Perfect Balance

    The evening was quiet, the faint hum of the heater filling Clarke’s apartment as she moved through her bedtime routine. Juno darted between her feet, batting at the loose hem of her pajama pants. Clarke chuckled softly, scooping up the kitten and settling onto the couch.

    As she reached for her tea, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Clarke picked it up lazily, expecting a notification from a group chat or maybe a spam email as it was not the time for her and Lexa's texting yet. 

    Her breath caught seeing Lexa's name on the screen. She opened the message and a picture lit up her screen: Lexa in a hospital gown, a bandage on her forehead, her normally composed features softened by what Clarke immediately recognized as the fog of painkillers. The accompanying text arrived a few seconds later,

    Lexa: “Clarke, please don’t freak out. Anya sent this. It was only a small accident at the site. I’m fine.”

    Clarke stared at the image, her chest tightening. Her thumb hovered over the screen as her mind raced. Lexa looked pale, her usually sharp green eyes unfocused, and though the message insisted she was fine, Clarke’s instincts screamed otherwise.

    She scrolled up to see a follow-up text from Anya,

Anya: “My bad. She’s fine, Clarke. Just high on meds. I shouldn’t have sent the pic. Sorry.”

    Clarke exhaled sharply, her fingers trembling slightly as she began typing.

Clarke: “What happened? Is she okay?"

    Anya’s response came almost immediately, a string of quick texts,

Anya: “She tripped over a beam and hit her head. Stubborn as ever, didn’t want to go to the hospital, but the site manager made her. Nothing serious.”

Anya: “She’s just staying overnight for observation. Don’t stress yourself, Clarke. It’s not a big deal.”

    Clarke read the messages twice, her shoulders still tense. Her eyes flicked back to the photo, cataloging every detail: the slight crease in Lexa’s brow, the sterile white backdrop of the hospital room.

    Her logical side told her to believe Anya—it really wasn’t a big deal. But the knot in her stomach wouldn’t loosen.

    She typed another message:

Clarke: “She’s really okay?”

    This time, it was Lexa who replied.

Lexa: “Clarke, I promise I’m fine. Just a bump on the head. Anya’s an idiot for sending that picture.”

    Clarke huffed, her lips twitching at the word “idiot.” Lexa’s words were reassuring, but they didn’t completely quiet the storm of worry brewing inside her.

    Still feeling unsettled, Clarke scrolled through her contacts and tapped Raven’s name.

    The call connected almost immediately.

    "Raven," Clarke greeted sharply.

    “Hey, Griffin,” Raven said, her tone light before shifting to concern. “What’s up? You sound tense.”

    Clarke didn’t waste time with pleasantries. 

    “Lexa had an accident at the construction site.”

    “What?” Raven exclaimed. “Is she okay?”

    Clarke quickly explained what Anya had told her, her voice strained but steady.

    Raven cursed under her breath. “Leave it to Anya to make a non-issue into a panic-inducing event. Stupid move sending you that picture.”

    “Don’t call her stupid,” Clarke snapped, sharper than she intended. “She was trying to keep me informed.”

    Raven paused, then sighed. “Fine. But still, she could’ve handled it better. You okay, though? You sound… off.”

    Clarke hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of the couch. “I’m fine. Just—" she exhaled, the words spilling out faster than she intended. “I don’t like seeing her like that. Even if it’s nothing serious.”

    Raven’s voice softened. “Yeah, I get it. Lexa’s… special, huh?”

    Clarke didn’t respond immediately, her silence speaking volumes.

    “Want me to come over?” Raven offered, sensing her friend’s unease. “I can bring snacks, and we can watch that awful sci-fi movie you love.”

    Clarke managed a small smile. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Reyes.”

    “Don’t mention it,” Raven replied. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

---

    By the time Raven arrived, Clarke had managed to calm herself somewhat, though the tension in her shoulders hadn’t fully dissipated. She opened the door to find Raven holding a bag of chips and a six-pack of soda.

    “Emergency provisions,” Raven announced, stepping inside. “Let’s make it a proper distraction.”

    Clarke rolled her eyes but appreciated the effort.

    As they settled onto the couch, Juno climbed onto Clarke’s lap, purring softly. The kitten’s warmth helped ease some of the lingering anxiety.

    Halfway through the movie, Clarke’s phone buzzed again. She picked it up to see another message from Lexa, at the fixed time of their usual texting routine.

Lexa: “Goodnight, Clarke. Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.”

    Clarke smiled faintly, her fingers brushing over the screen before she typed a quick reply.

Clarke: “Goodnight, Lexa. Take care of yourself.”

    Raven noticed the change in Clarke’s expression and smirked. “She texted, didn’t she?”

    Clarke didn’t answer, but her slight blush gave her away.

    “God, you’re so obvious,” Raven teased, tossing a chip at her.

    “Shut up and watch the movie,” Clarke retorted, though the faint smile on her lips lingered.

    As the night wore on, Clarke felt the worry in her chest start to dissipate. Lexa was okay. And for now, that was enough.

---
    The sterile smell of disinfectant greeted Clarke and Raven as they stepped into the hospital room. Clarke's anxious gaze immediately found Lexa, who was sitting upright in bed, her arm in a sling and her leg encased in a cast propped on a pillow. She looked pale but alert, her tone sharp as she scolded Anya.

    “Unnecessary? You sent a picture of me looking like roadkill to Clarke,” Lexa was saying, her frustration evident. “You know how—” She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes locking onto Clarke.

    Clarke froze under the sudden attention, feeling a twinge of anxiety ripple through her. Lexa’s surprise softened into something warmer—a mix of relief and quiet happiness that made Clarke’s chest tighten.

    “You’re here,” Lexa said simply, her voice calmer now.

    Clarke nodded, her hands gripping the strap of her bag tightly, the change in her afternoon routine slightly grated on her. “Of course I’m here,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her worry.

