Chapter 12
Two things happen during the week that Lexa is away. First, Clarke catches herself smiling at walls for no reason and becomes the target of merciless teasing by all the nurses. Second, and perhaps the more important matter of the two, the hospital decides to replace the chairs in the ER on Clarke’s day off.
“I don’t understand.” She blinks at the immaculate upholstery and armrests that hold no character or history. Something almost like disgust makes her shift uncomfortably.
“Isn’t that great? They finally replaced those tattered, ancient things.”
Clarke doesn’t know whose voice that is, but she responds, nonetheless, if not a tad mechanically. “Great. Yeah.”
Twenty years, and the hospital decides to screw her over now. While Lexa is away and she doesn’t even get to come to terms with this convoluted story yet.
“What’s wrong Dr. Griffin?”
“Nothing.” She waves the nurse away and walks over to one of the chairs. “Argghhhh.”
The question is, why is she still holding onto something like this when she’s already gotten the girl? Well, almost. Lexa still hasn’t kissed her yet, but her parting words were nothing short of a promise if Clarke ever knew of one. She taps a finger on one of the armrests and wonders if she’s been in over her head all this time.
“Dr. Griffin, the patient in room five is in need of attention again.”
Clarke sucks in a deep breath and turns her back to the waiting room, thinking that she almost doesn’t recognize it all of a sudden.
—
When her shift ends that night, Clarke makes a beeline for the exit as fast as she can without sparing a passing glance at the chairs. The woman behind the desk only gets half a goodbye in at her before Clarke’s out the door.
“You look like you have exciting plans tonight.”
The sound of Lexa’s voice startles Clarke, but it’s not an unwelcome surprise. She wonders how Lexa manages to look this good at midnight after a plane ride. Her itinerary said that she got in less than two hours ago.
“Nothing as exciting as finding you here.”
The line earns her an amused look.
“I hope that I’m not being presumptuous by showing up this late.”
“No, not at all.” Clarke looks back at the waiting area, and Lexa’s gaze follows hers. “But we should probably find a less bleak place for our future meetings.”
The oddity of those new chairs strikes her again, and Clarke bites at her inner cheek without thought.
Beside her, Lexa clears her throat before she points out the obvious. “The hospital has replaced the chairs.”
“Yesterday, actually,” Clarke adds, her voice cracking a little bit. She grabs hard at the fabric of her scrubs as a way to anchor her foolish emotions.
“Well, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
A gentle touch brushes the outside of her thumb, and she looks down to see Lexa trying to undo her clasped hand.
“Come.” With fingers linked, she guides them back into the waiting area and stops in front of one of the chairs. “This was the spot where the chair with the carving used to be, right?”
Clarke nods, not understanding what Lexa’s trying to get at.
“Sit.”
Clarke obliges, partially out of intrigue, but mostly out of the desire to spend as much time in Lexa’s company as possible.
“Clarke, the truth is that I don’t remember.” Lexa reaches into her pocket and pulls out a key. “And the likelihood of me ever remembering is very slim.”
She deflates a bit at Lexa’s words until she hears a sound distinctly like something scraping against wood. She leans forward to catch a better view only to have Lexa’s shoulder obstruct her line of sight.
The sound abruptly stops, and Lexa turns her head around to meet Clarke’s questioning gaze. She smiles that mischievous smile that never gets old, no matter what year they might find themselves in. “And that’s okay because I want what’s in front of me more than a fuzzy memory of our past.”
Clarke feels a gentle tug on her fingers, encouraging her to reach for the armrest behind Lexa, the same one that Lexa had been working on just seconds ago. Like earlier, Lexa guides Clarke along, but this time, their fingers tracing the newly etched carving.
Something blooms in Clarke’s chest, and the giddiness makes her feel a little silly. “That’s vandalism.”
Lexa chuckles and tilts Clarke’s chin up with her free hand. She leans in and whispers softly against Clarke’s lips, “You’re as guilty as I am.”
Tracing over the words one last time to make sure she’s not dreaming this, Clarke feels each line etch itself into her brain.
Lexa and Clarke.
“But mostly so that neither of us can forget.” And, finally, after twenty long years, Lexa kisses her.