Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808103.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/F
Fandom: The 100 (TV)
Relationship: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Character: Lexa (The 100), Clarke Griffin, Abby Griffin
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Accidents, Break Up, Non-
Linear Narrative
Series: Part 4 of Clexathon
Stats: Published: 2016-12-10 Words: 8674

Fix You
by eternaleponine

Summary

Clarke and Lexa used to date, but they broke up nearly six months ago. Clarke is in an
accident and Lexa is still listed as her emergency contact.

Notes

See the end of the work for notes

Some mornings, before she was fully awake, she still reached across the bed to pull Clarke closer,
like maybe she had just rolled over in her sleep and a gentle tug could draw her back. She would
reach back with her eyes still closed... and jerk awake when her questing fingers found only
emptiness beside her. Her heart would slam against her breastbone as she tried and failed to
process the absence as anything other than a sure sign that something was Very Wrong.

And then she would remember.

And then she would cry.

Every. Damn. Time.

Clarke was gone. She was gone, and she was never coming back. And it was her fault.

"You could have called," Clarke snapped. "You could have at least texted to say you weren't
coming, instead of just—"

"You could have called, too!" Lexa snapped back. "This isn't a one way street!" She went to the
kitchen and realized that that was where she kept the painkiller in her place, and stomped to the
bathroom instead, jerking open the medicine cabinet so hard that several bottles toppled out,
rattling into the sink. She grabbed the one she was looking for and popped open the cap, dumping
some into her palm and then shoving them into her mouth without even bothering to count. She
swallowed them with a few gulps of water and then leaned on the edge of the sink, eyes closed,
waiting for them to kick in even though she knew it would be at least 15 minutes, and maybe
more.

"You promised you would be there," Clarke said, having appeared in the doorway seemingly out
of nowhere, but maybe she'd been there all along.

"I didn't promise," Lexa said. "I said I would try."

"No, you didn't," Clarke said. "You promised. You said this time you would be there. Absolutely.
There was no way you would miss it."

Had she? She couldn't even remember, and god, her fucking head hurt. "Look, Clarke." And
Clarke looked, looked straight into her eyes... through the reflection in the mirror. Which felt like
some kind of metaphor. "I got caught up, okay? Deadlines are deadlines and they don't go away
just because—"

"Just because your girlfriend has something important that she wants you to be present for? Just
because for once she wants you to be the one to compromise, to give? Just because you fucking
promised her you would be there?"

"It's not even that big of a deal!" Lexa said, finally turning around to look Clarke full in the face.
"It's just one painting!"

Clarke looked like she'd been slapped, and then slowly her face went still and blank. "You need to
go," she said. "You need to go home."

"Yeah," Lexa said. "I guess I do." She hadn't even taken off her coat.

"And you need to not come back," Clarke said.

Lexa blinked. "You're... breaking up with me?"

"I guess I am," Clarke said, with a shrug. Dismissive. Nonchalant. "It's not even that big of a
deal," she added. "It's just one year."

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, and Lexa swatted at it, trying to make it stop. It was too
early. It couldn't be morning yet, couldn't be time to wake up and face another day working a job
that she was supposed to love.

She'd fallen asleep on the couch again, fully-clothed. She still had her jacket on, for fuck's sake,
and apparently she hadn't even bothered to turn on the lights before collapsing. Or maybe she'd
turned them on and turned the back off again? She didn't know. She couldn't remember. She felt
hungover, but she hadn't been drunk. Of that she was sure, because she didn't drink anymore. Not
since...

Her phone was buzzing again, and she found it on the floor, picked it up and peered at the screen.
Unknown Caller. Local number. Wrong number, almost certainly, and at two in the fucking
morning? If it was actually someone she wanted to talk to, their number would be in her phone.
Their name would come up on caller ID.
She was about to just turn the thing off entirely, and fuck the consequences if she didn't wake up
in the morning, when the buzzing stopped, and then started again a second later. This time,
though, there was a name.

A name she never thought she would see again.

Her lips formed the word but no sound came out. Clarke.

This time she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Lexa?"

"Speaking." She didn't know what had possessed her to answer a call from an unknown number,
but she'd been too frazzled to think about it. The phone had rung and she'd answered it.

"It's Clarke." There was a pause, like the woman on the other end of the line expected her to
know who Clarke was. "We met at the party on Friday?"

Oh. Oh. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered the blonde that she hadn't been able to keep her
eyes off of, and who'd caught her staring and come right over to introduce herself. How had she
managed to forget that? And more importantly, how had she managed to forget that she'd given
her her number?

"I got your number from Anya," she added, as if she was somehow able to read Lexa's mind. "I
hope that's all right."

"It's fine," Lexa said. "Was there something you needed?"

"Yes," Clarke said. "I need you to know if you're free tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow...?"

"Night," Clarke repeated. "I have a thing. Not really a formal thing, it's not a big deal, but I'd
rather not go alone. So are you free?"

"Are you asking..." Lexa swallowed. "Is this a friend thing, or...?" She didn't dare get her hopes
up. Was she even really hoping? Now wasn't the best time to be starting a relationship when she
was also attempting to start a career. She needed to be able to dedicate herself to her job, to meet
whatever demands were made of her, if she wanted to get ahead. That might not leave a lot of
time for anything – or anyone – else.

