Inventing Family

Clarke straightened her back, flexing her shoulder’s towards each other, and craning her neck to one side until she heard a slight pop. She sighed in relief as the tension of a long day began to drain from her muscles. She’d finished painting the bedrooms a week ago, and now that the walls were dry, they’d finally been able to assemble all the furniture that had been stacked in boxes for weeks. Clarke knelt down, giving the last screw on the bookshelf she’d just put together a final turn for good measure. She stepped back, smiling as she admired her handiwork. One conversion crib, one toddler bed shaped like a Jeep, one bunk bed over a futon, three bookshelves, three chests of drawers, two desks, two toy chests, one changing table. Clarke inventoried everything they’d put together in her head, making sure that there was nothing they’d forgotten.

She ticked off a mentalist of all the new additions to the house. Twelve packs of swivel cabinet and drawer locks, ten packs of corner protectors, six baby gates, five childproof door knobs, four baby monitors, three toilet seat lid locks, innumerable number of outlet covers, and one bath spout cover. There were two new bikes and one big wheel sitting in the garage. There were four piles children books that friends had given them, including a complete set of Harry Potter novels from Octavia, and a book of Greek mythology that Bellamy had snuck in. There were five boxes of toys donated by neighbors, some of them store bought, others hand-me-down, but all in good condition. There were seven packages of diapers and wipes, six bags of fresh socks an underwear, three of toiletries, and three of school supplies. There was also a stack of brand new sheets and comforters in the living room, each set tailored to the tastes of their intended recipients.

Clarke placed her hands behind her head, weaving her fingers through her hair and letting out a long slow breathes she closed her eyes. Surely, all of it amounted to a surplus or readiness. Surely, it was more then they would possibly need, at least for their first few weeks. She turned when she heard the sound of her wife’s feet creaking across the wooden floorboards. “Do you think we should we have gotten them clothes?” Clarke asked.

Lexa sighed. “No.” She took a few more steps until she was directly behind Clarke. Lexa wrapped her arms around her wife’s waist, burying her nose in the pile of loose, blonde tendrils that cascaded over Clark’s shoulder. “We should wait.” She inhaled the scents of honey and mint shampoo that wafted from the blonde’s hair, and basked in the warmth that radiated of her soft skin. “Every time I showed up at a new placement they always had new clothes waiting for me. It was never things I actually liked, just what they though I should wear. That was always the first big disappointment for people; that I was a shy, awkward tomboy and not the darling little girl they’d been dreaming of.”

Clarke frowned, weaving her finger’s through Lexa’s and pulling her in closer. It was strange for her to think of her wife as anything less than breathtaking and self-assured, let alone awkward, or shy. In college, Lexa had been the girl that everyone had been terrified to talk to. Exotic, and staggeringly beautiful, she had drifted easily through any social circle, universally respected for her wit and intelligence, and applauded for her easy confidence and candor. Men had wanted her, girls had wanted to be her, and Clarke had been more then surprised when the statuesque brunette had approached her at a frat party and asked her if she’d wanted to dance. A few hours later, Clarke found herself leaning in a little too close as she and Lexa talked on the porch. A week later, they found themselves on an awkward first date. That night had ended in a first kiss, shared underneath the dim glow of emergency-lights that illuminated the stands of the university’s soccer pitch. One month later, Clarke would watch from the same spot, as Lexa scored the winning goal in what would become a run to the NCAA, Division 1, Women’s soccer championship. More firsts would come soon after; their first drunken make-out, under the bleachers after a particularly big game against State; the first time they met each others friends; the first time Lexa had told Clarke about her childhood being shuffled through the foster care system; the first time Clarke spent the night sharing Lexa’s tiny twin bed; the first time that Clarke had brought Lexa with her to visit her father’s grave, at the tiny cemetery in Montclair. That year had been full of firsts, as were the three years that followed it. Then came the day of their college graduation, when Lexa had knelt down in front of Clarke, and asked her to be her last.

