Hello everyone, sorry for the big delay! This chapter was a monster, although very fun and entertaining to write. I do hope you'll enjoy it, we're now pretty much halfway through this fic so hurray I guess? Anyhow, you're welcome to comment your thoughts below. Have a wonderful weekend.

P.S. I've written this chapter to The National's new album, Sleep Well Beast. You might wanna try Nobody else will be there or Guilty Party for the ending scenes, I find that they fit very well with the ambiance.

The last time she played TonDC, Clarke fought, lost, and cried for thirty-five minutes in the locker room afterwards.

It was a big game – lots of goals, lots of fighting at the boards, extreme effort on both sides, but it just wasn't their night, as it sure happens many times in the national league. Except that game needed to be won – it decided whether or not they'd lose the matchup and leave the playoffs. Clarke had told herself in between periods that she would do anything to make the next stops, then she stepped on the ice and gave two goals, and retreated to the bench during the final minutes to see her teammates play their guts off and lose.

Hockey is hard.

She knows it now, just like she knows she has to be better than the masked woman on the opposite side of the ice, and when she feels like the lesser player, she finds ways to win or conjures them out of thin air.

Hockey is a duel.

When star goalies make impossible saves, she has to match those saves. When Robin Eriksen pulls her glove out, she has to do to the same, but even better somehow. Clarke is stressed, and Clarke performs, no matter what – she knows the public is impatient, she knows they can love her for a time and boo her shamelessly the very next day. She has once given multiple goals on a bad night and gone through the sarcastic applause when she then made an easy save. She can be equally regarded as a goddess or as a joke, all of it depending on if she reads well the play or doesn't raise her glove high enough, or doesn't predict the incoming wraparound.

And amid cheers and boos, amid journalists asking question after question, Clarke loves her job and does it the best she can.

Therefore, on Monday morning, when she sees 'Shockwave' on the calendar, Clarke thinks of it as both a possible redemption and a stress factor (the latter probably not as emphasized as the first)

Practice is not as intense as she thought – Reeve probably wants to spare her the additional effort seeing as how she's already got to do a mental workout of some sort. She's instructed to work on her individual shifting and that gives her a front seat to watch the attack wave clinic hosted by the offensive coach (none other than former Polis captain Indra Forest). The defensive coach, Harper McIntyre, is also nearby to handle the d-liners' offensive feed.

"You've got a quarter of a second to make a choice, ladies, I hope you're aware of that. I see some of you, you look left, you think 'oh that's too bold', you look right and that's not good either, but then you've got the other guys coming at you and it's too late for that nice first pass", Harper explains blandly while gesturing towards the drawing on the strategy board. "And I can tell you that the lady you look at on the left, if she does her job right, she's supposed to be free and super happy to get that pass. Now I'm not targeting anyone… Hello, Langton."

She waves sarcastically at Charlie who sticks her tongue out in a butthurt manner. "I'm trying, coach, I swear!"

"You could show it to me, that'd be good."

Clarke chuckles in the back, knowing all too well that nobody can hear her.

"Alright, stand up everyone, it's drill time!" Indra shouts, smiling at the exasperation she just generated. "Reyes, Blake, you go ahead and give me a nice first pass. Blue jerseys, you're blocking, yellow jerseys, you're carrying it up. Griffin can goal as well but it's all in the play this time, no matter the outcome."

Clarke stands up just in time for the first drive. Raven chooses to skate up to the line where she meets a rival player and gets rid of the puck in a backwards pass towards Lexa who then brings it forward effortlessly, supported by her two usual wingers.

Indra claps twice to stop the play. "Alright, good, simple one, that's what we want. Kudos to Reyes, I'm sure you guys saw this calm decision making, and how she wasn't scared to skate to the middle which is interesting and bold. Other than that, we've got the perfect scenario – three girls here, one two three, punchline right there. So, when Clarke sees this, she knows it can go either way, it's shots from anywhere she has to cover, makes her job harder."

Clarke silently articulates 'thanks a lot' when her gaze finds Lexa's, and the two share a teasing smile.

"Another one! Call loudly, move around, be confident! Let's go, ladies!" Harper instructs, whistling the beginning of the play.

This time, Raven shoots it across the ice where it ricochets on the board and serves Lexa who then glides at medium speed to evaluate her options. There's an opening right between the defense and the wingers – Lexa uses it intelligently with a quick diagonal pass towards Lauren Briggs who already has her stick up for the one timer.

Clarke gives a half push and leans on her post as she sees the puck fly past her shoulder – she knows it doesn't count and it's all in good fun, yet she can't help but think it might be bad luck for tonight.

"Great job girls! Reyes, Woods, I like that passing game", Indra informs, generating smiles from the two players. "Now, moving on to puck work and high shots, I want you girls in line. It'll be pretty simple, one player will be moving around with the puck, the other will settle for a one timer. I want quick passes, back and forth, until you shoot and make sure to keep that knee down."

It's light work, but it still serves a purpose and Clarke takes a moment to appreciate the direct ferocity held in each of Lexa's one timers, how her whole body assists the motion to provide full power, how she drops on a knee almost graciously, almost like she's aiming a gun, puck acting as the bullet and piercing through the air with, it appears, a similar velocity.

She only catches four of the ten top corners, and blocks about seventy percent of the five-holes – a poor performance, and it makes her grind her teeth until she's back to the locker room and throws her stick by the bench in evident frustration.

"Boy oh boy, what did I do to you today, Griffin?" Lexa asks as an introduction, dropping next to her even if her stall is way further in the opposite corner.

"Nothing yet", Clarke chants, words loaded with sarcasm.

"That's good news. Hey, do you know what, I'm buying myself a new place nearby!" Lexa exclaims, quickly changing subject.

"Oh", is Clarke's only response, for all she can see at the moment are various replays of her worst save attempts, showcasing exaggeratedly awful glove-placing and ridiculous shifting.

"The excitement is palpable", Lexa replies, cautiously directing her gaze towards the wall at the far end of the room.