    Raven stepped in with her usual levity, "She’s been pacing around at her studio, worrying about you.”

    Clarke shot her a sharp look. “I wasn’t pacing,” she muttered.

    As Clarke stepped closer, her eyes traveled down to Lexa’s cast. The image on her phone hadn’t prepared her for the sight of the immobilized leg. The knot in her stomach tightened, and she felt her breaths come a little faster.

    Lexa noticed Clarke’s lingering gaze and offered a small smile. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said gently.

    Clarke frowned, her hands twitching at her sides. “The picture didn’t show all of… this.”

    Before Lexa could respond, Abby entered the room, her eyes widening slightly in surprise when she saw Clarke.

    “Clarke?” Abby asked, glancing between her daughter and Lexa. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

    Clarke shifted uncomfortably, her focus still on Lexa. “I had to see for myself that she is still alive,” she said, her tone blunt but laced with vulnerability.

    Abby’s lips quirked upward as she connected the dots. “Ah! So this is the Lexa you’ve been talking about.”

    Clarke stiffened, her cheeks turning faintly pink. “Mom,” she hissed under her breath.

    Lexa raised an eyebrow, clearly curious but too polite to ask.

    Clarke crossed her arms, her brow furrowed as she turned back to Lexa. “You should’ve been more careful,” she said, her voice firm but trembling slightly. “What were you thinking?”

    Lexa blinked, caught off guard by the scolding, but then smiled teasingly, “It was an accident, Clarke. I didn’t exactly plan to trip over a beam.”

    Abby stepped in, her professional tone soothing. “She broke her leg, but the surgery went smoothly, and she’s expected to make a full recovery. There’s no need to worry.”

    Clarke’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, though her jaw remained tight. “At least you had the best doctor operating on you,” she said dryly, glancing at Abby. “You’re welcome.”

    The room fell into laughter, even Lexa, whose soft chuckle eased some of Clarke’s lingering tension.

    As the afternoon wore on, Clarke stayed by Lexa’s bedside, her movements hesitant. She kept her hands to herself, afraid of accidentally jostling Lexa and overwhelming herself, but her presence was unwavering.

    “Do you want water? Or tea? I saw a vending machine downstairs,” Clarke asked abruptly, her tone brisk but her intent clear.

    Lexa shook her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I’m fine, Clarke. Really.”

    Clarke huffed, crossing her arms. “You say that, but you’re stuck in bed with a leg cast.”

    Anya, who had been leaning against the wall, exchanged a look with Raven, her smirk unmistakable. “You’re hovering,” Anya teased.

    “I’m not hovering,” Clarke snapped, her cheeks flushing faintly.

    Raven grinned, leaning over to Anya. “She totally is. It’s cute, though, right?”

    Clarke glared at them, her eyes narrowing. “Do you two ever shut up?”

    Lexa chuckled softly, her gaze lingering on Clarke. “I don’t mind,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the banter.

    Clarke glanced at her, her lips parting as if to argue, but the warmth in Lexa’s expression silenced her. She shifted awkwardly, her fingers brushing the strap of her bag again.

    The conversation between Clarke and Lexa grew more comfortable as the afternoon passed. Lexa shared how the accident happened, her tone light despite Clarke’s lingering worry.

    “I promise I’ll be more careful in the future,” Lexa said, her gaze steady.

    “You’d better,” Clarke replied, her bluntness softening with a hint of humor. “I’m not making a habit of hospital visits.”

    Lexa smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Noted.”

    As they prepared to leave when evening came, Raven nudged Clarke playfully. “You’re smitten, Griffin.”

    Clarke shot her a sharp look but didn’t deny it, her silence speaking louder than any protest could.

    As they walked down the hospital corridor, Clarke glanced back at Lexa's room one last time, her heart feeling unexpectedly full. Lexa’s quiet strength and soft smiles lingered in her mind, a comforting presence even as they parted ways.

    Clarke’s Tuesday started like any other. She woke up to her alarm at 7 a.m., methodically going through her routine—feeding her cat Juno, organizing her to-do list, and brewing coffee and making breakfast. By 8 a.m., she was at her gallery, greeting her assistant, Mia, with a quick nod and diving into her work.

    Clarke spent the morning lost in her world, curating displays and speaking with customers. She moved efficiently, her responses concise yet genuine, then after lunch she worked on her painting. But by 3 p.m., she found herself distracted. Her thoughts kept returning to Lexa, picturing her in that hospital bed, the weight of yesterday’s visit still sitting heavy on her chest. Without much explanation to Mia, she decided to leave early, instructing her assistant to lock up later.

    Stopping by a nearby specialty shop, Clarke spent more time than she intended, her eyes scanning rows of items until she settled on a box of dark chocolates and a novel she vaguely remembered Lexa mentioning. Though she doubted Lexa was in the mood for sweets, Clarke’s reasoning was simple: small gestures mattered.
--

    Anya walked briskly down the hospital corridor, a cup of tea balanced in one hand. She was eager to check on Lexa, knowing her cousin would need something to counter the bland hospital fare. Approaching the room, her steps faltered when she noticed an all-too-familiar figure.

    Standing near the door, Costia had her arms crossed, her polished appearance a stark contrast to the sterile hospital surroundings. Anya felt her jaw clench instinctively, her grip on the tea tightening.

    “What are you doing here, Costia?” Anya’s voice was low but carried the weight of her irritation.

    Costia turned, her composed facade barely hiding her disdain for Anya. “I came to see Lexa. I heard about the accident.”

    Anya’s eyes narrowed. “How did you hear about it? No one told you.”

    Costia shrugged dismissively, her smirk infuriating. “Does it matter? I care about Lexa.”

    Anya stepped forward, placing herself squarely between Costia and the door. “Care? That’s a joke. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like you didn’t leave her when she needed you most.”

    The tension between them was palpable, and their voices started to rise, drawing the attention of passersby.