"Do you want it to be a friend thing?" Clarke asked. "I kind of got the impression you might be
interested in more."

"I was," Lexa said. Shit. "I am." Fuck. "What time?"

"Eight o'clock?"

"Where should I meet you?"

"You know that place that's been empty, down on Main Street?"

"The one that's been under construction for the last few months?"
"That's the one."

"You want to meet there?"

"Unless you want to meet earlier and get something to eat, some drinks, beforehand?"

"There's the Italian place just down the road."

"So... six-thirty?"

"Six-thirty," Lexa agreed. "I'll see you then."

"Not if I see you first."

Not likely, Lexa thought. Because she was sure that no matter where they were, no matter what
the circumstances, if Clarke was near enough to be seen, Lexa's eyes would find her.

Lexa pushed through the door and up to the reception area, past a few clusters of people that she
hoped were just standing there and weren't actually in line. "Clarke," she said to the man behind
the desk. "Clarke Griffin."

"And you are?" he asked.

"Lexa Woods. Someone called me. Said she was here. Said there'd been an accident."

He typed something into his computer, and although Lexa was sure he didn't mean to, he couldn't
help the fractional widening of his eyes. "Wait right here. I'll have one the doctors come out and
talk to you."

She nodded, leaning against the desk, letting the feeling of the edge of it digging into her side
ground her, keep her rooted. They hadn't given any details over the phone, but if he was getting
the doctor right away, that couldn't be good.

Never mind that it didn't make sense that they would call her in the first place. Never mind that
they had been broken up for almost six months now, that they hadn't spoken since Clarke asked
her to leave, that even the exchange of stuff that they'd left at each other's apartments had been
done through a neutral third party... if Anya could be called neutral. She'd tried to be neutral,
claimed she was Switzerland, but the truth was that Lexa was pretty sure that she was equally
angry at both of them.

A woman in a white coat and blue scrubs came out, smiled, introduced herself but her name was
forgotten as soon as Lexa heard it because all she could think about, all she could focus on, was
the fact that she was being asked to follow the doctor to another room, a quiet room away from the
other patients and family members, and she'd seen enough medical dramas to know that nothing
good happened in those rooms. Good news was not delivered in isolation.

"Ms. Woods," the doctor said. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Lexa sat. It was two-thirty in the morning and she'd had less than two hours sleep. She was in no
shape to argue.

"As you were told, Ms. Griffin –"

"Clarke."
"Clarke was in an accident. A car accident. It was serious, and her condition is critical. We've
been monitoring her, hoping that things would improve, but... they're not. She needs surgery, and
we really can't wait any longer. Unfortunately, shortly after being brought in she lost
consciousness, and hasn't come around again, so she can't give consent."

"What—why are you telling me this?" Lexa asked. "What am I supposed to do?"

"We—" The doctor frowned. "You're listed as the emergency contact in Ms.—in Clarke's phone.
We assumed..."

"She's my ex," Lexa said. "She must never have changed it. She—we—I shouldn't be the one
making decisions for her. That's—you should call her mother. Her mother's a doctor. She can give
a much more informed consent than I ever could, and she has the right to. I don't."

"Okay," the doctor said, and left. She didn't tell Lexa to wait, but she didn't tell her she could go,
either, so she just stayed, and waited, and hoped.

But the doctor was back a few minutes later. "We couldn't reach her," she said, "and when we
reached out to the hospital where she works, thinking they might have another number for her,
they said that she was out of the country. Doctors Without Borders. Even if we could reach her..."
She shook her head. "It might be too late."

Lexa squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. "Where's the paperwork?" she asked. "I'll
sign."

Lexa felt Clarke's finger trace lightly over her skin, down at the small of her back, forming loops
and lines that seemed too deliberate to just be idle movements. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Signing," Clarke said.

"Signing?"

"My name," Clarke told her. "My autograph."

"Why are you autographing me?" Lexa asked.

"Because I just finished."

"Finished...?" Lexa cracked an eye open and saw that Clarke was grinning at her. Sometimes she
made absolutely no sense, but that was part of her charm, wasn't it? She was chaos to Lexa's
order, light to her darkness, everything that she wasn't and wished she could be more of. They
balanced each other out, complete opposites who also managed to somehow be exactly alike in
many of the ways that mattered.

"I was imagining you as a painting," Clarke said. "Or... imagining painting on you, really. Your
body as a canvas. The forests of your eyes, the ocean of your heart, the galaxies stretched along
your spine..."

"Do it," Lexa said.

Clarke's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Is it permanent?"

"No, of course not," Clarke said. "I'm not a tattoo artist."

"Then do it," Lexa said. "Make me a work of art."

"You already are," Clarke said. "You're a masterpiece."

"Then make me yours."

But she was already that, too.

"We were able to get in touch with your—with Ms. Griffin's mother," one of the nurses told her.
She wasn't in the ER anymore. Now she was in the waiting room on the surgical floor, where
Clarke had been taken behind doors where she wasn't allowed to follow, and she hadn't even seen
her before they'd taken her, had no idea what she looked like, how bad the damage was. She
hadn't asked a lot of questions and they hadn't offered a lot of answers. They were treating her like
next-of-kin for now, because they didn't know what else to do with her, but it was awkward
because she'd told them, they knew, that she wasn't actually anything to Clarke anymore.