That sets Clarke's mind back on track as she jolts upward a tad, as one would do when waking from an eventful dream. "I meant as in 'oh, that's nice!' And very nice, actually!"

Obviously, Lexa moving closer to the arena would mean Lexa moving closer to Clarke, but she doesn't think about such things.

(Except she does.)

"So then, that'd be better, wouldn't it? No need to drive for an hour and a half, no need to wake up at six in the morning, no need to shower here…"

That makes Clarke's heart skip a beat, which is bad not only because it's pretty dangerous but because it also means she hasn't completely forgotten the shower incident, which needs no retelling but since this is an omniscient narrator one would think it'd deserve to be explained and, in the process, extremely detailed.

As such, it'd be interesting to add that Clarke rarely bathes in the team shower and that the one time she did, it was to realize after twenty minutes - she takes long showers, and that's a first detail - that everybody else had left except Lexa, and that aforementioned Lexa was very naked and very there.

Then, and in these otherwise paradisiac conditions, began a game of silence and of Clarke's desperate attempts at controlling her thoughts and where they wandered, and making sure they didn't go into dangerous territories such as 'what does showering-Lexa look like?', and that is, of course, just an example.

The main component of the event consists of Clarke dropping her soap and for said soap to immediately vanish out of her reach, somewhere beyond the boundaries of her peripheric vision (which was of course limited because let us mention again that Lexa was naked and somewhere in the room).

"Lexa", Clarke said, almost calm but nevertheless flushing from head to toe.

"Yes, hi", replied Lexa, a tiny version of the irreverent captain she usually portrays.

And Clarke peeked at the space between her own legs, in a desperate search for the goddamn soap, and not only saw a foot but also saw a leg attached to it, all of it far in the distance but still there in the same room and that made her retreat so fast she almost got dizzy. "Uh… So I dropped my soap."

"Okay…-" Lexa began, but was interrupted immediately.

"And I can't see it on my side."

She heard a slight shuffle which could be attributed to Lexa taking a few steps back and searching around. "Can't see it either."

"Well, it must be somewhere on the floor."

Eternally witty, Lexa replied without missing a beat: "And here I thought it'd be glued to the ceiling."

"Ha."

"Seriously, Griffin, it can't be far. Make an effort."

"I… Why don't you search for it?"

"Well, it's not my soap."

Clarke just expelled a deep sigh, muscles sore with exhaustion and desperately asking to be cleaned and rested. "It doesn't matter! Besides, I think I heard it slide, it must be closer to you."

"Assuming it's closer to me, Griffin."

"I don't fucking care if-" Clarke began, but was cut right away.

"Assuming it's closer to me. It being closer does not make it mine. Therefore, you are still entitled to that soap."

"Are you making fun of me, by any chance?" Clarke yelped, only half entertained.

"I'm not! I'm just saying you have the soap priority."

"What's that, now?" the goalie challenged, bemused.

"Just turn around and look for the bloody thing!" Lexa replied, almost pissed now.

"It's the arena's soap anyhow! Not mine! I didn't ask for that soap, I didn't buy it, it doesn't even have the characteristics I search for in a soap…"

"What, do you shop for soaps, now?" Lexa asks, in a state of amused shock.

"Yes! Well, no! Not particularly, no!" Clarke struggles, slowly piecing her thoughts back together.

"Then for the love of god, just search for it yourself!"

Clarke has the reflex of turning around, but immediately represses that reflex and just stands in a blatant state of confusion. "Why can't you do it?"

Lexa takes a shivering breath. "Uh, nothing comes to mind other than 'I don't want to'."

"Liar."

"Turn around, Griffin."

"You turn around."

Clarke could hear Lexa pacing in her own corner, though probably still facing the wall. "What is this playground bullshit anyway?"

"It won't be the first time you see me naked", Clarke simply declared, though feeling the sense of uneasiness as it spread through her spinal cord.

"The room was never as bright as this."

Lexa's voice was strange, came from a part of herself she usually keeps hidden from the public eye.

Clarke just took in a gulp of humid air. "We are both adults, I believe we can do this."

"In a normal context? Don't think so."

"What do you mean, a normal context?"

"Like, with no sexual intercourse", Lexa offered almost childishly.

"I have heard one single person refer to sex as 'sexual intercourse' and this person not only was sixty years old but was also my sex ed teacher. Something is definitely wrong with you."

Lexa kept silent for a moment. "Alright, I'm turning around."

"Is it done?" Clarke asked after four or five seconds.

"Not yet", Lexa bit back, slightly irritated.

Another five seconds went by. "Is it done, now?" Clarke went.

"No it is not, Clarke, I have not done it. Geez, I feel like we're talking about some criminal deed."

"You seem stressed", Clarke simply observed.

"Yeah, and why would I be stressed? I don't know, maybe because you're forcing me to commit voyeurism."

Clarke smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Alright, don't do it, then."

"No, it's fine, but you go ahead and deal with the consequences."

"Oh, the consequences?" Clarke crossed her arms, challenging yet aware that Lexa couldn't see her.

"Yes, the consequences."

"Which will be…?"

"Don't make me go down that path."

"Oh, but we've already gone down that path many times, Lexa. In fact, I do believe it's become a highly frequented highway."

"Well I'm not going on that highway!"

Clarke scoffed, thinking of how Lexa used to bring up her one-night stands with that little smirk of hers, and went into details about her pickup lines that inevitably charmed women. And it was funny, seeing Lexa struggle and walk on thin ice around her now, like it was interesting to hold the strings and play with this woman who used to be a hunter and a firebolt with eyes who sent shards of glass with every glance and forced people into submission with ridiculous ease.

"Lexa if you don't do it in ten seconds, you might as well-"

"Not helping with the pressure, Griffin!" Lexa chanted with the animosity of despair.

Clarke breathed in as much air as she could gather in her lungs. "Alexandria Woods, I will only say this once - get yourself a fucking towel!"

"Yes, ma'am", Lexa quickly complied. "I'm walking along the wall at the moment."