Clarke smiled as she twisted the simple wedding band on her left hand, breathing in the scent of bay rum and blackberry that always lingered on Lexa. Life since that night, on the frat house porch, had been a fairytale in all respects but one; that they still had no one to share their over abundance of love with. Children had always been part of their long term plan. Early on, they’d assumed they had all the time in the world to put off thinking about options and methods. Five years, a bit of long distance, multiple graduate degrees, and one major move across the country later, and they agreed that it was finally the right time. The decision made, the they had begun the business of starting a family with energy and enthusiasm.

Early on in the process, decision making was easy, especially when it came to who who actually be getting pregnant. Clarke was the obvious choice for two reasons. First, her job as a nurse allowed her the flexibility to work part time, and came with excellent maternity benefits. Secondly, during her senior year of college, Lexa had been found to have moderate Mitral Valve Stenosis, a discovery that was made after Lexa fainted in the middle of national quarter-finals. The diagnosis had came with two warnings. The first: That even if the condition was carefully monitored, continuing to play soccer at an elite level would never be safe. The second: That prologued, traumatic stress on the body, such as one would experience during pregnancy, had the potential to worsen the condition, causing serious complications, or even death. Clarke had held Lexa’s hand and allowed her to cry into her should, as a cardiologist at Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital had explained the condition to them.

With that decision made, they moved on to others. Clarke felt strongly about their children being related to both of them, so it was agreed that Lexa would donate eggs, while Clarke would provide surrogacy. Clarke’s younger brother had already insisted that they consider him as a potential sperm donor, and so a call was placed. Soon money was set aside, IVF specialists were consulted, and fertility charts were filled out with the utmost attention to detail.

But, that had been two years ago. What had followed since was a tale of frustration, chronic disappointment and heartache. From the very beginning, road block had risen to meet them at every step in the process. First, a doctor had discovered that Clarke had undiagnosed, stage one endometriosis which had caused her uterus to become retroverted. Specialists had assured them that, though this did decreased the likelihood of Clarke becoming pregnant, it was hardly a reason to loose hope.

Then, there was Lexa’s reaction to the ovulation-inducing medications she was given. The first medicine had made her terribly nauseas, leaving her to sprint for the bathroom every other hour. Another medication caused her vision to blur, giving her crippling migraine headaches. By the time their doctor found a medication that didn’t riddle Lexa with side effects, she had missed nearly two weeks of.

The treatment Clarke underwent prior to IVF was a similarly hideous experience. The shots Clarke was forced to give herself every night made her constantly moody and irritable. Lexa had watched in horror as her normally sweet, stoic, even-keeled wife became an emotionally labile, unpredictable basket-case. Not having Clarke to act as the emotional rock in the relationship was jarring to Lexa. It unsettled her in a way she could never have predicted, but she did her best to weather her storm cloud of a wife with patience and understanding

With the first few challenges were finally behind them, Lexa and Clarke breathed a little easier, certain that a successful IVF implantation would be the reward for all their hardship. Two years, three failed IVF cycles, and nearly $40,000 later, the two women had come to understand that life never promised smooth sailing, or paved an easy road to wish fulfillment.

The experience had strained their relationship soundly, and driven both women to the brink of hopelessness. In the end thought, Clarke had been the one to say “uncle,” her overwhelming emotions finally running over the day Lexa had come home to find her sitting on the bathroom floor, yet another negative pregnancy test clasped in hands. “I can’t do this anymore.” That was all she’d managed to get out before crawling into Lexa’s arms and bursting into tears.

Lexa had taken the incident in stride, saying nothing despite her conviction that, soon enough, Clarke was ready to try again. For Clarke however, the two years of disappointment had turned into night after night of lying awake, her mind racing with thoughts of other options.

One morning over breakfast, Clarke finally gave voice to her machinations. “What if we adopted?”

Lexa had been frozen into stunned silence between bites of turkey bacon. “You want to adopt a baby?”