    Clarke arrived just in time to catch the heated exchange. She approached quietly, her footsteps steady but deliberate. Her keen senses picked up the sharpness in Anya’s tone and the condescension in Costia’s responses.

    “Excuse me,” Clarke interjected, her voice calm but firm.

    Both women turned to her, their conversation abruptly halted. As Clarke stepped closer, she caught a cloyingly strong scent that made her pause. The perfume Costia wore was overpowering, floral but synthetic, the kind that clung to the air and refused to dissipate. Clarke’s nose wrinkled and there was no way she could stop the reaction, her lips pressing together in a thin line.

    “And you are?” Costia asked sharply, her tone bordering on dismissive.

    Clarke didn’t react outwardly, her expression carefully neutral. But internally, her dislike for this woman deepened, the invasive smell amplifying her discomfort. “The better question is whether you should be here,” she said bluntly, her gaze shifting to Anya. “Would seeing her help Lexa, or would it make things worse?”

    Anya blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Clarke’s straightforwardness. But then a small, approving smile tugged at her lips. “I was just trying to figure that out,” she said.

    Before Anya could respond further, Lexa’s voice came from inside the room, calm but tinged with weariness. “You can all come in.”

    Anya shot Costia a warning glare before stepping into the room with Clarke following close behind. Costia trailed reluctantly, her air of entitlement palpable.

    Lexa’s face brightened slightly when her eyes landed on Clarke, though the subtle exhaustion in her expression didn’t escape Clarke’s notice.

    “Clarke,” Lexa greeted softly, her voice warm despite her fatigue.

    Clarke offered a small nod, placing the chocolates and book on the bedside table. “I thought you might want something to pass the time,” she said plainly, her gaze briefly flicking to Lexa’s leg cast before darting away.

    The perfume lingered as Costia moved closer, making Clarke’s stomach churn. Her fingers twitched slightly as she tried to focus on the task of untying the ribbon on the chocolate box, her movements stiffer than usual.

    Costia, however, wasted no time. Stepping closer to Lexa, she placed a hand on her arm. “Lexa, I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay?”

    Lexa gently but firmly pulled her arm away. “Costia, how did you even know I was here?”

    Costia hesitated, then shrugged. “Someone told me. Does it matter?”

    “It does,” Lexa said, her tone cool. Her eyes flicked to Clarke, her expression softening as she noticed Clarke’s subtle fidgeting—hands brushing over the ribbon on the chocolate box, her gaze fixed on a spot just above Lexa’s shoulder before walking away from the table and stood near Anya.

    Anya leaned closer to Clarke, her voice low enough that only Clarke could hear. “That’s Costia,” she murmured, her tone dripping with disdain. “Lexa’s ex-wife.”

    Clarke blinked, her face remaining carefully neutral, but her fingers stilled against the strap of her bag. Her mind worked through the information quickly, filing it away even as her chest tightened inexplicably.

    “It’s not my story to tell,” Anya added, her gaze softening slightly. “But if you want to know what happened, ask Lexa. She’ll tell you if she wants to.”

    Clarke nodded, though her attention remained on Costia, who was now watching her with thinly veiled suspicion.

    “And you still haven’t told me who this is,” Costia said, her sharp gaze fixed on Clarke.

    Lexa’s expression softened as she looked at Clarke. “She’s someone important to me,” she said simply, her tone steady.

    Costia’s smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. “Important, huh?” she said mockingly, her gaze darting to Clarke’s fidgeting hands. “Interesting choice. She seems... delicate.”

    The perfume and Costia’s words both grated on Clarke’s senses, but she focused on steadying her breathing, her calm exterior barely masking her discomfort.

    Before Clarke could respond, Raven’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Delicate? You don’t know a damn thing about Clarke,” she said, her tone icy as she entered the room with Octavia beside her.

    Octavia crossed her arms, her glare pinning Costia in place. “If you’ve got something to say, say it to all of us,” she challenged.

    Anya smirked from the corner, her arms crossed as she leaned casually against the wall. “Careful, Costia. You’re outnumbered.”

    Costia, still bristling from Lexa's refusal to engage with her, turned her attention to Raven, who had positioned herself protectively near Clarke. The tension in the room was suffocating, the cloying scent of Costia's perfume making Clarke's stomach twist.

    “Who are you, anyway?” Costia said, her tone dripping with condescension as her eyes swept over Raven. “Boldly inserting yourself where you don’t belong.”

    Raven’s brows shot up, a humorless laugh escaping her. “Inserting myself? You mean like showing up uninvited to your ex-wife’s hospital room, stirring up drama no one needs?”

    Costia crossed her arms, stepping closer to Raven. “This doesn’t concern you. Lexa and I have history, something you wouldn’t understand.”

    Raven didn’t back down, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. “History? You mean the part where you bailed on her? Yeah, I know all about that. And just so we’re clear, Lexa doesn’t need you here. She’s doing fine without you—better, actually.”

    Costia’s eyes narrowed, her voice lowering dangerously. “I don’t owe you an explanation, mechanic."

    "Shut your trap, Costia. I've had enough of you being disrespectful here." Anya hissed at Costia, 

    "Me? Being disrespectful? This woman didn't know me and wouldn’t understand the complexities of a relationship like ours.” Costia said in disdain,
 
   Raven’s jaw clenched, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Oh, I understand plenty. I understand that you left her at her lowest, and now you’re parading in here acting like you care. Newsflash: no one’s buying it.”

    “Anya, Raven, please,” Lexa said softly, but the warning in her tone was clear. Raven hesitated, her anger simmering, but she stepped back, muttering under her breath, “Fine, but someone had to say it.”

    Costia turned her glare back to Lexa, but before she could retort, Clarke unexpectedly spoke up.

    “I think Raven has a point,” Clarke said bluntly, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

    All eyes turned to her, but Clarke’s focus remained on Lexa, her calm demeanor betraying none of the storm raging beneath the surface. “And for the record,” she continued, her tone cool, “your perfume is... offensive. To my sanity.”