"Well, walk faster."

"Alright, I'm making my way towards the towels."

"Thanks for walking me through the motions", Clarke snapped ironically.

She heard the rustling of tissue.

Lexa cleared her throat awkwardly. "You will now see the flash of an object to your side and that will be your towel. I'm not sure if the throw will be accurate or not."

"That is awfully specific, Lexa." Then, when she caught the towel mid-air: "Thanks."

There was a second of uncertainty, and then they turned around at once and faced each other.

Two things leaped at Clarke with searing clarity – the fact that Lexa was still dripping, and the fact that her arms were very, if not extremely tanned. Clarke of course knew this information (in theory) yet it appears it had vanished from her brain for the last half hour, reduced to a jumble of mixed memories with no real meaning.

She looked Lexa straight in the eyes, waiting for some sort of abandonment, maybe, or a type of laisser-aller that would resolve the tension except that tension stayed all too intact and soon they were watching each other's lips, each other's necks, and from there, everything down to the crease of their collarbones.

"There's the soap", Lexa mentioned blankly, not even caring to be frustrated for the soap was directly next to Clarke's stall, way within her reach and evidently overlooked during her first search.

Maybe Lexa understood that Clarke had almost wanted her to turn around that first time, and maybe that scared her.

No one will know.

And there goes the story, one that still makes Clarke, as was previously mentioned, skip a heartbeat.

Yet she can't help but think, what if Lexa had turned?

"No, don't give Woods the speaker, she'll put something old as fuck!"

Charlie's voice comes shooting from the second to last seat, with a desperate move towards the blue Bose as it's changing hands until it reaches Lexa's, who's pulling off her music expert persona, the one that makes Clarke both exasperated and turned on.

"Let us see, shall we?" The captain slurs, quickly scrolling through her personal playlist in front of Lauren Briggs' concerned scrutiny. The latter barely has the time to open her mouth that the first notes of the Yardbird's Heart full of soul already resonate in the whole bus.

"Oh my god", mutters Jaime Hurd, slowly sliding into a crouching position until she completely disappears behind the back of the next bench.

"Relax, guys, let's do the 'ooooooh' part together", Clarke suggests, joyful (and secretly agreeing with the music choice).

"See, Clarke has some music taste", Lexa points out, and the way she shifts positions on the bench, all backwards snapback and baggy sweatpants and rolled up sleeves, it almost makes Clarke forget the arrogance displayed and the teasing tone, makes her want to believe that Lexa's giving her a compliment at least, in a way, and that means a lot considering Lexa is still the player people never want to face on the forecheck yet sometimes she kisses Clarke so softly and chuckles in her neck and calls her 'babygirl' when nobody's there, and that makes it oh so different suddenly.

"Some music taste?" Clarke replies tartly, but she's unable to retain her smile, in a way that it still appears and can still be read on her face, however small and subtle.

"Yes, we could say that based on the hidden attachment you have for 80's disco", Lexa starts, drawing imaginary circles in the air.

"I do have a weakness for Earth, Wind and Fire, but that does not make me lesser than you!" Clarke rants, growing more impatient by the second.

Lexa has a look of calm confidence when she gives her a half smile, and shrugs. "Well then, let's put you to the test."

"Oh, we'll test the both of us", Clarke counters, gathering shouts of enthusiasm from the rest of the girls surrounding them.

And that makes for a hard-fought duel of music knowledge, one that almost lasts the remaining two hours of the drive to TonDC.

"I'm gonna ask Clarke to name five Led Zeppelin obscure songs", Jaime instructs, ready to jot down the answers in the note section of her phone.

"Easy", Clarke brags coolly. "All my love, Custard Pie, The Rain Song, Royal Orleans, Ozone Baby."

"Impressive, Griffin… Yeah, I'll give it to you", Lexa smirks.

Clarke just scoffs. "Give it to me?"

"Yes, give it to you. The Rain Song is not an obscure song."

"It is."

"Not", Lexa smiles, in an effort to make it all the more infuriating.

"I bet you couldn't even sing along to it, that's how obscure it is", Clarke observes, still calm (miraculously).

"It is the springtime of my loving, the second season I am to know, you are the sunlight in my growing, so little warmth I've felt before", Lexa immediately intones, and not only is her voice pretty nice but Clarke almost has to flee her glance with the sheer intensity it holds.

Luckily, Jaime goes on with another question which helps alleviate Clarke of the answer she had to produce (and was clearly unable to). "How many studio albums did Radiohead make? Name them all for a bonus point."

The game lasts another whole thirty minutes or so, and Clarke wins by a point (to Lexa's immense annoyance) when she gets the sudden death question right - a 'finish the lyric' that she does say a bit faster than Lexa but mainly just yells twice as loud (which probably influences a bit the decision).

Later at open workout, and to add to Lexa's frustration, Clarke realizes she's put on a very revealing training camisole that seems to squeeze her breasts upwards and make them appear twice as big. The problem is she realizes it only after practice, which made her unaware of the teasing held in each of her actions surrounding Lexa.

It appears the captain did notice.

So much so that when Clarke hears a knock at the door that night, she isn't surprised to find Lexa in all her angry, predatory-eyed glory, jaw twitching like it does when she hates and likes Clarke at the same time, and both with embarrassingly strong passion. "You won. Happy, now?"

Clarke is still trying to figure out whether Lexa wants to punch her or kiss her, as each option appears as likely as the other, yet the tone of extreme annoyance makes her eyes jump straight to Lexa's, and boy does she look pissed. "Uh… Won what?"

"Oh, for god's sake, Clarke, you knew what you were doing", Lexa bites back, moving forward with a slowness that seems to spawn from the battle of restraint and self-discipline currently taking place inside her head.

"Well no, actually", Clarke replies, telling the truth but also entirely conscious of how insincere she must look for she doesn't even have the courtesy of wearing pants (or a bra, for that matter).

"Bullshit", hisses Lexa, still coming forward until she outright bumps against Clarke - who wants to stand her ground but is also melting with need, and barely recoils.