Clarke stared at her plat for a moment, pushing around the bits of scrambled egg and toast. When she looked up at Lexa again, her expression was tight, as though she was holding a bomb that was about to go off. “No. I was thinking older children. Fosters children, I mean. I was thinking maybe a sibling group?”

Lexa nodded, but didn’t say a word as she finished her coffee. She carried her plate to the sink in a daze, washing it off as though Clarke hadn’t spoken at all. Finally she turned, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing her arms. She stared seriously at the blonde, a stoic expression on her face. “It’s a bad idea.”

Feelings expressed, Lexa kissed her wife’s cheek, and hurriedly grabbed her work bag, heading for the front door before Clarke had a chance to continue the conversation. As she made her way out of the kitchen, she added a final thought for good measure. “I think we both just need a break. Let’s give it a few months. We can try again whenever you feel ready.”

A few weeks, a few curt conversations, and few heated arguments later, and Lexa had begrudgingly agreed to start pursuing their options. It was several more months before a caseworker had come to them with a file detailing a group of siblings who were considered “hard to place.” The children were brothers, three to be exact, and with each page Clarke had become more and more certain that these children were meant to be their children.

Lexa, on the other hand, had remained to be convinced. Through informational session, instructional classes, piles of applications, and a half a dozen interviews, she’d humored her wife’s curiosity. Now, with things on the verge of becoming a reality, Lexa could pretend to support Clarke’s plan no longer.

When their fight had finally come, it had come hard, and long, and riding on a wave of all the thoughts that had been held back behind clenched teeth and bitten tongues for months on end.

“You can’t begin to imagine the situation some of these kids come from, Clarke! They’re heartbreaking, and what’s more, most of them are incredibly troubled because of it! Some of them are even dangerous!”

Clarke had stared Lexa down, resolute, and furious, and absolutely determined to get her point across. “How can you say that? You were one of them Lexa!”

“And I had problems, Clarke!” Lexa’s eyes screwed shut as she clenched her jaw and ran her hand through her hair. She inhaled slowly, giving herself time to think of the right way to say everything that was on her mind, determined not to lose her temper more than she already had. “Clarke, you didn’t know me when I was a kid. I was angry, I was destructive, and occasionally, I was violent. There’s a reason none of my adoptive placements ever worked out. There’s a reason I ended up in group home. I’m sorry. It’s a nice idea, and I love that you wants to do this, but you have no idea what you’d be getting us into!”

Clarke seethed at Lexa, turning on her heels a second later, and slamming the kitchen door as she strode through the living room, her wife hot on her heels. The argument continued as they made their way up the stairs, neither one willing to admit defeat. Clarke turned as they entered their bedroom, surprising Lexa so much that the brunette skidded to a stop to avoid crashing into her.

“Stop talking to me like I’m naive! I may not have grown up in the system, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to the realities of what these kids have been though! I’ve talked to the agency! I’ve mad multiple interviews with their case worker! I’ve practically memorized their files! I know what we’ll be be dealing with!”

Lexa rolled her eyes, realizing a second too late that the gesture would probably be remembered, long enough to become ammunition the next time Clarke accused her of being patronizing. None-the-less, she was determined to be heard, determined to make Clarke realize how little she understood.

“Clarke, a caseworkers job is to find homes for the children they represent! A lot of them omit information if they think it posses a risk to placing for them! Some of them outright lie! By the way, I read those files too! Even if there isn’t anything that case worker isn’t disclosing to us about those kids, they still have a long and well documented history of neglect and abuse!”

Lexa sighed in exasperation. She dropped on the edge of their bed, letting her head fall into her hands to avoid her wife’s furious gaze. “You can’t imagine what that kind of a life does to kids.”

Lexa finally ventured a glance back up at Clarke, who stood with her arms wrapped protectively around her chest, her eyes red, and glassy with tears that were threatening to spill over if she lost her resolve. Lexa rose from the bed, making her way over to her wife cautiously. She extending a tentative hand, and as gently as she could manage, used the pad of her thumb to wipe a stray tear from the corner of Clark’s eye.