    The room fell silent for a beat, Raven biting her lip to stifle a laugh while Anya’s lips twitched into a smirk. Lexa blinked in surprise, her gaze softening as she studied Clarke.

    Costia’s face flushed with indignation. “Excuse me?” she hissed, her voice rising.

    Clarke didn’t flinch, her expression as steady as her voice. “It’s too strong. Overpowering. Maybe next time, consider that not everyone appreciates being suffocated by your scent.”

    Raven snorted outright this time, and even Octavia had to duck her head to hide a grin.

    Lexa sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. When she looked back at Costia, her expression was colder than it had been all day. “Costia, please leave. Now.”

    Costia’s indignation faltered, replaced by a flicker of disbelief. “Lexa, I—”

    “No,” Lexa said sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve had enough. You don’t get to come here, insult my friends, and act like you still have a place in my life. You don’t. Whatever you think we had, it’s over. It’s been over for a long time. And after today, I’m even more certain I never want anything to do with you again.”

    Costia opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. With one last glare—lingering pointedly on Clarke—she turned on her heel and stormed out, her perfume trailing behind her like an unwelcome ghost.

    The room exhaled collectively, the tension dissipating like a storm finally passing.

    “Well,” Anya said dryly, breaking the silence. “That was fun.”

    Raven turned to Clarke, grinning, “Offensive to your sanity, huh? Classic Clarke.”

    Clarke shrugged, her hands brushing over the ribbon of the chocolate box again. “I wasn’t wrong.”

    Lexa’s lips quirked into a faint smile, her eyes soft as they met Clarke’s. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her words meant for Clarke but carrying enough weight to reach everyone in the room.

    Clarke nodded once, her calm exterior returning. “Anytime.”

    The group settled into more comfortable silence, the unspoken bond between them growing stronger as the echoes of Costia’s visit faded into the background.

---
    From the moment Lexa was hospitalized, Clarke made it a point to visit her every day, her visits as routine as clockwork. Each time she brought something different—sometimes a small bouquet of wildflowers she picked up from a vendor on her way, other times snacks that Lexa mentioned liking in passing. One afternoon, she even brought her sketchbook, settling into the chair beside Lexa’s bed to work on a piece while Lexa read a book.

    By Wednesday, Lexa’s room was filled with small tokens of Clarke’s visits—flowers in a vase, a few books Clarke brought because “they’re better than scrolling endlessly on your phone,” and a sketch Clarke left behind of the view from Lexa’s hospital window.

    During one quiet moment that early evening, Abby entered the room, clipboard in hand, to check on Lexa’s progress. Clarke, sitting cross-legged in the chair near the bed, barely glanced up until Abby mentioned Lexa’s potential discharge date: tomorrow.

    Clarke straightened, her brow furrowing in disapproval. “She’s not ready to go home,” she said bluntly, her voice firm.

    Lexa raised an amused brow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Clarke, I’ll be fine.”

    Clarke ignored her, focusing on Abby. “If she goes home, she’ll just overdo it.”

    Abby paused, studying Clarke with quiet curiosity. It wasn’t often that her daughter spoke with such conviction about someone else’s well-being. Before Abby could respond, Anya strolled in, three cups of coffee in hand.

    “You know Lexa,” Anya chimed in, smirking. “She’ll be up on crutches redecorating her apartment if left alone.”

    Lexa groaned, rolling her eyes. “I’m right here, you know.”

    Clarke crossed her arms, her blue eyes sharp as they met her mother’s. “She needs a few more days. Just to be sure.”

    Abby sighed, the corners of her lips twitching upward as she relented. “Fine. A few more days. But only because you seem so… determined.” She glanced meaningfully at Lexa, then Clarke, before leaving the room.

    Lexa’s gaze lingered on Clarke, warmth flickering in her eyes. “You’re surprisingly stubborn.” 

    Clarke shrugged, brushing it off. “I’m practical. There’s a difference.”

---

    It was small moments like these that marked the growing bond between Clarke and Lexa. As the days passed, Lexa found herself increasingly attuned to Clarke’s subtle shifts in mood—things most people wouldn’t notice.

    One afternoon, Clarke sat by Lexa’s bedside, her hands fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve. She was quiet, more so than usual, her gaze focused somewhere far beyond the room.

    “Clarke,” Lexa said softly, pulling her attention back to the present.

    Clarke blinked, startled. “What?”

    “What’s wrong?” Lexa asked, her tone even but laced with genuine concern.

    Clarke hesitated, her fingers still tugging at the thread. “Nothing’s wrong,” she muttered, though the tension in her posture said otherwise.

    Lexa didn’t press but simply waited, her calm patience drawing Clarke out. After a long pause, Clarke finally sighed. “I’m thinking about that gallery commission I took on. It’s… not coming together.”

    Lexa tilted her head, her green eyes thoughtful. “What’s the theme?”

    “Urban landscapes,” Clarke replied, her voice flat with frustration. “Which is ironic because I hate urban anything.”

    Lexa’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Maybe that’s the problem. You’re trying to force it instead of finding something you connect with.”

    Clarke frowned, the wheels turning in her head. “Maybe.” She glanced at Lexa, a rare vulnerability in her gaze. “You’re good at this—reading people.”

    Lexa shrugged modestly. “It’s not hard when you pay attention.”

    Clarke huffed a quiet laugh, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Well, thanks. I guess.”

    “Anytime,” Lexa replied, her voice warm.

    For the first time in days, Clarke felt a strange sense of ease. It wasn’t that Lexa had solved her problem, but her presence alone made the weight of it feel less suffocating.

    Later, as Clarke left for the evening, Lexa watched her go, a soft smile lingering on her lips. For someone who claimed to be practical, Clarke had a way of making Lexa feel cared for in the most unexpected ways.