"What time is it?" Asks Clarke, just for the record because the truth is she couldn't care less.

"Nine thirty."

"Good."

Lexa motions behind them, with her eyes still on Clarke. "Close the door."

"Will do."

And that's all it takes.

The first kiss is a tempest - it starts with Lexa's hands digging under Clarke's shirt and grabbing a breast straight away, shamelessly, because that's what they've become, and then it's really just a game of eating Clarke's outrageous sighs before they resonate, and grunting agreement, and sharing breaths until they're falling on the couch with what soon becomes angry exhilaration.

It all changes when Clarke thinks, this looks normal, because it does look normal - she knows it, just like she knows how scary it looks as well – just them tangled together and smiling, and dropping the hate game immediately because Lexa is not that rough, she learned, and Lexa sometimes likes to kiss her body more than her lips and that means something entirely different, something she can't afford to think about.

Then, before she can even notice it, Lexa's cushioning her head with an arm so that she doesn't 'strain her neck' on the side of the couch, as she puts it. Clarke just rolls her eyes, and they look happy, and they look like they've done this often – which they did, don't get her wrong, but the idea is still strange and foreign.

They do it twice. The second time turns into lazy caresses that could be too intimate, yet neither of them want to say a word about the issue, probably knowing it'll turn into a fight in no time. Lexa falls asleep and snores like a truck driver, and Clarke smiles so hard, knowing that she is one of the lucky few to witness such a proud woman transform into a low maintenance teddy-bear. She strokes her hair and stops herself as soon as she realizes the nature of what she's doing. That'll be a secret, she swears silently in the dark.

She remembers jolting awake, a couple ten minutes after, to an alarmed Lexa jumping into her pants.

"First, you've got to wake me up", the center pesters, roaming the room trying to find her socks.

You were snoring way too loud, Clarke wants to say, but stops herself, knowing she might lose a limb. "I was tired", she says instead.

"Well me too, Griffin - so is everybody when lying on a comfortable surface in the middle of the night."

"What time?" Clarke yawns, holding herself up with an elbow.

"Eh, midnight and change", answers Lexa, still looking left and right despite having gathered all her clothes. "Alright, then. I'll, uh…" She points at the door awkwardly.

"Yeah, go ahead."

She likes to think it's her longing glance that makes Lexa walk back to her and kiss her again with an intensity that makes her blood stream go nuts - but she doesn't know anymore what she does or doesn't do, and how Lexa's brain works because she says something and does another all the time, so much so that it's getting tiring.

"Bye", the captain simply mutters, and struts out without another word.

Clarke not only sleeps on the couch that night (not because the smell of Lexa's perfume impregnated itself in the cushions) but mainly just stays awake in the darkness.

Oh, there's a big check here by Sam Harding, you can see she's put her whole shoulder into it.

Lexa grinds her teeth as she feels the shock of the board spread through her limbs, and makes sure to voice her frustration at the d-liner in between plays – she knows Harding to be a dirty player, and the fact that the check was completely legal makes it all the more frustrating.

"You're a big star, aren't you? Yeah, you're a big star." Harding teases as she's settling behind the faceoff circle.

"Brat", mumbles Lexa, on her way to the bench, knowing if she fights she'll get a 4 vs 4 against one of the fastest teams in the league.

They play a colorless game, truly – and Lexa would've loved to say otherwise, but she's also tired and numb with the many back to back games they've played lately, and she's sure Clarke is too because she's stretching a lot more than usual. From a distance, she looks like a child making snow angels on a sunny afternoon, but the reality is quite different, Lexa tells herself, and Clarke is a professional athlete, for God's sake – she must stop seeing her as this bubbly, inoffensive kitten yet for some reason there's a heat ignited in the back of her skull at the mere thought of touching her.

The game has been different for the past months.

And it says a lot for her to finally be able to confess it to herself. That before, hockey was fast, and hockey was hitting the puck, or the board, or other players, for that matter. It would be true to say that hockey was more like her, in a sense, because she was made of it and built by it, honed by it, driven by it.

Now if there's a break, she skates by the crease and smiles at Clarke. She's gotten weak, she knows it – curses herself for it regularly, in fact- for she's now driven by Clarke, at times. It's a weird feeling, one that's out of control and makes her giddy and out of breath whenever Clarke so much as skates nearby (even though she thought she had an impressive stamina).

She likes watching Clarke with her mask on, because it feels like she doesn't know her as much and somehow is confronted with a whole other person – one that's focused, and stone hard, and merciless, one that she still remembers holding in the night, and the contrast initiates an enthralling confusion.

"Yeah!" She shouts at Octavia for the pass, which turns bumpy but still tameable. She stops, dictates the play, revels in the control she exerts on the opposite defenders. They're putting forth a couple of new offensive techniques that she thinks shows the extent of the cohesion and solidity the team now gained as a whole.

She digs forward again, still dangling – she's barely looking at her left when she steers the puck away toward Octavia, but it turns out she miscalculated and the pass is cleared in front, to be recovered quickly by an enemy winger who springs forward with it.

Lexa just snaps momentarily, frustration pilling in the pit of her guts as she sees the three vs one unfold in front of her eyes.

All because of her.

Unacceptable mistake, dad would've said, and for once, she agrees almost too entirely.

With the way she's positioned, Lexa has trouble registering the then following sequence, but when she sees Clarke's movement slip awkwardly, she knows something is wrong.

First there's a collision.

Her vision blurs when a player rushes in front of her, and the next thing she sees is a bunch of players getting rowdy in what soon becomes a free for all beside the net. Then, she clicks.

She can't see Clarke.

Her skates seem to have developed a mind of themselves, because she doesn't remember skating up the ice, she just does, and when she gets to the net, it's to find Clarke spread on the ice - face down, unmoving.

Shit.

A truck hitting her would've probably produced a resembling effect as the one Lexa is currently experiencing - she feels blunt, flinching, as her eyes turn into dark orbs and automatically find Sam Harding, who's currently talking with a ref.