“Baby, you grew up in a good home with two parents who loved you, so I know that part of you believes that if we give these boys unconditional love and support it will make everything better. The problem is, it just doesn’t work that way.”

Lexa pulled her wife a little closer, bowing her head slightly as she gazed into Clarke’s eyes and lowered her tone to a soothing hum.

“Clarke, the life these boys have had so far has been horrifying. Kids from situations like that don’t just magically get better when you give them affection and a good home.”

Lexa pulled Clarke all the way in, wrapping her arms around her waist and allowing the blonde girl to rest her head on her shoulder.

“Besides Clarke, the oldest one has already had problems with aggression, and getting into fights at his school. That’s a bridge too far for me. I’m not letting anyone into this house who might put you at risk. I’m sorry, but I just won’t do it.”

Clarke bust into tears a second later, and Lexa had been convinced that was the end of it. Oh, how wrong she had been.

Ultimately, Clarke had gotten her way, as she always seemed to. Two months, a few setbacks, and a series of home visits later, and the boys were set to arrive in a matter of hours.

Clarke tapped her foot nervously, rocking their bodies back and forth as she fought of all the work that still needed to be done before the boys arrived the next morning. “We still need to get sheets on all of the beds, and put away all of the socks and underwear, and set out their school supplies.”

Lexa sighed, “Baby…”

“And put away all the toiletries.”

“Baby…”

“And double check all of the baby proofing one last time.”

“Clarke!”

Clarke turned in Lexa’s arms, her train of thought finally broken. “What is it sweetheart?”

Lexa shook her head, smiling, amazed at how single minded and determined her wife could be when she was intent on finishing something.

“Love, you’ve been up since 4 A.M. putting this stuff together. Go to bed. I can finish the rest.”

Clarke shook her head. “Baby, I’m not letting you finish all this by yourself.”

Lexa kissed the blonde’s temple, resting their foreheads together as she began rubbing small circles on Clarke’s lower back. “Clarke, it’s late. You’re tired, and even though you aren’t going to admit it, I know you back is probably bothering you right now.”

Before she could lie, insisting that the injury from her collegiate track & field days wasn’t bothering her, Lexa rubbed exactly the right spot, and Clarke winced, giving herself away.

Lexa nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She smirked, reveling in the feeling of having won an argument before it had started. “Go get in bed Clarke. This won’t take me that long, I promise.”

Clarke nodded, accepting that her wife was right, in spite of her inclination to insist otherwise. She pressed a chaste kiss to the Lexa’s lips, and cupped the sides of her face. “You’re amazing. How did I get so luck?”

Lexa smirked, “You wore that skimpy, black number to a frat party, and I had a thing for gorgeous blondes in skin-tight cocktail dresses.”

Clarke laughed, slapping the brunette's arm. “I changed my mind. You’re the worst.”

Lexa chuckled, pointing to the door. “You. Bed. Now.”

Clarke nodded, giving her wife one more kiss before heading down the hallway towards their bedroom.

Lexa waited until she was sure Clarke was gone before groaning and shoving her hands into her hair, allowing her stress and worry to bubble to the surface at last. Save for the fact that Clarke was overflowing with joy and hope, for the first time in two year, there was nothing about this situation that Lexa liked. None-the-less, she had made a promise to give the arrangement a chance, and there was nothing left to do now but honor Clarke’s wishes, and be as helpful as possible.

It took Lexa nearly an hour to finish the rest of the work. The folding, sorting, and organizing was tedious, but it was a welcome distracting from her troubled thoughts. When the final pair of socks was tuck away in a drawer, Lexa stood, surveying the tidy bedroom with satisfaction. She frowned, realizing this would surely be the last time the room looked so clean and well-kept. Lexa was nothing if not a stickler for order. During her childhood, chaos and uncertainty had reigned over most of the aspects of her life, but a clean room and a commitment to personal organization; these had been the few vestiges of control she’d been allowed. They’d become her only constants, and even now, Lexa couldn’t leave the house without knowing that the bed was made, and all the dished in the sink were done. It had been the one part of adjusting to life with Clarke that had been hard for Lexa. Not that her wife was messy, or careless, but she didn’t understand Lexa’s deep need for certain things to be done in the immediate. Clarke was fine with letting the bed go unmade on occasion, or leaving a dish in the sink if she was in a hurry, or allowing her shoes to sit askew by the front door instead of placing them neatly, side by side, against the wall. Lexa did her best not to care, reminding herself that such habits were flaws of a most trivial nature, and that it was only by virtue of her deep need for control that such mole hills became mountains.

