She sighed, convinced that all the outfit did was make her look like she was trying too hard to look like she was trying. After all, the first time Clarke had picked her up she hadd been wearing a full sweat-suit. Clarke Griffin, the ever focused athlete that she was, did not seem like she would judge Lexa for not having brought going-out clothes to Pyeongchang.

Lexa had come early, hoping a beer or two would be enough to take off the edge. She was remarkably early, even for someone raised with the gospel of the "on time is late" mindset. Unfortunately, her advanced arrival had done nothing to calm her nerves. Out of her element and feeling awkward, Lexa had been too shy to attempt to flag down a waiter. Sober and clearly out of place, she now felt more uncomfortable than she had when she had arrived.

The truth was that Pyeongchang was Lexa's first venture out of North America. She would never have admitted it, but before the games, the most exotic destination to which she hadd ever ventured was Detroit. Even with her small Korean phrasebook tucked into her back pocket, and a server whose command of English seemed to be more formal and eloquent than her own was, Lexa felt too embarrassed even to attempt to place an order. Instead, she hung by her table awkwardly and pretended to study the menu, waiting for Clarke to swoop in and save her.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. It was a rarity for Lexa to be this nervous about something as silly as a date. Then again, a date was itself something of a rarity for the star goalie. She had spent years jumping from one amateur team to another. The constant interruption of new destinations and months spent on the road, traveling between the mining towns and industrial cities that hosted the OHL franchises made little room for a social life.

Dating, in particular, was a hardship — places like Sudbury, Flint, and Sault Ste. Marie were by no means meccas of progressive social dynamics. Between her geographical isolation and her training schedule, Lexa found her cruising opportunities limited to the few trips her team made to larger cities, such as Windsor and Toronto. When she thought about it, it had been over a year since she had been on a proper date. Lexa gulped, realizing how rusty she probably was at making dinner conversation.

She groaned, checking her watch. The minute hand pointed ominously at a tick mark just to the left of 12. 6:58 pm, Lexa thought.  “It won't be long now.”

The front door opened, and through the sea of Korean business people occluding her view of the front entrance, Lexa spied a pair of shapely legs in high heeled boots. She smiled, relieved that Clarke had finally arrived.  When the crowd of suits parted, however, Raven Reyes' face greeted Lexa instead. Raven walked towards the table tensely, her face a mask of sober resolve.

"Raven, where is..."

"She isn't coming, Lexa."

"But..."

Raven held up her hand. "For the record, I encouraged her to tell you this in person, but she wouldn't listen." Raven took a deep breath, closing her eyes in frustration. "I didn't think it was right to leave you hanging."

Like clockwork, Lexa's phone buzzed in her pocket. She reached for it, fumbling as she typed in her password and opened the screen. She stared down at the text bubble that waited for her.

[You talked to my coach behind my back!]

The phone buzzed again, and another text bubble popped up under the first.

[How could you!]

Lexa shoved her phone back into her pocket, not daring to look when it bussed a third time. She withdrew her hand, suddenly aware that her fingers were trembling.

“Raven, I didn’t…”

“Woods…” Raven sighed, rolling her eyes upward in an exasperated look that conveyed she'd had had this conversation once already. “Look, I will ll never admit this to anyone but you, but you did the right thing. Honestly honest, you did me a favor. You spilling the bean to Kane let me off the hook as far as being the bad guy.”

Lexa mulled over the statement, her mind wandering back to seeing Raven in the Lobby with Kane.

“So you didn’t tell him?”

“No.”

“But, I saw you talking to him this morning. I thought I was backing you up!”

“I told him that if he wanted an honest appraisal of Clarke’s injury, you were the best person to ask.”

Lexa could hear her heart pounding in her ears as her blood pressure rose. “You set me up to be the bad guy!”

Raven’s jaw clenched, her arms crossing defensively over her torso. “I told Kane the truth, which is that Clarke wouldn’t talk to me about her knee, or show me the extent of the damage.”