"Oh," Lexa said. "Good. That's good."

"She'll be on the next flight home," the nurse continued, "but that's still going to take a while. She
also..." The nurse frowned. "She also had someone from her hospital send us over some
paperwork. Clarke's medical documents, advanced directives, that kind of thing."

"That's good," Lexa said again. "I'm sure... that's all very helpful."

"Ms. Woods, the person named in the paperwork to make Ms. Griffin's medical decisions for her,
in the event that she is unable to make them for herself, isn't her mother."

Lexa blinked, said nothing because she wasn't sure what she was supposed say.

"It's you."

"You're drunk," Lexa told Clarke. "And not in your right mind."

"I'm left-handed," Clarke said. "I'm always in my right mind!" She grinned, twined herself around
Lexa, kissed her under the wreath dangling from the streetlight because she had decided that all
holiday greenery was mistletoe. "It makes sense."

"You barely know me," Lexa said.

"I know you," Clarke sang. "You know me. We're a happy—"

Lexa kissed her to shut her up, tasted the wine on her tongue still, and they were both tipsy, but
not so drunk that she could actually blame this conversation entirely on alcohol. "Your mother's a
doctor."

"Exactly," Clarke said. "Exactly. Which means she doesn't know when to give up. She wants to
save people, no matter what. She would want to do every experimental procedure, exhaust every
possible option before she would ever even consider—"

"And you think I wouldn't?" Lexa asked. "You think I would just—" Her voice cut off, choking
on the words. "Maybe you don't know me at all." She started walking again, too fast on the slick
pavement, and she skidded and stumbled and went down.

Clarke hurried over, crouched beside her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Lexa said, but she wasn't fine. Years of martial arts training had taught her how to fall,
so physically she was just a little banged up, but mentally, emotionally...

"You're crying," Clarke said. "Lexa..."

"You're talking about... about your death, about dying, about me letting you die like it's nothing.
Like it's just a game to you, a dinnertime conversation topic and not, not, not..."

"Shh," Clarke said, pulling her up and settling her back on her feet, then wrapping around her
again. "Okay," she said. "Okay."

She'd done it. She'd actually done it. Without telling Lexa, she'd gone and made that decision for
both of them, and she wanted to hate her for it, for putting her in this position, for tying Lexa to
her life, literally to her life, even now, after she'd tossed her out of it.

She put her head in her hands, digging the heels into her eyes until she saw stars.

"I'll give you a minute," the nurse said.

Lexa nodded. She needed more than a minute, and maybe she would get it, because they hadn't
been sure how long the surgery would take, hopefully not too long, they'd said. They would keep
her posted. They didn't give her the odds; she didn't ask for them. They seemed confident, though,
that when they opened her up...

... opened her up, god, god, how was this happening?...

... they didn't expect to find any surprises and that they would be able to repair the damage.

But what if they couldn't? What if...?

She shouldn't be the one making these decisions. She shouldn't be the one with this power. As
soon as Abby got here, they would sort everything out, put things back the way they were meant
to be, and Lexa could be gone again without Clarke ever knowing she was here in the first place.

It was what she would want.

"All of this?" The artist looked at her dubiously. "That's going to take a lot of time, and..."

A lot of money, he wasn't saying.

Money wasn't the problem. She had money, because she had a job that paid well. Never mind the
cost.

And time? She had nothing but time, if you didn't count the ten to twelve hours a day that she
spent at work. But after that... it wasn't like she had a social life. It wasn't like she had friends.
She'd given that all up to focus on her career. Or, maybe more accurately, her focus on her career
had made all of that give up on her. She didn't blame them.

And she didn't sleep anymore, so she had plenty of time.

"Not all of it," Lexa said. "That's just the inspiration."

"Okay," he said, sounding relieved. "Give me some time to do some sketching, and we'll see if we
can figure out something you like."
"Sure," she said. "Take your time."

"She's out of surgery," the nurse said, a different one from before. "You can see her now."

"Oh," Lexa said. "I—"

But the nurse was already walking away like she just assumed that Lexa would follow. So Lexa
followed... and froze in the doorway when she saw Clarke laying there, hooked up to machines
and monitors, her head bandaged, one arm – her right arm, thank god – in a cast, and she couldn't
even see what might be hidden under the blankets.

A doctor – maybe a resident, or an intern, Lexa wasn't sure but she looked young – smiled at her.
"The surgery went really well," she said. "When we got in there, it wasn't as bad as it looked on
the scans. She should make a full recovery."

Lexa nodded, her eyes still on Clarke, only the person in the bed wasn't, couldn't be Clarke. The
person in the bed was just some battered old ragdoll that looked a lot like her.

"It might take some time for her to come out of the anesthesia, and when she does, she's likely to
be disoriented. People tend to say strange things when they're in that state, so... just be mindful,"
the doctor said. "Page the nurses if you need anything."

And then they were gone, and Lexa was alone with this shell of the girl who she had loved, and
lost.

She sat down in the chair next to the bed on Clarke's left side so she could touch her hand, stroke
her fingers, mindful of the IV that threaded into her arm. "Damn it," she whispered. "Damn it,
Clarke. Why?"

"Are you sure?" Clarke asked. "Are you really, really sure?"