---

    By Thursday, Clarke’s interactions with Lexa had shifted. She was more at ease, and her bluntness began to carry a playful edge that Lexa found both amusing and endearing.

    During lunch, Clarke went to visit Lexa earlier than usual, and watched as Lexa poked at the meal Abby’s team had prepared—a nutritious but bland hospital tray that Lexa didn’t seem eager to finish. Clarke, sitting beside her, narrowed her eyes.

    “Are you going to eat that, or are you waiting for it to sprout legs and walk off?” she asked, her tone dry but her concern evident.

    Lexa smirked, setting her fork down. “It’s not exactly appetizing.”

    Clarke grabbed the fork and scooped up a bite of the chicken, holding it out to Lexa. “You’re not leaving this plate unfinished. If you don’t eat, your muscles will atrophy. And, honestly? You already look like you skipped leg day for a year.”

    Lexa’s laugh was low and warm, her gaze softening as she obediently accepted the bite. “You’re relentless, Clarke.”

    “Someone has to be,” Clarke retorted, shrugging like it was no big deal, though the faint pink dusting her cheeks and the twitch on her fingers betrayed her.

    Lexa leaned back slightly, still smiling as she watched Clarke. There was something deeply charming about how Clarke cared—direct and no-nonsense, yet layered with a tenderness that she didn’t seem fully aware of herself.

    Later, as Clarke helped tidy up the bedside tray, Lexa spoke softly. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”

    Clarke paused, her fingers stilling for a moment before she continued. “Friend, huh?” she said, her voice tinged with a teasing lilt.

    Lexa chuckled. “Am I wrong?”

    Clarke didn’t look up, her lips quirking slightly. “I’ll let you know.”

    Lexa found herself smiling long after Clarke had left that day, the memory of her sarcastic but caring remarks lingering like a warm echo in her mind.

---

    That evening, Abby sat at the dinner table with Jake, picking at her food. She was unusually quiet, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Jake, ever perceptive, finally broke the silence.

    “What’s on your mind?” he asked, taking a sip of his wine.

    Abby glanced at him, her expression contemplative. “It’s Clarke.”

    Jake raised an eyebrow. “What about her?”

    “She’s… different,” Abby said slowly, as though trying to piece her thoughts together. “I’ve never seen her like this. Clarke’s always been guarded, even with her friends. But with Lexa…”

    “She’s softer,” Jake finished for her, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

    Abby nodded, her brow furrowing. “She fusses over her like I’ve never seen before. She’s opening up in ways I didn’t think possible, but…”

    Jake set down his fork, leaning forward. “But you’re worried.”

    “Of course I’m worried,” Abby admitted, sighing. “Clarke’s quirks, her bluntness, her boundaries, her routines—they’re not easy for people to navigate. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

    Jake reached across the table, covering Abby’s hand with his. “From what you’ve told me, Lexa seems like someone who understands Clarke. And Clarke wouldn’t be this open if she didn’t trust her.”

    Abby tilted her head, considering his words. “I hope you’re right. I just… I’ve always wanted Clarke to find someone who sees her for who she really is. Someone who won’t try to change her.”

    Jake smiled, his voice calm and reassuring. “If Lexa’s the one, I think she’ll get that. And if she doesn’t, Clarke will handle it. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

    Abby exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “You’re right. She’s just… my little girl.”

    “And she’s growing up,” Jake added gently. “Give our girl the space to figure it out. Besides, from what you’ve said, Lexa’s in good hands with Clarke fussing over her.”

    Abby smiled faintly at that, the mental image of her fiercely independent daughter doting on someone else softening the lingering worry in her chest. “I suppose she is.”

---

    By Friday, Lexa had grown used to Clarke’s no-nonsense care. What she didn’t expect was for Clarke to show up with a small container of freshly cut fruits and grapes, and insist on feeding her.

    Lexa smirked as Clarke speared a piece of kiwi with a fork and held it out to her. “You know I can feed myself, right?”

    Clarke didn’t waver, her tone as blunt as ever. “Not with one arm. And you’d just make a mess trying.”

    Lexa chuckled, obligingly taking the bite. “You’re very persistent.”

    “It’s necessary,” Clarke replied flatly. “If I left you alone, you’d probably just survive on coffee and stubbornness.”

    The moment was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open, revealing Anya, who leaned against the frame with a wicked grin. “Well, well. Look who’s playing nursemaid.”

    Clarke, unbothered, turned to her. “If I don’t, she’ll starve. I’d rather not deal with that mess.”

    Anya’s smirk grew wider. “I didn’t know feeding her fruits was part of your care plan. This feels very... intimate.”

    Before Clarke could reply, Raven and Octavia walked in behind Anya, the latter still in her police uniform. Octavia glanced at the scene and immediately raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Wait a second. I thought you were just taking care of her, Clarke. This looks suspiciously like a date.”

    Clarke’s eyes narrowed as her cheeks flushed faintly. “It’s not a date,” she deadpanned. “It’s basic survival.”

    Lexa, clearly amused, shook her head. “Don’t mind them. They’re just jealous.”

    Anya snorted. “Jealous of you being pampered? Not likely. I’m just enjoying watching Clarke fuss over you.”

    Raven, sensing Clarke’s mild discomfort, decided to pile on. “Don’t worry, Clarke. We all know Lexa’s your favorite patient.”

    Clarke sighed dramatically, looking at Lexa. “I don’t know how you put up with them.”

    Lexa chuckled softly, her gaze warm. “I have my ways.”

    The teasing continued for a few more minutes before Clarke unceremoniously changed the subject, leaving the others to smirk knowingly behind her back.

---

    By Saturday, the connection between Clarke and Lexa had grown undeniably stronger. That afternoon, they sat quietly in Lexa’s hospital room, the usual banter replaced by a rare silence.

    Lexa broke it first, her voice soft. “Thank you, Clarke. For everything. You’ve been... amazing.”

    Clarke shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “You needed help. It’s not a big deal.”