“But, you knew she was hiding an injury! You could have said something!”

“And what would you suggest I have said, exactly? Coach, you need to bench my best friend right before she finally achieves her dream?.

Raven pressed her fingers into her temples and massaged them, fighting off a tension headache that was invading her head like a foreign army. She grabbed a beer off the tray of a passing waiter and gulped it brazenly. “Lexa, with all due respect, it makes way more sense for you to take the fall for this than me.”

Lexa felt her blood boiling, Her her raced, her blood pumping until it sounded like a bass drum beating in her ears.”

“Why!?”

At that, Raven looked genuinely startled. Her eyes widened, and she stared at Lexa quizzically, as though the girl had missed a joke that was obvious to everyone else.

“Lexa…” She stalled, biting her lip as she debated the most delicate way to articulate her thoughts.

“Clarke had been my best friend since we were teenagers.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. As much as it's nice to see her putting herself out there, you can’t think that this thing between you is going to last.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, knowing what she was about to say would be an emotional haymaker.

“In the grand scheme of things Lexa, you’re a blip on her radar.  When this is over, you’ll go back to your life and I’ll be the one helping Clarke to pick up the pieces of her’s. I can’t break her AND put her back together.” Raven looked down at the tablet top. “I’m sorry that you had to be a casualty of this, but…”

“How could you do that?”

She looked up again. The look in Lexa’s eyes was one of genuine hurt. It wasn’t something that Raven hadn’t expected.

“Lexa, I'm…”

Lexa untangled herself from the sheets, taking great care not to wake Clarke, who remained tucked into the brunette's chest, fast asleep.  She groped in the semi-dark for her shoes, slipping them on as she grabbed the coffee and snuck out of the room. The door had barely closed behind her before Raven pounced.

"You're sleeping over now?  Is there a U-Haul parked outside somewhere?"

Lexa gripped her coffee cup a little tighter, rattled by the girl's intensity and nowhere near awake enough to handle the third degree.

"What time is it?"

"Five AM, now answer my question."

"Clarke asked me to stay."

The corners of Raven's mouth rounded downward into a scowl, her eyes narrowing in disapproval.  "Did you manage to convince Clarke to get her leg looked at?"

Lexa sipped the coffee guiltily, trying to buy enough time to come up with a good excuse.

"No."

Raven rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the answer.  "Damn it, Woods, I was counting on you!" 

"I'm sorry."  Lexa fidgeted with her coffee cup, nervously wondering why she hadn't tried harder to talk sense into Clarke.  Then again, she thought, why hadn't Raven if it was so important?

"What about you? You could have stayed and helped me instead of just disappearing."

Raven scowled.  "I did not just disappear.  I went to find our coach, who was off screaming to the IOC about that sad-ass excuse for a referee.  Kane left right after the game ended; otherwise, he would have insisted on Clarke getting examined."  She glanced at the door, lowering her voice.  "Did you at least get a look at it?"

Lexa nodded.

"And?"

"Honestly?"  The goalie shuffled in place, rubbing her neck nervously.  "I mean, I'm not a doctor," she skirted the question, swallowing the guilt that welled up as she thought about the angry, purple bruising along Clarke's thigh.  "She said that if it didn't feel better this morning, she'd have it checked out by your trainers."

Frustrated, Raven ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the roots as she clenched her jaw tightly.  Lexa watched the muscles in her cheeks flex as she ground her teeth together, her irritation evident.  After a few moments of tense silence, Lexa cleared her throat, attempting to change the subject.

"Look, I don't know Clarke that well but..."

"That's right." The statement seemed to call Raven back from whatever had been on her mind. Her attention snapped to Lexa, completely focused on the goalie's features as she stared her down.  "You don't know her that well, but I do."  She let out a sharp breath, sipping more of her coffee as she surveyed the hallways to make sure they were still alone.