Her body was still racing with nervous energy, and sure that she’d be unable to sleep, Lexa made her way into the hall and down the stairs. She padded softly through the dark living room and into the kitchen, making her way over to the refrigerator. The large white monolith hummed quietly, its doors pristinely and white, unmarred by the photographs, report cards, and artwork that would normally be magnetically tacked there. Lexa hated it. She hated that the refrigerator’s lack of clutter boldly proclaimed: “This is a home without children.” When they’d moved into the house two years earlier, Lexa has sworn that before long they’d be covering the refrigerator's face in keepsakes, and ever since that first pregnancy test had come up negative, the machine had taunted her with its blankness.

As a little girl, the idea of having a family of her own had been Lexa’s raison d’être, her most feverishly longed for desire, and the one thing that had seemed categorically out of reach. That had all changed when she’d met Clarke. Ever since that night, the idea of starting a family with the woman she loved had become Lexa’s holy grail. It was the the whole point of everything she’d worked for since college. Lexa had bent over backwards providing them with all the things they could possibly need to start a family. They’d needed commitment, so Lexa had proposed. They’d needed security, so Lexa had earned two advanced degrees and landed an incredible job. They’d needed money, so Lexa had worked overtime and saved it. They’d needed a home, so Lexa had bought one. But, as it turned out, a family was the one thing she couldn’t provide. After two years of fruitless attempts, dashed hopes and broken spirits, her inability to fix or change their situation ate away at her, eroding her hard earned sense of control.

Lexa grunted at the fridge, yanking the door open, and surveying its contents begrudgingly. She eyed the single bottle of beer that, days ago, Clarke had asked her to get rid of. Clarke had been determined to have the house in perfect order for the boy’s arrival, and as far she she was concerned, any amount of alcohol lying around, even a single bottle of beer, sent the wrong message. Lexa fought with her conscience for a moment before giving into temptation. She grabbed the beer, retreating with it out of the kitchen, past the living room, though the den and finally, into her office. She collapsed heavily into the leather high-back behind her desk and swiveled around, propping her feet up on the desk as she popped the bottle open. She leaned back, taking a long swig, and reveling in the peaceful quiet that consumed the house, a quiet she’d surely not be able to enjoy after tomorrow.

Lexa closed her eyes, unable to shake her sense of dread as she contemplated what was coming. Suddenly, she was seized by a need to unburden herself. She desperately wanted to admit to the feelings of guilt and hostility that had been building up since Clarke had finalized the trial placement with the boy’s case worker. Knowing full well that these were thoughts she could never admit to Clarke, Lexa reached for the phone, and quickly dialed the one number she knew by heart. The phone rang exactly three times before a stern, tired voice answered.

“It’s nearly midnight where you are, and I’m on the other side of the country, so I’m sure you can imagine how thrilled I am to be receiving a call at this hour.”

Despite the vinegar in the women’s tone, the voice on the other end of the phone filled Lexa with a sense of clam. “Hi, Birdie. I know it’s late.”

The voice huffed. “Lexa, I’m 70 years old. Late is the hour and a half I spend reading Sam and I watch The Nightly News. This isn’t late, it’s barbaric.”

Lexa bit her lip nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t wake up Sam did I?”

One the other end of the phone Birdie chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous. That man could sleep through an mortar attack, and did, twice, in Vietnam. Now, since this is the first time in two months you’ve seen fit to call me, I assume you’ve got a problem that needs talking about.”