And she then knows what happened – sees the hit happen again in front of her very eyes, so much so that she has to close them and focus, and take a deep breath.

Shit. Shit. Fuck.

Clarke. It's like she suddenly sees the name flash like an advertisement sign in her brain, and from there, she's hurrying towards Langton, almost clinging to her in an effort to reduce the dizziness.

"What happened, what…?" She stutters, completely out of her otherwise stoic character (Charlie seems to notice, and it shows in the way her eyes enlarge just slightly).

"The post, I think", Charlie murmurs, like she can't even believe it, or accept it, or both.

"What?" Is all that gets strangled out of Lexa.

"Harding ran into her, and she fell on the post. She's like knocked out, or something. Fuck."

Even though she guessed what happened, hearing it from Charlie's lips makes Lexa see red. "I'm gonna kill her", she growls, leaping towards Harding as Octavia and Raven hold her back with great difficulty.

"Calm down", they utter, watching as specks of pure rage flash across Lexa's tensed up face until she straight up breaks free and makes a run for the enemy, yet Harding had been watching and studying, had been expecting the assault.

Lexa throws a fist and misses the hit.

As she blinks, an explosion of pain spreads all over her cheek, and she hits the ground with a thud.

Harding hammered her.

She only understands the extent of the situation when she recognizes the metallic taste of blood on her tongue.

"The fuck outta here, Woods", a voice resonates in her ears. She gets up despite the numbness of her jaw, and attempts at another charge, this time met with an equally powerful punch to the nose. Her hand shoots straight up to keep the blood from dripping, and her brain only registers the fall when her knee meets the ice to prevent another drop.

"Don't make me hit you again", Harding orders bluntly, whole body bending forward to reach Lexa at ground level – teasing, provoking.

"Try", Lexa challenges nevertheless, hereby showing the entire essence of her character- its imperishable strength, one that seems cocky at first, yet turns brave, almost foolish, as soon as loyalty is involved.

She barely has time to get up and settle her breathing – deafened, like a hunted animal's- that Raven's yanking her behind, whispering calming words as a group of teammates usher her towards the bench, and ensure her return to the locker-room.

There, the walls start spinning around her – both the result of her beating and the fact that she now sees Clarke everywhere, falling again and again with an injury that each time appears more critical. She sits down, head cradled between bloodied hands and it's only then that the guilt begins to wash over her like a crushing wave – back and forth, never to stop.

She is the one to blame for the turnover.

She threw the puck carelessly, recklessly, all of it to set her own goal like the fucking jackass that she is.

This has to stop, she thinks, meaning that she'll have to change at last, and for the better, meaning that she's not only attached to Griffin but feels the scorching need to protect her, and the only way to achieve that is to become trustworthy.

"No, of course I know that…! I swear, it's not that big of a deal-"

Clarke brushes a stray lock out of her face, and readjusts her pillow frustratingly.

"… And sweetie I know that's your job, and you're okay with the risks involved, and I am too, believe me, it's just that… I just feel so far away when my little girl is injured."

Clarke can't help the sigh that escapes her lips, and the slight twinge in her gut. The truth whips her in the face hardheartedly – it's been six months since she's last seen her mom.

"Hey, I'm alright, don't get all sad on me now… It'll be fine, mom." She hears herself blurt, but the truth is she knows she's absent, always, and she knows how much her mom must miss her.

She rarely talks to her, these days, because she makes her think of family, and family makes her think of her dad. She can't afford to think of her dad – not during the season, that is, because it can sometimes leave her teared apart for a whole afternoon, or a sleepless night, even, and she can't let her team down like that.

"Have some rest, drink water, and get somebody to check on you every hour when you sleep-"

"I know, I'll call Octavia later this afternoon, see if she can come for a while", Clarke promises, rubbing at her forehead absent-mindedly.

She feels stupid, and unlucky, and weak.

She could've stayed in her crease, and controlled her movements. She could've avoided the collision, she knows it.

But she didn't.

One little slide to the left. One little mistake that turned big, and messed it all up -ruined her season, no, the team's season. She resists the urge to cry and let it all out. She has to stay strong.

"You know I'd come if I could."

She hears the restraint in Abby's voice, restraint that shows her how messed up they're getting, how time is speeding off around them and that makes her feel guilty. Of what? She doesn't know, couldn't pinpoint with exactitude, yet it has this abominable effect of constriction in her stomach and this smell of failure – a paradox, really, since she's the most successful goalie in the league. If only all the fans knew how small she looks in a bed, unable to serve herself a goddamn glass of water or even turn the tv on.

"I know", she articulates the best she can despite the ship casting anchor in her throat.

"I love you, sweetie. I'm proud of you, always."

She waits for the inevitable 'dad would be proud of you too'. It doesn't come, for the first time in a month. Maybe (surely) because the last time she heard it, Clarke freaked out, and sobbed, and yelled, and Abby then knew that this era had ended, that she had breached a wall that needed to stay put.

"Thanks, mom", Clarke says, and makes it a closure, for the phone is already distancing from her ear.

"Have a good afternoon, now-"

She hangs up, almost against her will. She knows how rough she acts, but she is just so tired, and she's failed her teammates, failed them all, destroyed the season they built with hope, tears, blood. She tries to imagine Lexa's frustration after seeing the injury, but has trouble with both bearing the ruthlessness of it and remembering anything beside the hit of metal on her helmet and the world extinguished in an instant, like a tv screen going black after the wire gets pulled.

"Hey O, um, just wanted to see if you're home. I called in the morning but you didn't pick up, so I thought maybe you were sleeping in, despite how unlikely that would be… Anyways, call me back whenever."

She hangs up and feels a wave of relief wash over when she sees a text light up her phone.

Popcorn murderer 12:34 A.M.

Rise and fucking shine, you little unstoppable you

Muffin the Griffin 12:35 A.M.

I acknowledge your attempt at cheering me up

Popcorn murderer 12:35 A.M.

I'm guessing it worked

Muffin the Griffin 12:35 A.M.