"Woods, listen to me.  I've known that girl since she was seventeen.  Clarke is my best friend."  

Raven ran a  hand over her tired face, massaging the slightly purple bags that had formed under her dark eyes.  "She's more than stubborn; she's downright unreasonable.  Winning gold means everything to her. She's not going to let anything get in the way of that, even if it means risking a permanent injury."

Raven's face softened.  "Do you know why it took Clarke more than a year to rehabilitate her knee?"

Lexa shook her head, waiting for the American goalie to illuminate her.

"It took her so long because she nearly re-injured it halfway through rehab.  She was pushing too hard, and she put a micro tear in the cadaver ligament she'd received."  Raven stared at her seriously.  "Look, if you're going to be sticking around, you've got to understand how intense Clarke is.  She doesn't know when to quit.  She'll work herself into her grave if you let her."

Lexa's face fell, her guilt growing as she realized how little she'd done to convince Clarke to get her leg appropriately treated.

"So," the American goaltender stared at her Canadian counterpart skeptically. "Are you?"

Lexa looked up, confused by Raven's question.  "Am I what?"

"Are you sticking around?"

Lexa bit her lip apprehensively, unsure how much she wanted to admit to Clarke's closest friend.

"I'd like to," she paused.  "If she'll let me."

Raven bowed her head, staring at her toes thoughtfully.  "Maybe she will,"  she looked up, her expression deadly serious.  "But, if you care about her you'll help her make the right decision, especially when she refuses to make it for herself."

-----

"Is it just me or is it cold in here?"

Clarke rolled her eyes at her father, smiling at his telltale smirk as he beamed down at her.  Warm yellow light from the afternoon sun spilled through the windows of the old rink, making Jake's face glow.

"Very funny, Dad."

"I'm just saying."  His eyes sparkle with mischief. "I remember this place being warmer when you were a kid."

He shoved his daughter with his elbow, smiling at her reverentially as he gave her the once-over.  "How ya been, Kid?"

Clarke shrugged.  "Tired."

"Of the game?"

"No," she shook her head.  "That's the one thing I never get tired of."

Clarke sighed and leaned into her father's side, burrowing herself into the old, flannel lined corduroy jacket that he was never without.  She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of old spice, bay rum, and stale tobacco that always seemed to cling to him.

"Still smoking?"

"I'll quit when I'm dead."

"Not funny." She frowned, surprised to find that a lump was forming at the back of her throat.  "I miss you," Clarke barely managed to eke out as she forced back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"I miss you too, Kid."  Jake wrapped one of his strong arms around her shoulders and pulled her tighter to him, gazing back at the rink as the shotgun crack of a slap shot broke the silence of the arena.

They stared down at the ice, watching as the puck sailed into the outstretched glove of a goalie.  Clarke watched at the goaltender curiously, recognizing the curly tendrils that peaked out from underneath her helmet.

"Who's the sieve?"

"I, um..."  Clarke fumbled for a way to explain Lexa's odd appearance in her dreamscape.  "Dad, what's she doing here?"

"You tell me, Kid." Jake smiled as he watched the masked figure discard the puck from her glove and crouch lower, readying herself for another shot.  "Never knew you had a thing for goalies."

Clarke felt the blood rush to her face, the blush spreading all the way across her cheeks to the tip of her ears.  "Dad!"

"What?"  He flashed a grin at her.  "You old man can't ask about your love life?"

Clarke blushed even harder, sure that by now, she had turned beet red.  "It's just," she paused thinking of all the conversations they'd never been able to have.  "I never got a chance to tell you..."

"That you're into brunettes?"

"Dad..." Clarke narrowed her eyes, imploring him to solemnity.  "Please, be serious."

Jake's face softened as he pulled her closer.  He stared down at her with a look the reflected nothing but pure, unconditional adoration.  "Kid, why didn't you just tell me?"

"I hadn't really figured it out yet."  Clarke sighed, burying herself farther into her father's side, thoroughly embarrassed.