Lexa smiled guiltily, comforted by how well her foster mother and former case worker could read her, even over the phone. “I know. I know. I’m sorry I haven’t called it’s just been…”

“Lexa, get to the point dear, it’s late.” Birdie was nothing if not plain spoken, and no-nonsense.

“There’s a lot that I need to fill you in on, but basically, Clarke and I are going through with a trial placement for a sibling group whose been living in foster care. Clarke is really excited about it, but I feel like the whole thing is a huge mistake. I think she’s getting in over her head. I’m worried that it’s going to be a disaster.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Lexa was sure Birdie had fallen asleep. Finally, the receiver came to life again.

“First of all Lexa, there’s nothing to fill me in on. You may not feel inspired call me more than once every other month, but your saint of a wife does a good job of checking in for the both of you. As it happens, she’s been calling me quite a bit to talk about this very subject. She actually sent me the boys files a few weeks ago.”

Lexa sat up, startled by the revelation that Clarke and Birdie had been so in touch.

“You and Clarke talk?”

“Frequently. When you two moved across the county I made her promise to call me as much as possible.”

“Why”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t. I needed someone to keep tabs on you for me.”

Lexa bit her lip again, groaning as she imagining the kinds of conversation the two women had probably been having. Birdie understood her inside and out. She was a human user’s manual with which to navigate all of Lexa’s emotional complexities, and that seemed like an unfair advantage for Clarke to have.

“So you know about everything that’s been going on?”
Birdie hummed. “I do, and quite frankly, I’m a little surprised that it’s taken you so long to send this distress signal.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, taking another swig of the beer, careful not to let the sound of the swishing fluid be picked up by the receiver.

“Birdie, It’s not a distress signal.”

The sound of Birdie tutting filled the phone, making it clear that this statement was being summarily dismissed. “Of course it is. And don’t think I can’t hear the sound of you swigging on that beer right now, Alexandra. No drunken phone call was ever anything but a distress signal.”

Lexa covered the phone’s mouth piece and grimaced, knowing that she was about to be on the business end of a lecturer about appropriate emotional outlets. She brought the phone back to her ear as Birdie continued.

“Lexa, first of all, while I’ve never discouraged you from drinking, you know what my rule is when it comes to alcohol.”

The younger woman rolled her eyes, echoed Birdie as she repeated her saying for the hundredth time in Lexa’s life. “Never drink to feel better. Only drink to feel even better.”

Birdie hummed knowingly on the other end of the phone. “That’s right. I don’t like that your first inclination this evening was to turn to drinking. I thin it demonstrates weakness of character, and Sam didn’t raise you to use alcohol as a coping mechanism.”

Lexa groaned inwardly. “I know, Birdie.”

Birdie continued, undeterred. “Furthermore, there’s something that concerns me about how you referred to the situation with these boys. You said that you though ‘she’s was getting in over her head,’ she as in Clarke, not you. That indicates to me that you aren’t genuinely invested in taking in these boys. Frankly Lexa, if that is the case, then I think you might be better of calling their case worker right now and calling off the trial placement all together.”

Lexa blew out the breath that she’d been holding, knowing that Birdie was right. “Clarke would never forgive me.”

“Do you think that she’ll forgive if you sabotage this arrangement this with a closed mind and a selfish attitude?”

The statement landed like a slap in the face, though Lexa knew that this had probably been Birdies intention. The woman was nothing if not precise in her words. She had a way of forcing you to stare the truth right in the eye, and appraise yourself accordingly. Lexa fought to come up with a response, but for the life of her she was unable. She hung her head, feeling a lump form in her throat as she waited for Birdie to finish her lecture.

“Lexa, I know how important starting a family with Clarke is to you, but the truth is this. Life does’t always give you the things you want, and even when it does, it doesn’t necessarily give them to you in the way you’d imagined. The trick not looking the gift horse in the mouth. When you get what you want, try to be thankful regardless of the circumstances.