"I'm sure," Lexa said. "There's no way to actually identify that it's me, for one, and for another, it
doesn't actually show anything scandalous. It's just my back."

"But you can tell that you're naked."

"Under the sheet," Lexa said. "It doesn't show my face."

"I just want to make sure..."

"I appreciate that," Lexa said. "But I'm sure."

"Okay," Clarke said. "Lay down."

"Lay down."

Lexa did, grateful that the tattoo artist turned his back because she had to take her shirt off to do
this, and he waited until she said it was okay to turn around again. She felt something cold on her
back as he cleaned the skin and then shaved it, and she tried not to twitch or fidget. She closed her
eyes as the stencil was laid on and then peeled away, and kept them closed as he picked up the
gun.

"This is going to hurt," he said.

"I know."

She wanted it to. She needed it to.

"I deserve it."

The nurse came in to check on Clarke, who hadn't moved. Maybe her time sense was skewed, but
it seemed like she should be waking up by now... and from the look on the nurse's face, she wasn't
wrong. But she smiled anyway, patted Lexa's shoulder and squeezed it. "Sometimes it takes a little
longer," she said. "She's been through a lot today."

"I know," Lexa said, even though she really didn't. "Thank you."

"Of course. Let us know if you need anything." One more squeeze, and she was gone.

Lexa picked up Clarke's hand, leaned in to press her lips against it. "Come on," she said. "Wake
up. As soon as you wake up, I'll go. I promise."

Your promises don't mean shit, Clarke told her, but of course it was only in her head.

But that didn't make her wrong.

She went a week later, actually take the lunch break that she usually worked through to go down
to the gallery to see the piece that she'd (allegedly) promised to go to the opening for. The piece
that had been so important that missing its debut was enough to make Clarke decide to end it, at
the opening that had fallen on their one year anniversary.

She stepped inside, a bell tinkling to signal her presence, and a young woman came out from
behind one of the panels and smiled at her. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm just looking," Lexa said.

"Of course," she said. "If I can help you with anything, just let me know."

"Thanks." The hard soles of her shoes clicked on the floor, echoing through the space, and she
was the only one here at this time of day. She glanced at each canvas, not even knowing what she
as looking for but confident that she would know which piece was Clarke's when she saw it. She
knew her style, knew her...

... knew her.

Or thought she did.

Had known her, now, she guessed.

Past tense.

She turned a corner, not realizing the space had more than one room, and stopped dead, because
there it was. Larger than life, a galaxy swirled across an expanse of skin, pinpricks of light and
swirls of color in the darkness, the girl on whose back rode a piece of the universe wrapped in a
white sheet, curled into herself, her face hidden by one arm as she swept her hair aside.

This is why Clarke had asked if she was sure.

She searched the walls for others, but this was the only one, the only piece of her that hung on
display for the world to see.

"How much?" she asked the girl, who had appeared at her side.

"It's not for a sale," she said.

"Isn't that the whole point of these things?" Lexa asked.

The girl smiled. "I should say, it's no longer for sale."

"Someone bought it?"

She shook her head. "It was for sale the night of the opening, but the next day the artist came in
and said that she was no longer interested in selling it."

"Why?"

"We didn't ask," the girl said. "She seemed... upset. We were disappointed, of course, because we
do get a commission and we'd had several offers, but..." She shrugged. "It's her choice to make."

"Thank you," Lexa said, stepping back outside and pulling her phone from her pocket. She tapped
on the screen, bringing up Clarke's number... and then stopped herself. If Clarke wanted to talk to
her, she would reach out. Until then, it was better to give her her space.

Lexa jerked awake at the buzzing of her phone, blinking at the screen as she tried to figure out
where she was, why it was going off... and then she saw Clarke in the bed, eyes still closed, head
still bandaged, arm still in a cast...

It hadn't been a dream after all. She was really here. This was really happening.

It was her boss. She'd only been asleep for fifteen minutes. She should have been at work hours
ago.

But she couldn't. She needed to be here. She was the one responsible for Clarke, and she had to
be here. At least until Clarke woke up and told her that she was fine without her, thank you, and
she could fuck off and stay fucked off.

Shouldn't she be awake by now? Maybe she had been, and gone back to sleep. But if that was the
case, wouldn't she have woken Lexa up? Wouldn't the doctors, or nurses, or someone have
woken her up?

She was breathing on her own. That was a good sign, at least, right? Her heart was beating, the
jagged spikes of it in a constant scrawl across one of the monitors.

"Come on, love," she said, the word falling from her lips like she'd never stopped saying it, sweet
on her tongue until she remembered she had no right to it, and then it turned sour. "If you're doing
this just to spite me..."

It was meant to be a joke but it wasn't funny. None of this was funny. Not even a little bit.

"Do you hate me so much that you're refusing to wake up because I'm here? Because I'll go,
Clarke, as soon as I know you're okay. Okay? Just wake up, just open your eyes, and I'll go."

Nothing. Not a flicker.

She collapsed back into her chair.

"Five more minutes," she said. "Okay? But only five."

"Clarke, I have to get up."

"No."

Lexa could hear the pout in her voice; she didn't need to look to know that her eyebrows would be
scrunched down, her lower lip jutted out. It was adorable and infuriating... but mostly adorable.