Jake patted his daughter's shoulder reassuringly, thinking for a moment. "I always wondered why you never went through that boy-crazy phase your mother kept warning me was coming."

 "I thought I was just focused," she shrugged.  "Are you mad?"

There was a pause, and then to Clarke's surprise, a giant roar burst from Jake's lips.  "Kid..." His sides shook as deep belly laughter doubled him over, making his eyes water.  "My dream in life was that I’d never lose you to some loser boyfriend."  He wiped tears from his eyes, taking a moment to let his chuckling subside.  "I couldn't be happier."

It took a moment, but Jake finally managed regained his composure.  He winked at his daughter.  "So you like this girl?"

"I do," she nodded.

"Like, or like?"  He emphasized the last word, cocking one eyebrow.

Clarke avoided his gaze, feeling suddenly awkward.  She shuffled her feet nervously.  "I haven't known her very long.  I'm not sure yet.”

Jake's expression became wistful.  "You know," he paused, pondering something for a moment.  "I knew how I felt about your mother five seconds after I met her."  He nudged his daughter in the ribs, playfully.  "Some things, Clarke, you just know."

Clarke continued to stare at her shoes.  "You should see her play; she's so good."

"As good as you?"

Clarke's shoulders slumped, her face falling at the question.  "I'm not so sure about that these days."

"Hey..." She felt her father's fingers under her chin as he tiled her head up to look him in the eyes.  "Don't ever say that."

Clarke tried to look away, but her father held her gaze.  "I didn't teach you hockey because I loved the game.  I taught you hockey because from the moment you first put on skates I couldn't keep you off the ice.  You love to play, and you're great at it; the best."

Clarke finally looked up, acknowledging the honesty in her father's words.  She reached out a hand, squeezing her bad knee as it began to ache. "I'm not sure how long I've got left, Dad."

Jake nodded, his face solemn.  "None of us do, but you know what I always say."

"Find what you love and let it kill you."  They spoke the words at the same time, both smiling at the well-worn expression.

"Can you stay for a bit?"

Jake sighed, his eyes turning glassy.  "'Fraid not."

Clarke clenched her jaw tightly, refusing to let their last moment be a sad one.  She burrowed back into her father's side, wrapping her arms around his wiry frame as his arms encircled her one last time.

"I love you, Kid."

"I love you too, Dad."  Suddenly, the rink was dark.  The pressure of her father's strong, sturdy arms disappeared, and all Clarke could feel was a rush of cold air.  Then her eyes flickered, and she was awake, suddenly aware of a new set of arms wrapping themselves around her waist.

Lexa shifted behind her, pulling the blonde closer as she slid under the covers of the bed.  Clarke stretched a bit, turning herself so that they were facing one another.

"Hey."

"Hey," Lexa smiled apprehensively, clumsily rubbing at the back of her neck.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's ok."  Too tired to be concerned with the intimacy of the gesture, Clarke tucked herself closer into Lexa, leaning her head into the crook of the larger girl's arm.  "Where did you go?"  She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of deodorant and soap.

The goalie kissed the top of Clarke's head and ran a  hand through her disheveled locks, pushing stray blonde strands out of her face.  It was a tender gesture that, ordinarily, would have made Clarke anxious.  To the blonde's surprised, however, she found herself closing her eyes in contentment.

"That feels nice."

Lexa chuckled.  "Speaking of how things feel," she cringed, knowing that her attempt at a smooth transition had been clumsy at best. "How's the leg?"

Cautiously, Clarke began to move her ailing limb.  She stretched the leg, extending it nearly all the way before she winced at the tenderness.  "Well, I can move it at least.  She wiggled her toes, thankful to feel that she had full motion in all of them.  "No numbness or tingling in my foot."

The Canadian bit her lip, nervous to inquire any further.  "And the pain?"