Lexa sighed, placing the beer bottle down on her desk and rubbing at her eyes, which were now wet with tears. She tried not to let her emotions betray her as she spoke. “Birdie…” She paused, trying to collect herself. “I wanted to give Clarke a real family, not this invented one.”

“What’s real?”

Lexa swallowed hard. “Real is real. Real is baby pictures, and first birthday parties, and getting to watch you children take their first steps. It’s getting tucked in at night and having people to teach you right from wrong, and knowing that there is someone in the stands when you score the winning goal in a big game. It’s all the things that I didn’t have!”

“Didn’t you.”

Once again, Birdie’s words were precise, and Lexa realized the callousness of what she’d just said.

“Birdie, I’m sorry. You know I love you and Sam, and I’ll never stop being grateful for the way you took me in, and got me out that group home. But it was still…”

“Still not the same as being adopted.” Birdie finished the sentence for her.

A few moments of silence that passed as the two women allowed the statement to marinate in their collective consciences. Lexa sighed, rolling the beer bottle between her fingers and thinking about all of the ways in which Birdie and Sam had been no different than normal parents, thinking about all the way sin which they had. “Birdie, I don’t want Clarke’s experience with parenting to be the heartache that comes with having an emotionally damaged child constantly defy and rejected her. You’ve seen their files. You know they are going to have all the same problems that I did, maybe worse.”

“I do, and I believe that that puts you in a unique position to help these boys.” Birdie sighed heavily, betraying how tired she was. “Lexa, you can’t protect Clarke from the disappointment that come with being a parent. Even with biological children, defy and reject their parents at certain points.”

Lexa could hear Sam coughing in the background, and Birdie paused again, likely to readjusting Sam’s nasal cannula, Lexa thought.

“Lexa, you may not have made life easy for Sam and me, but you did make it interesting, and you certainly made it fuller. Besides, you weren’t difficult forever. You adjusted. Eventually, you even became enjoyable to be around.”

Lexa smiled despite herself. “Remind me, how long did that take?”

Birdie laughed. “Oh, the better past of half a decade, give or take. The point is, tenacity will out.”

Lexa cringed slightly at Birdie’s final words. It was a saying she’d used frequently in Lexa’s youth, and it always dug at Lexa’s nerves. None-the-less, there was an undeniable wisdom to the statement, the idea that if you were willing to work at a problem indefinitely, eventually you would solve it.

“Tenacity will out,” Lexa repeated.

Birdie chuckled on the other end of the phone. “All right dear, I think it’s time for you to get some sleep. You have a big day ahead of you.”

Lexa closed her eyes, wishing that the call could last a little longer, but knowing that Birdie was right. “Thank you, Birdie.”

“You’re welcome, Alexandra. Now, go to bed.”

With that, the line clicked and went dead. Lexa set her feet on the floor, and rose from the office chair, carefully placing the phone back it it’s cradle. Before she exited the room she grabbed now empty beer bottle, reminding herself to dispose of it in the outside recycling bin, where it would be hidden form Clarke.

Lexa’s mind was still racing when she finally slipped into bed, careful not to disturb Clarke, who was fast asleep. Lexa was still not convinced that taking the boys was a good idea, but Birdie had was probably right. Perhaps, she was being selfish because she hadn’t gotten exactly what she wanted exactly the way she wanted it. Perhaps she was in a unique position to help the boys. Either way, the truth was that she would follow her wife to hell and back if it meant making her happy. In the end, good idea or bad, Lexa would do her best to make things work, tenacity will out.

Lexa leaned over the mane of blonde hair fanned out over the pillows. She pulled a few strand back, tucked it behind a soft pink ear, and placing a tender kiss to Clarke’s temple. As she settled into the covers, the brunette reflected on how her wife’s boundless, unconditional love had changed her life. Would the three boys arriving tomorrow come riddled with fallout form serious childhood trauma? Yes, they almost certainly would. But, if anyone could love someone until all the broken pieces of them were healed, it was Clarke.

Just before she fell asleep, Lexa whispering a prayer into the darkness.

“Please, let this work out. Please… For her.”