Minimally

Popcorn murderer 12:36 A.M.

Now get a hold of that attitude, we're doing well out here. The backup showed up this morning, and she's better than you!

Muffin the Griffin 12:36 A.M.

Ha. Ha.

Popcorn murderer 12:37 A.M.

Jokes aside, I can't come today, Lincoln's got it in him to go minigolfing and believe me, I can't say no again or he might cry.

Muffin the Griffin 12:37 A.M.

Fuck, does that mean I'm getting Charlie as a caretaker? You know she can't even feed a goldfish without killing it.

Popcorn murderer 12:38 A.M.

Relax, Woods will be there in a few minutes.

Clarke almost coughs on her own spit.

Muffin the Griffin 12:38 A.M.

Woods?

Popcorn murderer 12:39 A.M.

Uh-huh

Muffin the Griffin 12:40 A.M.

Wish me luck, then.

Popcorn murderer 12:40 A.M.

Why so?

Muffin the Griffin 12:41 A.M.

You know why. She must've turned into bloody Hulk.

Popcorn murderer 12:42 A.M.

Erh… A very smol, very anxious kind of Hulk then.

Muffin the Griffin 12:42 A.M.

What do you mean? What's she like?

Popcorn murderer 12:43 A.M.

Well let's say she asks a lot of those 'what's she like' herself, except she's talking about you, and she has that kind of aggressive death stare that makes us pee our pants, and when we say we don't know, she just grumbles nonsense and goes back to her same old cold-blooded self. Well, no, not the same cold-blooded self, because, I kid you not, she's broken three sticks today shooting bullets at the poor backup. She says she wants to 'test the kid'. I, for myself, think she's trying to kill her to force you back into health. You'd have to pay me to tell her it doesn't work like that.

Clarke frowns at the colorful picture just painted by Octavia – picture that does seems like Lexa, but still clashes with the solid person that shows up to the arena everyday and checks people onto boards for a living.

Muffin the Griffin 12:45 A.M.

Alright then, ttyl

Popcorn murderer 12:45 A.M.

Get some rest while I annihilate Lincoln with that legendary golf game o'mine.

Muffin the Griffin 12:46 A.M.

Don't make him cry

Popcorn murderer 12:46 A.M.

Can't promise that

Clarke smiles and leans back on the cushion, a thought going to Lincoln and hoping he won't get depressed.

She's thinking of the silent treatment he might inflict on Octavia when she hears the apartment door open and outright yelps in surprise.

"Griffin?" a voice calls from the kitchen.

"What the fuck?" she answers, and is startled again when Lexa suddenly appears at the door, waving awkwardly.

She's still got her aviators on, coupled with a Mets snapback that makes her look like a celebrity trying to go unnoticed in an airport. And frankly, she's incredibly hot (not that it needs to be said aloud).

"Hi", says Lexa. Then, pointing at a drug store bag. "I brought candy, is that okay?"

"Always", Clarke answers.

"Sorry for the entrance. Octavia gave me her spare key."

First she drops the bag on the bed, then she's wandering around the room like she's at home, getting rid of her shoes and opening the tv in once swift wrist movement, only to discard the remote – and her cap – by throwing them on the bed cushions nearby.

Clarke is not shocked by such familiarity (even though she should). She sees Lexa roam the space, almost too real, too tangible, she notices the smirk lighting her lips when she finds a sitcom channel. "What do you wanna watch?" The center asks, eyes still glued to the screen.

"Dunno… But I can tell you all about my day", Clarke tries with the grin of an eight-year-old child.

Lexa's smirk turns into an endearing half smile. "Yeah, do that for me."

"So, I had an awesome morning, I opened the curtains all by myself, then I had a breakfast slash snack, then I went to the bathroom and got a bit sick so I sat on the floor and looked at the ceiling for a while."

Lexa has that look of not-quite-hidden-concern, and Clarke is fairly certain, as she observes the intricacies of her face, that there might be a buried, concealed part of Lexa that wants to kiss her forehead and pet her hair, and tell her everything'll be alright. But then, it might just be her dizziness speaking.

"Do you want a glass of water or something?" Lexa offers, already getting up to fetch said glass of water.

"Nah, it's fine..." Clarke replies but halts her words for Lexa is already coming back from the kitchen with a bottle of water and a Tylenol container. "Well, alright then…"

"Might help if you have a headache", Lexa shrugs, setting the gathered objects on the nightstand.

Clarke has a second of hesitation she attributes to complete bewilderment – it always makes her fuzzy and stunned when Lexa acts this way with her, acts like she cares.

"Uh-huh. Thanks. I mean, thank you very much for that, I do appreciate it."

"I like it when you stutter like that", Lexa declares absent-mindedly as she pulls out gigantic bunny slippers that she then proceeds to put on.

Clarke can't help but gape in awe. "Bunny slippers? Really?"

"Yeah, I do like furry animals", Lexa mumbles, taking the right spot of the bed and carefully arranging her limbs on the bed so as not to bother Clarke or invade her personal space – yet at that very moment, Clarke brusquely scootches to the left and unashamedly, confidently, spreads her limbs like the messy sleeper she is, and lets out a generously loud groan as she stretches.

Their knees and feet are now touching.

They both try to remain cool about it, but Lexa's skin is burning at every point of contact and it's distracting, to say the least.

"So you'll agree with me if I tell you I wanna watch anything Disney, right?" Clarke tries, earning herself a nice eyeroll.

"Eh…" Lexa starts, wincing slightly. "Why not some horror flick?"

"Oh! God, no." Clarke reacts rather strongly, shielding her face in protection. "Face it, you just want me to be super scared so you can protect me, is that it?"

Lexa's hesitation says it all. "No", she violently denies, blowing a raspberry at Clarke's scoff of disbelief. "Griffin", she adds, fairly frustrated when Clarke does not stop laughing.

"And then you'll be all courageous like 'let me take care of it, ma'am, with my (at that, Clarke barely controls another burst of laughter) bunny slippers-"

Lexa jumps to her feet and grabs the first Disney movie she finds. "Here. Now shut the fuck up."