    Lexa tilted her head, studying Clarke. “It is to me.”

    Clarke looked up then, her blue eyes meeting Lexa’s. For a moment, the air between them seemed to shift, growing heavier with something unspoken.

    Lexa leaned in slightly, her expression open and sincere. She looked into Clarke's blue eyes as she moved slowly to give Clarke time to react.

    Clarke’s heart pounded wildly in her chest, but her face remained composed, her brow furrowing slightly, still processing what was happening, as Lexa’s face got closer.

    Just before their lips could meet, Clarke leaned back, tilting her head with a puzzled expression. “What are you doing?” she asked bluntly, her tone betraying none of the foreign chaos in her chest.

    Lexa stopped, a shy chuckle escaping her lips. “I was going to kiss you.”

    Clarke wrinkled her nose, as though the idea were somehow offensive. “That seems... unnecessary,” she said, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes that Lexa didn’t miss.

    Lexa leaned back slightly, smiling warmly and winked. “Fair enough. Maybe next time.”

    Before either of them could say more, the door opened, and Raven walked in, balancing a tray of coffees and sandwiches. She froze, immediately clocking the awkward tension in the room.

    “Oh no,” Raven said, her eyes darting between them with a knowing smirk. “Did I interrupt something scandalous?”

    Lexa, still amused, leaned back on her pillows. “Depends on how you define scandalous. Clarke stopped me from kissing her.”

    Clarke’s cheeks turned pink as she glared half-heartedly at Lexa. “You didn’t have to say that.”

    Raven laughed, setting the tray down. “This is gold. You know, Clarke, this isn’t the first time you’ve reacted like this.”

    Clarke frowned. “What are you talking about?”

    Raven grinned, taking a seat. “Remember that time you caught Octavia and Lincoln making out in my workshop?”

    Clarke groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That was completely different.”

    Lexa raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What happened?”

--

    The hum of machinery filled Raven’s workshop, the scent of motor oil and grease hanging heavy in the air. Clarke had come by to hang out as usual on Saturday, and brought lunch for Raven, as she often did when her best friend got too absorbed in her new projects to have lunch break.

    She pushed open the door and called out, “Raven! I’ve got food. Don’t tell me you’ve been living off energy drinks again.”

    Raven’s usual sarcastic retort didn’t come, and instead, Clarke heard a muffled laugh from the back of the workshop. Curious, she made her way past the cluttered workbenches and stacks of tools.

    “Raven?” she called again, rounding the corner.

    She froze in her tracks.

    There, against the wall by Raven’s tool bench, Octavia had her arms looped around Lincoln’s neck, pulling him into a kiss that could only be described as enthusiastic. Lincoln’s large hands rested gently on Octavia’s waist, his thumb brushing small circles over the fabric of her jacket.

    Clarke’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

    “Really?”

    The pair broke apart abruptly, Octavia’s cheeks flushing bright red as she whipped around to face Clarke. “Clarke! I—uh—this isn’t what it looks like!”

    Lincoln, on the other hand, turned slowly, his calm demeanor completely unshaken. He offered Clarke a small, knowing smile, like a sibling caught in a harmless prank.

    Clarke, undeterred, pointed at the tool bench. “Do you know how unsanitary this is? This is a workshop, Octavia. There are germs everywhere. And don’t even get me started on mouths—they’re literal breeding grounds for bacteria.”

    Octavia groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god, Clarke. Can you not?”

    “I can and I will,” Clarke shot back, her tone full principal-mode now. “Do you have any idea how many pathogens you’ve just exposed each other to? The tools here aren’t sterile! And who knows what you’ve touched before this?”

    Lincoln chuckled softly, his deep voice rumbling in amusement. “Noted, Clarke.”

    Clarke’s stern gaze shifted to him. “And you. You’re a med student, Lincoln. You know better.”

    He nodded solemnly, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter. “You’re right. I should’ve considered the biohazard risk.”

    “Exactly,” Clarke said, hands on her hips. “At least one of you has some sense of responsibility.”

    Octavia groaned louder, pulling at Lincoln’s sleeve. “Can we go before she starts lecturing us about PPE and tongue hygiene?”

    “Go,” Clarke waved them off with a sigh, though her expression softened slightly. “Just don’t let me catch you doing this here again.”

    Lincoln gave Clarke a warm smile, his eyes filled with quiet affection. “Thanks for looking out for us, Clarke. You’re like the little sister I never had.”

    Clarke’s mouth opened slightly in surprise, her irritation melting into something gentler. She cleared her throat awkwardly, muttering, “Just... don’t do it here again.”

    Lincoln nodded, tugging a still-flustered Octavia toward the door, his large hand resting lightly on her back.

    As they left, Clarke muttered under her breath, “Honestly, people have no sense of hygiene anymore.”

    Just then, Raven emerged from under a car, smirking. “Did you just scare off my entertainment?”

    Clarke shot her a glare. “You knew they were back there?”

    Raven shrugged, wiping grease off her hands. “Obviously. But your reaction? Totally worth it.”

    Clarke rolled her eyes, setting the food on a nearby table. “You’re impossible.”

    “And you’re adorable when you’re mad,” Raven teased, earning a half-hearted scowl from Clarke as she turned to leave the workshop to get her bag in her car.

---

    Raven leaned forward, eager to recount the memory. “Clarke walked in on Octavia and Lincoln full-on making out on my tool bench. She stood there, hands on her hips, and said—what was it?”

    Clarke muttered, “I said it was unsanitary.”

    Raven snapped her fingers. “That’s it! You said, ‘Mouths are breeding grounds for bacteria. Do you have any idea how unsanitary this is?’”

    Lexa bit back a laugh as she imagined the scene. “And how did they react?”

    “Octavia looked mortified,” Raven said, grinning. “But Lincoln? He just smiled and said, ‘Noted, Clarke.’”

    Clarke sighed, clearly still unamused. “It was unsanitary.”