"I have to."

"It's Saturday."

"I know. It's only for a few hours."

"That's what you said last Saturday," Clarke said. "And the Saturday before that. And then I
wouldn't see you until dinnertime, and sometimes not even then."

"I know," Lexa said. "It's sucks. But I have to do it."

"No," Clarke said. "You don't. They're taking advantage of you. Using you because they know
that they can. But you're giving them that power over you."

"I need this job," Lexa said.

"No, you don't," Clarke repeated. "You can find another job. A job that actually respects the fact
that their employees' time is valuable, not just while they're on the clock, but when they're not as
well. Somewhere that recognized that all work and no play makes Lexa a dull girl, and Clarke a
cranky girlfriend."

Lexa squirmed around until she was facing Clarke. "I promised I would do this," she said. "Next
weekend... next weekend is ours. Okay? Next weekend I won't work. We'll go somewhere. Or
we'll stay right here. Whatever you want. Okay? But today I have to go."

"Swear it," Clarke said.

"I swear," Lexa said.

"On what."

"On my honor."

Clarke wrinkled her nose.

"On my love for you, and you know that's more important than anything."

The hint of a smile that had been forming faded. "Is it?"

"Five more minutes," Lexa said. "But only five."

She ended up ten minutes late to work, but Clarke had been smiling when she left, so she
considered it worth it.
She watched as the doctors performed some sort of neuro exam, checking to make sure that
Clarke's reflexes were intact. They drew blood, looked at all of the monitors, whispered to each
other, finally turned to her with grim smiles.

"Everything seems normal," they said, "but we're just going to take her for a scan, just to rule out
any kind of head injury."

"Shouldn't you have done that last night?" Lexa asked. Although it wasn't really last night, was it?
It was this morning, this same morning that she was still stuck in, this morning that had lasted for a
month already, or at least it felt like it.

"We did," one of them said. "We're just going to check again, just to be on the safe side."

Which meant this wasn't normal. Which meant that something was wrong.

"Can I come with you?" she asked.

"We'll take good care of her," one of the younger doctors said. He looked too young to be a
doctor, barely older than she and Clarke were. "Why don't you go get something to eat? It will
probably be about an hour."

"Right. Yeah. Okay."

She watched as they switched Clarke to portable monitors for some things, unhooked her from
others, and wheeled her out, bed and all. She sat there in the empty room, almost threw her phone
against the wall when it started buzzing again, but finally answered it because she would have to
eventually or it would never stop.

"Where the hell are you?"

"The hospital," Lexa said.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm at the hospital," she repeated.

"What the hell are you doing at the hospital?"

Lexa blinked. Was this really happening? She'd just told her boss that she was at the hospital, and
sure, one could argue that being at the hospital was different than being in the hospital,
semantically, but given the amount of editing that she had to do before any memo from that man
could go out, she doubted he could actually parse the difference.

And instead of asking if she was okay, he was demanding to know what the hell she was doing
there.

"A... a friend of mine was in an accident," she said. "She had to have surgery. She still hasn't
woken up."

"If she's not awake, then there's no need for you to be there, is there?" he asked. "We have a
deadline, Ms. Woods, and the client doesn't care what you've got going in your life, they expect
the deadline to be met, and so do I."

"I can't come in today," Lexa said. "I need to be here."

"If you don't come in..." He let the sentence hang, the implied threat dangling between them.
"You'll fire me?" she asked. "Is that where that's going? Because if that's the case, you don't need
to bother. I quit."

"You can't—" he started, but she didn't wait to hear the rest of it. She just hung up, and turned her
phone off completely.

She might regret it in the morning. Hell, she might regret it in five minutes. But if he couldn't
understand the need to take a personal day when the person she loved more than anyone else in
the world was in a... no one was using the word coma, not yet, but what other word was there?...
then he could go fuck himself. They could all go fuck themselves.

She would find another job. It wouldn't even be hard; she'd had other companies contact her with
offers that she had (probably stupidly) refused, thinking that the devil that she knew was better
than having to start over and prove herself all over again.

But right now... right now Clarke was her job. At least until Abby showed up and they figured
this out.

"I love you," she whispered, stroking back the hair from Clarke's temple. She was asleep and
couldn't hear, which was why Lexa could actually say the words. "I love you so much. So much it
scares me. So much..."

Clarke shifted as Lexa settled into the bed, home way too late from a work party she'd had no
interest in attending and no way to get out of. She murmured something, then rolled onto her side.
Lexa fitted herself against her back, but a second later Clarke shifted again, pushing against her
until she moved, until they'd both rolled over onto their opposite sides and Clarke was spooned
against her back. Given that Lexa was taller, it made more sense for her to be the big spoon, but
no, Clarke insisted... apparently even in her sleep.

Except the kisses pressed to the nape of her neck and along the back of her shoulder told her that
maybe Clarke wasn't as asleep as she'd thought after all... and her heart skipped a beat at the
possibility that she'd been awake this whole time sunk in.

Clarke's hand slid down her belly, fingers burrowing under the elastic of her pajamas bottoms and
down, sliding between her legs and Lexa's hips pressed back into Clarke's as she felt her body
respond, felt all of the tension she'd been carrying melt away as she surrendered, let Clarke have
as much of her as she desired, all of her...