Clarke attempted to bend the limb in the opposite direction, finding that it was much stiffer and more sore upon flexion.  "Well, it doesn't feel great."  She grimaced, "but, then again, it's felt worse."

"Can I take a look?"  Lexa tensed, bracing for Clarke to become defensive.  For a moment the smaller woman stiffened, but the tension in her small frame eased a second later, and Lexa felt her nod into her chest.

The brunette pushed her body upright, pulling back the covers just enough to expose Clarke's legs.  Slowly, she pushed the leg of Clarke's sweatpants up, careful not to jostle her limb as she moved.  Lexa recoiled at the sight of the angry purple bruising that seemed to have grown darker overnight.  

"Clarke," she hesitated, not wanting to upset the fierce girl tucked into her side.  "The bruising looks worse than it did last night."

Clarke nodded, surprisingly calm.  "That's normal.  She raised herself on her hands, chancing a glance at the leg.  Clarke frowned, growling in frustration as observed that the damage had not magically disappeared.  "That's just the blood losing oxygen as it raises to the surface of the injury."

"Wow," Lexa sounded genuinely impressed by her companion's savvy.  "Check you out, Dr. Griffin."

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, right."  She collapsed back against the pillows, groaning in discouragement.

"Clarke," Lexa hesitant, afraid to push the issue any further.  "You said you'd have your trainer look at your leg if it was still bothering you today."

"I know but..."  Clarke rolled closer, settling her weight against Lexa's body.  "Can we just lay here for a while? Please?"  She cuddled up against Lexa's side, sliding a hand underneath her t-shirt and trailing her fingers along sinew and rib.

Lexa shivered at Clarke's touch, her better judgment melting away as goosebumps formed along her skin.  "Yeah, sure.  We can lie here for a little longer."

Lexa shuffled down into the covers and slipped an arm over Clarke's waist, desperately trying not to grin like a fool.  She knew she should feel guilty for giving in so easily, but something about Clarke's touch, something about the way she said "please," tore at Lexa's resolve.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Clarke shook her head.  "I'm not sure I can sleep right now."  She continued to gently stroke Lexa's side with the blades of her fingers.  "Can you talk to me for a while?  Just until I fall back asleep?"

Lexa let her hand dip below Clark's sweatshirt.  She ran a flat palm over her spine and began to rub slow circles over the tense muscles of her back.  She felt almost giddy at the way Clarke' hummed into her chest, clearly enjoying herself.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Clarke breathed contentedly, thinking for a moment.  "I was pretty awful to you last night.  Why did you take care of me?"

Lexa considered how to answer the question, ultimately deciding that honestly was her best option.  She allowed herself a moment to gather the right words, and when the moment was over, stated simply, "Because, you matter to me."

"We just met though,"  Clarke peered up at her, her fingers stilling as she stared up inquisitively.  "How..." she hesitated, trying to understand how Lexa could be so sure about something in so little time.  "I mean, why?"

Unable to articulate her answer, Lexa shrugged.  "Some things you just know, I guess."

Clarke nearly froze at the brunette's words, the sound of them ringing in her ears as she remembered her dream.  Determined that it must be a coincidence, Clarke relaxed again, burying her face back into the crook of Lexa's arm.

"Well, thank you for staying."

"Of course."  Lexa leaned in, allowing her chin to rest on the top of the blonde's head.  She closed her eyes and continued to rub soothing circles up and down Clarke's back.  "What else do you want to talk about?"

Clarke thought for a moment, contemplating her options.  "Tell me about where you grew up."

Lexa laughed.  "It was called Rat Portage until 1905."

"Dare I ask why?"  Clarke laughed softly into the worn fabric of Lexa's t-shirt.

"I'm sure you can guess.  The goalie shifted her long frame, allowing Clarke to rest more of her weight on her.

"It's small, not as small as your hometown, but small enough.  In the summer, it's full of tourists and mosquitoes.  In the winter the only things to do are hole up in a bar and drink, or play hockey."