    Lexa’s smile grew as she watched Clarke. “I think it’s sweet. You were just looking out for them in your own way.”

    Clarke shot her a skeptical look but didn’t argue, her faint blush betraying her flustered state. Lexa, for her part, seemed only more endeared.

---

    The day of Lexa's recharge on Sunday, Anya stood next to Lexa, trying to help her into the wheelchair. Lexa, stubborn as ever, had her arms crossed over her chest and a faint scowl on her face.

    “I’m perfectly capable of walking,” Lexa grumbled, eyeing the crutch leaning against the hospital bed.

    “Sure, Commander,” Anya replied with a smirk, “But if you fall flat on your face, I’m not carrying you.”

    Lexa narrowed her eyes, attempting to push herself up with the crutch. “I’ll manage.” Her voice was firm, but her good arm trembled slightly from the effort.

    The door opened, and Clarke strode in, taking in the scene with a raised brow. She didn’t say a word, but the slight quirk of her lips betrays her amusement.

    Lexa pauses mid-struggle, her eyes darting to Clarke. “I’m fine. I can—”

    Clarke cut her off by stepping forward, her expression a mix of fondness and exasperation. “You’re impossible,” she muttered.

    Before Lexa could protest, Clarke reached into her bag, pulled out a bright red lollipop, unwrapped it, and gently pressed it into Lexa’s mouth. “Now, hush,” she says softly, her tone affectionate.

    Lexa blinked in surprise, momentarily silenced by the unexpected gesture. Anya bursted out laughing, stepping back to let Clarke take over.

    “Now,” Clarke continued matter-of-factly, “do you wanna sit down or I make you?”

    Lexa barely had time to process the words before Clarke sighed impatiently, needing to make sure Lexa was home and rest soon. So, she effortlessly scooped her up, her hands firm but gentle under Lexa’s knees and back, carefully avoided touching her skin.

    Upon seeing this, Anya let out a low whistle, arms crossed as she watched Clarke lift Lexa with ease. “Impressive. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

    While Lexa face turned a deep shade of red, her ears practically glowing. With the lollipop still in her mouth, she didn’t even attempt to speak, her heart pounding loudly in her chest.

    Completely unfazed, Clarke placed Lexa in the wheelchair with careful precision, brushing off imaginary dust from her hands like it was nothing.

    “Ready?” Clarke asked, looking down at Lexa with a small smile.

    Lexa nodded faintly, her usual composure utterly shattered. She sucked on the lollipop, trying to hide her flustered state.

    Without waiting for an answer, Clarke started wheeling her out of the room. “You’ll thank me later,” she said over her shoulder, her tone light.

    Anya, still amused, followed them, shaking her head. “I’ve got to say, Lexa. You’re handling this with grace.”

    Lexa glared at her cousin, but the lollipop muffled her grumbled response.

---

    Anya sat behind the wheel, adjusting the rearview mirror with a smug smile. With Clarke in the passenger seat, scrolling through her phone but occasionally glancing back at Lexa.

    In the backseat, Lexa sat with arms crossed and glaring out the window, muttering under her breath about being treated like glass.

    “You know, I can sit up front,” Lexa said, shifting uncomfortably.

    Clarke glanced back with a raised brow. “You had surgery, Lexa. Sit still.”

    “Exactly,” Anya chimed in. “You’re not in charge here, Commander.”

    Lexa rolled her eyes. “I’m tougher than you two seem to think.”

    Clarke turned fully in her seat, her gaze sharp but her tone teasing. “You’re also human. And humans who’ve had their bones poked around don’t just ‘tough it out.’”

    Lexa smirked faintly. “Is that your professional opinion, Doctor Griffin?”

    “Absolutely,” Clarke retorted without missing a beat. “And as your doctor, I’m prescribing a full day of not being a pain in the ass.”

    Anya snorted from the driver’s seat, glancing back at Lexa. “You’re outnumbered, Lex. Just accept it.”

    Lexa shook her head, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “Fine. But don’t expect me to stay quiet.”

    “You’ve never stayed quiet a day in your life,” Clarke replied dryly, earning a small chuckle from Anya.

    The atmosphere in the car was lighthearted and playful. Lexa’s grumbling is met with Clarke’s affectionate bluntness and Anya’s teasing, showcasing the growing closeness between the trio.

    As Clarke’s sharp humor continued to dominate the conversation, Lexa couldn’t help but feel a warmth spreading through her chest.

    Though she outwardly protested, she was secretly grateful for their care, especially Clarke’s unwavering attention.

    The car pulled up to Lexa’s home, and Anya threw the keys onto the dashboard with a flourish.

    “Home sweet home,” she said, turning to look at her cousin. “Ready to be carried in like a princess?”

    Lexa groaned loudly, but her blush from earlier began to creep back. Clarke, stepping out of the car, smirked. “I thought you didn’t want to be treated like glass.”

    Lexa narrowed her eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Griffin.”

    Anya and Clarke exchanged a knowing look, grinning in unison.

    A loud honk from a passing car startled them, and Clarke, who had been in a somewhat steady mood these few days because she was focused on Lexa, felt the weight of the unexpected changes in her routine. It left her exhausted and her nerves frazzled with anxiety. 

    Anya and Lexa noticed the subtle change; how her brows furrowed, a small scowl on her face, her posture became stiffer. Clarke's fingers were fisted tightly before loosened up and twitched slightly on her side.
    
    Shaking off the annoying nerve, Clarke immediately offered to carry Lexa upstairs to her bedroom. The words left her mouth almost mechanically, her need to ensure Lexa was properly cared for overrode her usual hesitation about physical contact. But Lexa shook her head firmly, her voice gentle but resolute. “I’m fine in the living room for now.”

    Clarke froze briefly, her fingers flexing as she processed the request. Plans shifted in her mind with the subtle rigidity she often felt when things deviated from her expectations. Finally, she relented with a nod, her voice clipped but not unkind. “Okay. Living room it is.” With deliberate care, Clarke lifted Lexa from the car, her hands precise in their positioning, mindful of avoiding prolonged skin contact where possible.