"I love you too," Clarke breathed into her ear as pleasure crashed through her like a wave, rocking
both of them with the intensity of its release. "Always, in all ways."

"Oh sweetheart."

Lexa looked up at the sound of a voice that was both familiar and foreign, looked away from the
pattern of the blanket that she'd been staring at for she wasn't sure how long, watching the rise and
fall of it over Clarke's body. They'd come and checked her bandages, checked her monitors,
checked and rechecked everything. Nothing was bad, but nothing was better, either.

Abby. She was standing on the other side of the bed, her hands resting on the rail, and maybe
she'd been there for a while and Lexa just hadn't noticed, had just assumed it was one of the
nurses or doctors. But now Abby was looking at her, sadness and understanding in her eyes, and
she didn't want it, didn't want her pity or anything else from her, didn't even really want to be in
the same room with her because she knew she didn't belong here, and who knew what Clarke had
told her about how things ended, but even if she'd only told the truth (and it wasn't really her style
to make things up) it was damning enough.

"How are you?" Abby asked.

"She's asleep," Lexa said. "I guess. Or... maybe not asleep."

"I already talked to the doctors," Abby said. "I got all of the reports. I'm asking you."

"Oh." Lexa blinked.

Abby around the end of the bed, and before Lexa knew what was happening, she'd pulled her up
and into a hug, and she was holding her tight. "It's good to see you."

"Not like this," Lexa said. "Not..."

"No," Abby agreed. "Not like this." She let Lexa go and she immediately sat back down, her legs
feeling too weak to hold her up even though she'd been sitting all day. "Is there anything I can do
for you? Anything that you need?"

Lexa looked at Clarke, trying to figure out why Abby was so concerned about her when her
daughter was right there, in a hospital bed, unconscious. She said that she'd talked to the doctors,
and she assumed that they'd given her the full report, everything there was to know, which she
wasn't sure that they were actually giving her, but of course she had no way of knowing for sure.

"I was listed as her emergency contact in her phone," she said, an explanation or an apology. "She
never changed it. I don't know who we need to talk to to get the paperwork sorted out, to fix it,
but I guess it's good you sent it so I could sign off on the surgery. Right?" Even though she'd
signed off on the surgery before they'd had the paperwork.

But they'd said that the damage hadn't been as bad as they expected. Had the surgery really been
necessary? They'd said it was, but maybe Clarke could have healed on her own without it, despite
what they'd initially told her. Was it her fault that Clarke was somewhere they couldn't reach her
right now? She reached out and took her hand, stroked the back with the ball of her thumb,
resisted the urge to beg her to wake up again, and again, and again.

"Yes, it's good," Abby said. "But sweetie, there's nothing to sort out. Clarke's paperwork was in
order, exactly the way she wanted it to be."

"But... we broke up," Lexa said, not understanding. "After we broke up..."

"I had a copy of the documents," Abby said. "She wanted to make sure that I wasn't blindsided
when she made the decision to give you medical power of attorney, and we talked it over, and we
agreed. After... not immediately after, but when it became clear that this wasn't something that you
were going to work out in a few days or weeks, I did ask her about it. She said that even though
you weren't together anymore, she wanted to leave it the way it was. She still trusted you to be
able to be pragmatic, if it came down to it."

Pragmatic. Which in this case was basically just a euphemism for cold, unfeeling. Uncaring. If it
came down to making a decision as to whether or not to pull the plug, end her life, she didn't trust
her mother not to be too attached to let her go. But Lexa... she thought Lexa wouldn't have that
same problem."

"Oh sweetie," Abby said, pulling up a chair next to her and taking her other hand, the one that
wasn't holding Clarke's. "It's not like that." She reached out to touch Lexa's chin, to turn her face
and force her to meet her eyes. "She knew, even when things didn't work out, that you still cared
about her. Still loved her. If she was in a situation where she couldn't make decisions for herself,
she believed that you would make the best ones possible for her. And if worst came to worst, she
was sure that you would know when it was time to let go. She couldn't explain how, or why, she
just said that you would know."

Lexa's eyes filled with tears, and they spilled down her cheeks and she didn't have a free hand to
wipe them away, and when Abby touched her cheek to do it for her, it only made the tears flow
faster.
"It's okay," Abby whispered, pulling her in again, awkward now that they were both sitting. "Shh,
Lexa, shh. It's okay. It's going to be okay."

"Stop worrying!" Clarke chided, but she was smiling. "She's going to love you."

"She won't," Lexa said. "Parents don't love me."

"She'll love you because I love you," Clarke assured her. "You know I love you, right?"

"I know," Lexa said, glancing over at her, then back to the road. She swallowed, hating that it was
so hard for her to say the words even though she felt them, even though she tried to show it with
gestures large and small, to pour it into every touch, every kiss that they shared. "I—"

"I know," Clarke said, reaching out to squeeze her knee, keeping the moment from getting
awkward. "That's our exit."

A few more turns and they were in the driveway of Clarke's childhood home, where her mother
still lived. Lexa pulled up next to the only other car and they got out, stretching their legs and
grabbing their bags from the back. Lexa lagged behind Clarke, not hiding (exactly) as the door
opened, and a second later Clarke was pulled into a hug.