"Got the angry walk down, Lex. And dare I say, you look even more menacing with these-"

"I swear, if you say bunny slippers one more time, I'll-" Lexa starts, pointing a finger dauntingly.

"Oh, I know you, you sex freak, we'll just fuck on and on for three hours until you're so sore you can't even walk straight", Clarke just explains with disarming calm.

"Or maybe you'll be the one who can't walk straight", Lexa counters.

"Yeah! But maybe less because of your sex skills than, say, my concussion." Clarke ironizes tartly.

That manages to shut Lexa right up. She does open her mouth in search for an answer, but then closes it thereafter and just sets up the movie like an obedient pup.

"I appreciate your lack of complaint", Clarke teases, grinning as Lexa mimics her by opening and closing her hand like a puppet to imitate her babbling, all while rolling her eyes once again.

"I'm guessing you don't realize how lucky you are that I'm letting you get away with this one", Lexa warns, but she's gotten so cozy and childish with her sweatpants and her slippers that it's now impossible to take her seriously.

"Oh, please. What's the movie?" Clarke asks, immediately moving on.

"Beauty and the beast."

"AWESOME."

"You are getting way too involved in this", Lexa grumbles like the party pooper she is, but then she sure enjoys the proximity once they start watching the movie and Clarke drifts in and out of sleep, occasionally commenting on her favorite scenes.

"Don't you think they looks a bit like us?" Clarke mumbles mid-movie, as Belle is seen teaching the Beast how to feed little birds in the backyard.

Lexa raises an eyebrow. "Seeing as how I'm not an eight feet tall animal living in a deserted castle and you're definitely not into literature, uh, no."

Clarke feels the urge to push her off the bed with that last comment. "You don't know that, though!"

"Whether I am or not an eight feet tall animal? I beg to differ."

Clarke chuckles even if she's slightly annoyed. "No, I mean as in maybe that's what we are inside. Like, I'm the one singing in the village with the folks while you're busy being dark and moody in your castle."

"I'm not dark and moody!" Lexa revolts, jolting backwards involuntarily.

"That is exactly proving my point."

"Would you just… Not, please?" the captain pleads, knowing she's backed in a corner.

Clarke starts laughing, and the more her laughter extinguishes, the more it seems she's falling entirely asleep. Lexa is exasperated at first, but then she sees the little smile still drawn on Clarke's lips – a child's smile, almost- and it makes her heart flutter as reality hits like a brick.

Clarke is the bubbly, joyful person that reached in and pulled Lexa out, and forced her to breathe better, to laugh more, to appreciate things.

She thinks of her dad, and her mom, and her sister, she thinks of how she grew twisted and torn, like a flower in between rocks, and she thinks of the closed, egocentric, obedient soldier she became over the years – an obsessive monster that lost sight of anything other than work. And when she realizes how much she wants to stroke Clarke's cheek, she understands that there's been a change.

But she can't think of it too much, else she'll panic and leave, and that would be a terrible thing to do. Instead, she slides under the covers and watches.

Watches, because she can't afford to sleep into this bed, into Clarke's bed – it would break rules (as if she's not already breaking any). She feels like she's already cheating herself on so many levels anyway.

"My head is fucking exploding", Clarke whispers, indicating that she wasn't in fact completely asleep. "I feel like my brain is trying to… to crawl out. Oh, my god… Oh, fuck."

Lexa wiggles closer, immediately reacting. She's had migraines before. She knows how panicking and grueling they feel. "Hey, it's alright. It's alright."

"I might barf on you, Lex, you shouldn't get close."

It doesn't bother Lexa at all. "Yeah, I know, it feels like it but you won't, trust me."

"Oh, make it stop. It's like there's a heavy metal song in my head and it won't just stop, it won't, why can't it stop?" Clarke whispers, her face contorting into a grimace of pain.

"Shhh, keep your eyes closed", Lexa advises. "Hey, Griffin." She puts both hands on her cheeks, strokes them gently. "I got you, don't worry about it. I'm gonna tell you something good, you just listen."

Clarke nods slowly, focusing on Lexa's voice as the captain proceeds to tell her stories of her favorite hockey legends, and stories of her childhood in the backyard skating rink, and how she always played until she couldn't feel her ears, so much so that it hurt like hell once they defrosted. "So I learned to skate after falling on my ass a hundred times – I swear I had the biggest bruise on my butt cheek… Didn't stop me though, 'cause dad had signed me up into this little neighborhood league, and I had to be ready so in a single week I went from clumsy duckling to insane war machine… I started slapping pucks but I was putting my whole weight into it so I fell every damn time – dad had to take me out of the league because we were getting competitive and I think he saw some kind of talent in me, so the next day we went to try for atom. I was pretty tall for my age, you know – but I was the softest kid you've ever seen-"

Clarke shakes her head from side to side, a smile creeping up as she voices her protest. "Nah. No way."

"I swear", Lexa chuckles, sending vapors of breath against Clarke's temple. "One game I got tripped by this little girl who was the terror of the league, so I went crying to dad after the game, and he had to actually take me aside and explain to me that I had to hit back, you know?"

With her eyes still closed, Clarke frowns. "Uh, how old were you again?"

"Nine. Why?"

There's a moment of silence during which it's hard to determine if Clarke is concerned or if she's trying to stomach the pain in her head. "I didn't know there was contact between little kids… That seems a bit rough, doesn't it?"

"There wasn't actually, I just had to make it look like it was an accident."

"What kind of psychopath were you?" Clarke asked, puzzled.

Lexa reacts in complete bewilderment, unable to understand the shock factor in such a situation. "I wasn't a psychopath", she articulates slowly in the dark-lit room.

"Didn't you say you were soft as fuck?" Clarke asks again.

