Octavia tells him not to be such a wuss, and it’s funny and familiar and it hits Clarke that no, maybe things haven't changed so much at all. Another breeze wafts past, still infused with the chill of late fall, but it doesn't stop the smile spreading across her face.
"You said her name's Lexa, right?" Clarke nods. Octavia lowers her voice to a near-whisper. "Don't look yet, but she's headed over here."
"What?" She almost tears her eyes away to look, but manages to stay focused on Octavia's nod and her crooked smirk.
"I'll keep those two distracted, k?"
She frowns. "Distracted? Why?"
Octavia rolls her eyes like Clarke's being dense. "There's a coffee shop two blocks down from the fire station, Grounders. You'll love it. Ask her to meet you there when she gets off in the morning."
Clarke blinks. "Wait, what?" Octavia rolls her eyes again and turns around to join Raven and Bellamy. Clarke opens her mouth to tell her that she's definitely got the wrong idea, because she and Lexa are definitely just friends and Octavia's suggestion sounds a lot like a date, which is absolutely -
“In my experience, coats are most effective if you put them on properly.” Clarke’s eyes fly wide as she turns to face Lexa, whose mouth is quirked into an almost-smile, eyes glittering with amusement. “It’s not a cape.”
“Well, that’s unimaginative of you,” Clarke retorts, ignoring the heat rising around her neck. “Anything can be a cape if you try hard enough. Where’s your sense of childlike wonder?”
“What did I tell you about mockery, Clarke?”
Her stomach does that thing when Lexa says her name, but she does her best to ignore it. “This time you mocked me first, Lexa.”
Lexa purses her lips, but her eyes are still smiling. “Childlike, indeed.”
Clarke raises a hand to her heart - as best as she can while still clutching her coat, anyway - in mock offense. “You wound me.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive,” she says, and Clarke can’t help the smile tugging at her lips. The wind kicks up again, and Clarke turns her head a bit to keep her hair out of her face.
"Might not survive if we have to be out here much longer," she says.
It's not a question, but Lexa takes it as one. She glances back over her shoulder at her squadmates. "We're on our way out, so you can head back inside soon." She hesitates for a second. "Is this..." she waves at the apartment building, and Clarke saves her from having to ask.
"Oh, no, I don't live here." Clarke points over to her friends with a smile. "Just met up with some old friends for the night. The girl in the red jacket? It's her place."
Lexa sizes the three of them up with a nod. "It's our second call to this building in a week. Perhaps your friend should consider moving elsewhere?"
Clarke snorts, recalling Bellamy's similar suggestion. "I doubt she'd even consider it. She does a bunch of maintenance work for the landlord, gets her rent cut in half. I think she's a bit attached."
"Then perhaps she should encourage her neighbors to stop using their kitchen appliances inappropriately."
The mental image of Raven telling off a bunch of college kids makes her smile. "I'll let her know."
They fall into a comfortable silence. Clarke studies Lexa's uniform for a moment, from the helmet casting shadows over the top of her face to the worn-down gloves strapped into the sleeves of her jacket. When she looks up she finds Lexa's eyes on hers. Maybe it's the alcohol loosening her inhibitions, or maybe it's just because Octavia's suggestion still fresh in her mind, but whatever the reason, Clarke decides to take a gamble.
"So I was thinking - "
"Clarke, I - "
Both of them speak at once and immediately fall silent. Lexa bites her lips shut and Clarke swears her cheeks flush a bit pink, but in the darkness it's hard to tell. "You first," Clarke suggests.
It takes Lexa a second to respond. "I was wondering if you would like to meet up sometime."
Clarke blinks in surprise, once, then again, before she realizes Lexa's still watching her and looks about as nervous as she herself feels. She smiles to ease the fluttering in her stomach. "What, you mean outside of work?"
Lexa's expression shifts into an almost-smile. "Yes, outside of work, for once."
"Alright. Yeah. Sure. When's your shift end?"
"Today?"
Clarke shrugs. "Why not?"
Lexa looks taken aback, but she nods. "I'm off at eight."
"Eight at Grounders, then. I hear they have good coffee."
Lexa nods in approval, obviously pleased, and Clarke mentally praises Octavia for the tip.
There's a gruff shout from the firetruck - the rest of the squad are standing near its doors, waving for Lexa. Clarke notices the surrounding crowd is starting to move back into the building, as well. Lexa backs away from Clarke and brushes her fingers along her helmet as she nods, like a gentleman tipping his hat, and the gesture’s so sweet it makes Clarke’s heart miss a beat and her smile go wide.
Raven sidles up to her, slings an arm around her shoulder and tugs her away. "Who was that?"
Clarke makes a halfhearted attempt to hold back her smile, but she knows it doesn't work for a second. "Her name's Lexa."
"You have good taste, Griffin. She's hot."
Raven teases her the whole way back to the apartment, but Clarke can't even bring herself to mind.