"Hi Mom," she said. "Do you mind if we, y'know, come in?"

"Of course!" The woman's eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled and stepped aside so they
could come in and set down their things. "You must be Lexa," she said. "I've heard so much
about you. I'm Abby."

"It's nice to meet you," Lexa replied, and there was a moment where neither of them knew what to
do because Abby went in for a hug and Lexa extended her hand for a shake, and Clarke laughed
at them both and saved them by offering to give Lexa a tour.

When they were safely in Clarke's room, Lexa flopped back on the bed. "This was a bad idea,"
she said.

"This was a great idea," Clarke replied, collapsing beside her and then rolling half on top of her.
She pressed the tip of one finger between Lexa's brows, smoothing away the lines that formed
there. "Just relax. Be yourself."

Lexa raised an eyebrow.

"Be the person that you are when you're with me," Clarke said. "That's the best version of you."

"How do you know?" Lexa asked. "That's the only version of me you've met." Which wasn't
exactly true, because Clarke had seen who she was when she was in a group of people a few
times, but usually it was at least people that she knew.

"Anya told me," Clarke said.

"Anya's a snitch," Lexa replied.

"That doesn't make her wrong."

"No," Lexa admitted. "I guess it doesn't."

"Why don't you go home and try to get some rest?" Abby suggested. "I'll call you if there's any
change."

Lexa didn't move.

"I promise," Abby said. "I know how much she means to you."

Means. Not meant. Not past tense.

"At least go home and grab a shower, change your clothes. It will make you feel a thousand times
better."

"It doesn't matter how I feel," Lexa said. "Clarke..."

"Clarke wouldn't want you to use her as a means to punish yourself," Abby said. "I'm sure you've
done plenty of that in the last several months."

Lexa opened her mouth, then closed it, because how could she respond to that? She couldn't say
that Abby was wrong, because she wasn't.

What she didn't understand, though, was that Lexa deserved it.

"Go on," Abby said. "Just for a little while. I'll be right here with her."

Lexa's shoulders slumped, and finally she nodded. She pushed herself up out of the chair, hanging
on to the railing of Clarke's bed, and leaned in to press a kiss to her temple, just to the side of the
bandage. "Don't go anywhere," she whispered. "I'll be right back."

"Don't move," Clarke said.

There was nothing in the world that made it harder to stay still than being told not to move.
Especially when you had no idea why you were being told not to move. Was there some kind of
bug crawling up her arm? A giant spider dangling from the ceiling just above her head?

Clarke was out of her chair and back again within a few seconds, sketchbook in hand, and Lexa's
insides unclenched. She tapped the screen of her tablet to scroll to the next page, but otherwise
tried to stay as still as possible while Clarke captured whatever moment had struck her.

"Do I get to see?" she asked.

"When I'm done," Clarke said.

"With the sketch, or with the finished painting?"

"The sketch won't do you justice," Clarke said.

"The painting might not be done for weeks."

"Then you'll just have to stick around long enough to see it, won't you?" She was smiling, teasing,
like she knew there was no chance that Lexa was going anywhere.

"Can I move now?" Lexa asked.

"Why?"

"Because I really need to kiss you."

When Lexa got back, Abby was exactly where she'd left her. She seemed to be alternating
between watching Clarke and scrolling through something on her tablet, and it sent a pang
through Lexa to see her attention divided, given everything... but for her to say anything would be
the pot calling the kettle black.

Instead she went over to the bed and very, very carefully, lifted Clarke's casted arm, just a little,
and leaned in to press her lips to it, leaving behind a lipstick kiss in the shade of red that Clarke
had never let her leave the house wearing – not because she was being controlling, but because
every time Lexa put it on and tried to leave the house, Clarke would intercept her, and suddenly
she would find herself pinned against the nearest surface, all plans of going anywhere any time
soon forgotten.

She stroked her fingertips lightly, then set her arm back down and went around to the other side of
the bed.

"What...?" Abby started, as Lexa left the same mark on the bandage on Clarke's head. "Oh."

"Shit!"

Lexa looked up from the file she'd been looking at, trying to sift through the mess that the intern
before her had left behind. "What's wrong?"

"Your knives are sharp!" Clarke said.

"Knives are supposed to be sharp," Lexa replied, but she put aside the papers and went into the
kitchen (if you could call it that, really...) to see what had happened. Clarke had her right hand
wrapped tightly around her left index finger. "Let me see."

Clarke slowly loosened her grip, and as soon as she did, blood began to well up from a cut in the
side of her finger. She closed her fingers again before it could start flowing everywhere.

"Okay," Lexa said, checking the stove to make sure none of the lights were on. "It's okay." She
led Clarke to the bathroom and sat her down on the lid of the toilet, rifling through the half-
unpacked box on the floor until she found the first aid supplies. She checked the cut again,
determined that it was bleeding a lot but wasn't deep enough to require stitches, and cleaned and
bandaged it as quickly and painlessly as possible. "There," she said, Clarke's hand still cradled
between her own. "You'll be all right."

"Kiss it," Clarke said.

"What?"

"To make it all better. Kiss it."

Lexa looked at her, saw the barely suppressed smile and the laughter in her eyes, and bent her
head to press her lips gently to the bandage. "There," she said again. "All better."

"Thank you," Clarke said. "Now kiss me."