There is absolutely no teasing in Clarke's tone, yet Lexa winces – she doesn't like to hear it from people, doesn't like to be reminded of how weak she used to be, because she's worked it out, now, she's gotten better, faster, stronger, she's become a hitter and she's proud of it, proud of how she stood under each of Sam Harding's hits, proud of how she would've swallowed the blood and fought on 'til unconsciousness, because that's what she does. "Yeah, so I had to work on it. All these small things, you just get better at them."

"Weren't you scared?"

"No", Lexa lies.

Yes. Yes, you were. You fucking were. You got hit, and you cried every damn time. Don't you blame him – he had to do something about it, else you'd still be a wimp, and you wouldn't've become a competitor.

"And what happened then?" Clarke urges her, clearly into the whole storytelling deal.

Lexa takes a deep breath, unsure if she should keep going. "Well, I went Bantam, and then I went Peewee. Then junior-major."

"Your dad must be proud", Clarke remarks.

"Eh, not so much. Not always, that is."

"Why not?"

"Many things", Lexa difficultly blurts, stepping into dangerous territory.

Clarke yawns involuntarily, covers it with her mouth. "I'd be if I were him. You're pretty much the youngest player to be that decorated, I'm sure."

"Yeah, but that doesn't really matter, does it?"

"What do you mean, that doesn't matter? It does matter. Stop kidding yourself."

Lexa blinks a couple of times, conscious that the distraught state she's in probably shows on every single square centimeter of her face. "I'm just caught in all sorts of bullshit. I'll never be a natural, you know."

"A natural? What does that even mean?"

"I had to learn all of it. I… I fell on my face and all my friends were better - they would've been better than me if they trained as much, I'm sure. I had the stick, but I just didn't have the guts for it. Sometimes I feel like I don't even have the guts anymore, Griffin, I go over and I talk to you, and… You've gotta know how fucking useless I actually am, I mean, I get stressed when there's cameras around and I'm just this super well-maintained joke, I don't… Sometimes I don't really know what's real and what's not, what's… What's been installed, and what was there, you know?"

As she realizes the extent of her confession, Lexa's sharp intake of breath resonates in the silence.

"Don't worry about it", Clarke calmly suggests. "People say things, and they don't know you. You've gotta see yourself as you are."

"What if I'm not sure of it?"

"Lexa, you know. Trust me, you know. If you were that person you show on the ice, I wouldn't let you hold me in my bed."

And Lexa barely resists the urge to kiss Clarke, kiss her soft, kiss her real. She's getting drowned in the bedsheets, disoriented by this whirlwind of emotions. In that instant, she'll remember thinking (knowing) that Clarke Griffin is the only person who can get her like that – with such brutal, disarming truth, like she's this long-lost childhood friend that she suddenly recognizes in the daylight, by the shape of her lips, by the intensity of her eyes.

They stay silent until the clouds turn the sky into a gray, stormy painting of rain and thunder.

"What's wrong with this, then?" Clarke murmurs, closing her eyes – as if for an instant, a small and indefinite one, she was just letting herself go, letting all of it go, letting themselves break rules and crack each other open. Through this voluntary mistake, Clarke has a doubt, a doubt that maybe they're getting so close to each other that their beings are merging and it's good, and it's reassuring - that maybe after all these months of hating each other they got caught into it and fell into it and melted the hostility, melted the anger, until it grew into a whole different shape.

"I think we might be buddies, now, Griffin", Lexa offers blatantly.

"My head stopped hurting", Clarke ignores the statement, rolling until she's facing the ceiling, panicking and breathing a bit faster like she's only then, only now realizing that they've been sharing a bed for hours on end and the sky is dark, outside, so much so that it looks like the night and she can't, they can't. Fuck.

"That's good", Lexa observes, holding her body off the mattress with an elbow.

"We're not buddies", Clarke coldly responds.

Lexa just snaps.

"Then what the fuck are we?"

She feels like she's losing control of her own self. "Explain", she orders, now getting unreasonably furious and messy.

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me", Clarke breathes, pulling Lexa over her so she straddles her, both pleading and livid with frustration.

Lexa bends over and kisses her like she's stealing her soul from her lips, kisses her different, sucks at the throbbing pulse of her neck and then descends, breathes her skin in through her nose, gets dizzy, keeps going, caresses her legs, the curve of her hips, grabs at her clothes desperately, recklessly, and that's when it gets completely out of hand. "I fucking hate you", she huffs onto trembling skin, then half licks half bites everything on her path as Clarke's head falls backwards, sinks into the pillow.

"Don't say anything", the blonde instructs again, knowing that if they talk, they'll mention the rules and not tonight, not tonight, not tonight.

Lexa nods.

She nods because she feels the same, except maybe a bit more scared, maybe a bit more lost. The way she embraces Clarke and falls apart with her, through her, holds an unspeakable lie. The way they tumble onto each other, the way Lexa has this delicacy every time she puts her hands on Clarke, the way she follows the skin and bones and muscles of her body like it's a rare artefact she has to remember perfectly before she dies, and how hopeless she knows this is, how hazardous, how sincere.

Lexa leaves in a hurry, doesn't spend the night, doesn't say goodbye, just takes her coat and leave her sunglasses on the table and by then it's eight, and she's left breathless on the street, in a zombie state as she sees Clarke again, with stunning clarity, and all through the drive back home – laughing, grinning, arching her back – and her eyes when she pleaded, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

She gives a sharp turn of the steering wheel and pulls the window down, opens the radio, throws her head repeatedly against the seat, again and again.

Why is it that things are so complicated, and why is it that she now knows that she's given Clarke these strings to pull on her heart, strings to heal her, strings to hurt her, strings that could almost make her jump off a cliff? Why is it that Lexa is still that same old fool, the one that fell into the bottomless pit of love with disgusting naivety, the one that wept for Costia and slept through days and nights searching for the will to get up and move on, and why is it that in so little time she's become lost in Clarke's blue eyes without being given the slightest chance to fight back?

That's it for now! I believe we've got our daily dose of angst, don't we? Don't worry, I promise there will be a happy ending but I won't lie, we're running into a patch of turbulence... All I'm asking is for you to be patient with me and trust the process! I won't let you down.