    Lexa let out a soft sigh, half of exasperation and half of something more amused, as Clarke carefully carried her inside. Her grumbling was quiet but teasing. “You know, I’m not a piece of glass.”

    Clarke’s lips twitched as she settled Lexa gently onto the couch. “No, you’re not. But you did just have surgery,” she replied, her voice sharper than intended, though her eyes softened a moment later. “Humor me.”

    As Lexa shifted to get comfortable, Clarke’s attention flickered to the throw blanket on the arm of the couch. She tugged it into place over Lexa with quick, precise movements, her gaze darting to Lexa’s face to check for approval.

    Anya, hauling Lexa’s bag upstairs, watched the scene with a small smirk. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, Clarke,” she teased.

    Clarke’s shoulders stiffened at the comment, her jaw clenching briefly before she forced a casual shrug. “Someone has to make sure she’s taken care of,” she muttered, a touch defensively. The comment wasn’t intended to be rude, but her tone betrayed the faint edge of discomfort she felt under scrutiny.

    Anya understood it, and only chuckled as she shook her head.

    Once Lexa was settled, Clarke’s focus shifted to the kitchen. The need to make sure Lexa had something to eat pulled her toward the fridge, her urge to fix things outweighing the faint hum of sensory overstimulation that had started building. She opened the door and froze, her eyes scanning the empty shelves. A single bottle of water and a few condiments mocked her.

    Her pulse quickened slightly, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. “Seriously?” she muttered under her breath, her voice tight. She turned, pacing briefly, her hands brushing against the edges of the counters as if grounding herself.

    “Problem?” Anya’s voice came from the doorway, and Clarke turned sharply, her movements jerky.

    “She just had surgery, and her fridge is empty,” Clarke snapped, her words coming out harsher than she intended. She immediately winced, her eyes flickering to Anya, who raised her hands in mock surrender.

    “Relax, Doc,” Anya said lightly. “She’s always been terrible about stocking up. I’ll go grab groceries.”

    Clarke opened her mouth to argue—an instinct she didn’t fully understand—but Anya’s calm tone cut through her spiraling thoughts. She nodded tightly, muttering, “Fine. Just… hurry, okay?”

    Anya, recognizing Clarke’s rising tension, gave her a reassuring smile and slipped out the door. Clarke stood there for a moment, her hands curling into fists before she forced herself to breathe. She’s fine. You’re handling it. Just focus.

---

    By the time Anya returned, Clarke had settled a bit, her focus narrowed to preparing dinner. Her movements were methodical, almost too precise, as she chopped vegetables and stirred the soup. Anya watched silently for a moment, noting how Clarke’s expression flickered between concentration and subtle discomfort, her fingers occasionally twitching as if brushing away an unseen itch.

    Dinner was a quiet affair at first, the three of them eating in the living room. Clarke cut Lexa’s food into small pieces, the task giving her hands something to do while her mind remained hyper-focused on Lexa’s well-being. Lexa rolled her eyes but didn’t protest, though her lips quirked in a soft smile that Clarke didn’t notice.

    “You know,” Anya said, breaking the silence, “this is the most domestic I’ve ever seen you, Clarke. You’re practically doting.”

    Clarke stiffened slightly, her fork clinking against her plate as she set it down. “I just want to make sure she’s okay,” she said quickly, her tone defensive. The idea of being seen—of having her intentions analyzed—made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

    Lexa, sensing Clarke’s discomfort, spoke up. “And I appreciate it,” she said softly, her voice cutting through Clarke’s spiraling thoughts.

    Clarke glanced up, her expression softening briefly before she nodded. “Good,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

    After dinner, Clarke stood abruptly, her chair scraping slightly against the floor. “Time for bed,” she announced, her voice brisk as she moved toward Lexa.

    Lexa’s brows rose. “I can manage,” she began, but Clarke silenced her with a look.

    “No, you can’t. I’m carrying you,” Clarke said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

    Lexa huffed, though there was no real annoyance in her expression. “You’re impossible,” she muttered as Clarke bent to lift her.

    Clarke’s movements were precise, her grip secure but careful to avoid lingering skin contact. Despite her usual aversion to prolonged physical touch, something about holding Lexa felt… manageable. The faint discomfort was still there, but it was overshadowed by the inexplicable pull to ensure Lexa was safe and cared for.

    As they reached the bedroom, Clarke set Lexa down gently, her hands twitching briefly as she adjusted the blankets around her. “Stay put,” she ordered, her voice softening as she added, “Please.”

    Lexa’s lips curved into a small smile. “I will. Thank you.”

    Downstairs, Clarke immediately set up on the couch, her movements quick and purposeful as she avoided meeting Anya’s gaze.

    “You know, the guestroom is right there,” Anya said lightly, gesturing toward the door.

    “I’m fine here,” Clarke replied curtly. She didn’t explain that the thought of being too far from Lexa made her chest tighten uncomfortably.

    Anya shook her head but didn’t press further. She tidied the guestroom anyway, just in case. When she returned to the living room, Clarke was already asleep, her body curled awkwardly on the couch. Anya paused, taking in the peaceful expression on Clarke’s face.

    Pulling out her phone, Anya snapped a quick picture and sent it to Raven.

Anya: "Your favorite blonde crashed on the couch. Do I move her or let her be?"

    Raven’s reply came quickly,

Raven: "Let her sleep there. Just cover her with a blanket. She’ll freak out if she wakes up in foreign place."

    Anya followed the advice, draping a blanket over Clarke before settling on the other couch herself. She knew better than to leave Clarke to wake up alone, not when her need for control and connection seemed so tightly wound with her care for Lexa. As she closed her eyes, she smiled faintly, thinking of how much Clarke cared, even if she had her own different way to show it.