And Lexa did that, too, kissed her lips, and her cheeks and ears and neck, and then she took her to
her bedroom and kissed every part of her that Clarke would allow (the backs of her knees were
off-limits – too ticklish, apparently) until she was sure that Clarke had forgotten any pain she was
in.

"I promised I would make you dinner," Clarke said after, her voice muffled against Lexa's throat.
"To celebrate your new place."

Lexa laughed, kissed her again. "I'll let you make the phone call for delivery."

"How much did she tell you?" Lexa asked as she sat back down, scooting her chair over so that
she could keep hold of Clarke's hand and see Abby at the same time. Not that she could bring
herself to look her in the eye.

Abby smiled, but it was a sad smile. "She told me that she still loved you," she said, "and that she
knew that you still loved her, too. The timing just wasn't right. She told me that your lives had you
on different paths, and maybe someday those paths would cross again and it would be the right
time."

Lexa nodded, blinking back tears. She had only put on the lipstick; she hadn't bothered with
mascara because she would have just ended up with it smearing her face, and she didn't really
want to end up looking like a raccoon.

"She told me that she hoped that they would," Abby added.

"But not like this."

"No," Abby said. "Not like this."

Lexa didn't know what else to say. She could try to explain it all to Abby, try to make her
understand, but it wasn't Clarke's mother that she owed an explanation to.

No. Not an explanation. An apology.

Because that was what had broken them. It wasn't the long hours Lexa worked. It wasn't even the
missed dates.

It was that she always tried to explain, and never once apologized.

"You could have called. You could have at least texted to say you weren't coming, instead of just
—"

"You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have forgotten, and when I realized that I did, I should have
called and let you know. I didn't mean to hurt you, but I know that I did, and I'm sorry. I won't let
it happen again."

"I won't let it happen again," Lexa repeated, this time out loud, barely more than a whisper. "I'm
sorry, Clarke. Just... wake up. Please. I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. This is our paths
crossing again. This is our 'maybe someday'. Please."

Abby got up and went to the other side of the bed, lowered the bedrail. "Come here," she said.
Lexa looked up, eyes blurry with tears, and frowned. "Why?"

"Just come here," Abby said. "Take off your shoes."

Lexa did as she was told, still not understanding. But then Abby patted the space on the bed
beside Clarke, which really wasn't big enough, but if they rolled Clarke, just a little, she could
make herself fit.

One of the nurses passed by and stopped. "What are— ma'am, you can't do that," she said to
Lexa, and then to Abby, "She can't do that."

"Doctors orders," Abby said.

"You're not her doctor," the nurse said.

"No, but I'm a doctor, and her mother, and you've all done everything you can to mend the
wounds from the accident, but that's not all there is. You worry about the lacerations and the
broken bones. That's your job. It's my job to do everything I can to heal the rest."

"What else...?

"A broken heart," Abby said. "Two broken hearts."

"I'm going to have to check this with the doctor," the nurse said.

"You do that," Abby said, then turned back to Lexa. "It's all right, sweetie." She settled the
blanket over both of them, and Lexa fitted Clarke's body against hers, her lips brushing the back
of her neck lightly as she whispered, over and over again, "I love you. I'm sorry. I love you."

She never found out what the doctor had to say, because she fell asleep, but only became aware of
it when she woke up to someone pushing back against her.

"Who said you got to be big spoon?" Clarke grumbled.

Lexa tried to answer, but the only thing that came out was a sob, and she knew she couldn't hug
Clarke too tight, so she was left with her fingers clenching in the sheets as she fought the urge.
"Just... just this once," she finally managed. "Okay? Just this once."

"Okay," Clarke said. She turned her head to look at her, but must have caught a glimpse of her
cast in the process. "You remembered," she said.

"Of course I remembered," Lexa said. "I've replayed every moment so many times..."

"The good ones too, I hope," Clarke said. "Not just the bad ones?"

"Not just the bad ones," Lexa said, "but it's hard to say which hurt worse."

"It doesn't need to hurt anymore," Clarke said. "We can make it not hurt."

Lexa blinked. "You're giving me another chance?"

Clarke nodded. "You only ever had to ask."

"I'm sorry," Lexa said as fresh tears flowed. "I'm sorry, Clarke. So sorry."

"Shh," Clarke said, shifting so that she was facing Lexa enough to press a finger to her lips. "I
know."
 "I love you."

"I know that too."

"I'm still going to say it."

"Okay."

"Every day."

"Okay."

"Every morning, and every night."

"Okay," Clarke said, with faintest of laughs. "But Lexa?"

"Yes?"

"I'd really rather you just kissed me."

When her lips met Clarke's it was everything that she remembered, and more. Everything else
melted away, and every one of Clarke's doctors and nurses, all of the interns and orderlies might
have been watching and she wouldn't know, and she wouldn't care. Because finally, finally she
could breathe again. Finally the empty space in her chest that she'd carried around, with all of its
jagged edges and half-formed scars, was filled, and overfilled, overflowed, and she was crying,
they were both crying, and the kiss tasted of salt and antiseptic but it didn't matter, she didn't care,
because this was right, and this was good, and this time, this time she swore, it was forever.

End Notes

Thank you to Dww for the prompt! I honestly loved writing this, as painful as it was.

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!