Lexa fought a grin, giggling to herself.  "Actually, there was one other thing to do in the winter."

She pinched Clarke's side playfully and earned a finger jab in return. "Very funny," Clarke murmured.  "I suppose that means you broke lots of hearts."

Lexa scoffed.  "Hardly.  There wasn't exactly a plethora of sapphically inclined girls at Beaver Brae Secondary School."

Clarke choked on a laugh. "That wasn't the name of your high school, was it?"

"It was, indeed.  Our mascot, somewhat incredibly, was the Bronco."

"Wait," Clarke raised one eyebrow.  "Your high school was named Beaver Brae, but your mascot was a horse?"

Lexa shrugged.  "It's Canada. We try to avoid redundancy by not doubling down on beaver themed everything."

"Anyway," the brunette smirked, tracing the edge of the dimple that appeared in Clarke's cheek each time she smiled.  "There were a few curious girls at a handful of parties, but I was hardly breaking anyones heart.  Most people didn't come out until after high school."

Clarke raised her eyebrows inquisitively.  "Was it hard being out where you grew up?"

Lexa's brow furrowed in thought, her mouth puckering to side as she considered the question.  "Maybe a little," she shrugged.  "I mean, Canadians don't care that much about gay stuff.  Mostly, Kenora was just small.  There weren't that many of us.  Not much point in being out if there isn't anyone to date."  Lexa ran the tip of her finger over the helix of Clarke's ear, eliciting a soft moan from the blonde. "People knew though.  Nobody gave me too hard a time."

Clarke continued to savor the feeling of Lexa's touch as the brunette's fingers moved from the top of her ear to the soft skin of her neck.  She closed her eyes, relishing the way it made her spine tingle.

"What about you?"

Clarke's eyelids fluttered open.  She stared at the olive-skinned girl whose fingers were now tracing the lines of her ribs. "What about me?"

"What were you like in high school?"

"Focused." Clarke rolled her eyes, thinking back to life in her tiny Minnesotan town.  "I had a boyfriend for about six months during my sophomore year, but he took too much time away from hockey.  "Plus," Clarke made a face remembering the hardships of making out when two sets of braces were involved.  "He wasn't a very good kisser, so I ended things."

Lexa tried not to laugh.  "Poor guy.  He must have been devastated."

"Perhaps, but I'm sure Brock Larson managed to move on."  

Lexa bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "You high school boyfriend's name was Brock?"

"Yes, it was." Clarke laughed at the memory fo her first boyfriend, a tall, skinny young man with sandy blonde hair who had been the object of every sixteen-year-old girl's affection.  "My friends thought I was crazy to break up with him," she smiled.  "He made boy's varsity as a freshman and was related to Dave Christian on his mother's side."

"Dave who?"  Lexa cocked her head to the side, lost as to about who Clarke was talking.

"Dave Christian?"  Clarke waited for Lexa to recognize the name. "The Lake Placid Olympics? Miracle on Ice?  NHL player?"

Lexa shrugged.

"He is one of the eight Olympic hockey players who've come from my town."

"Damn!" Lexa's eyes went wide "Are you guys running a breeding program?"

"We have an algorithm," Clarke deadpanned.  "Anyway, dad got sick right after I broke up with Brock.  After he died, I kept to myself and concentrated on hockey. I had to focus on getting a scholarship.  I didn't exactly have time for romance."

"So not much has changed?"  Lexa grinned mischievously, squeezing Clarke's hip.

"Very funny."  Clarke shifted her weight, settling into Lexa's chest. She laced her fingers into the brunette's hair and began running her hand through the mess of wavy curls.  "I almost had a girlfriend in college, but it didn't work out."

Lexa savored the feeling of Clarke's fingers as they massaged her scalp. "Why not?" 

 "It's complicated."  Clarke continued to work her fingers through the tangles in Lexa's hair.  "People knew I was bisexual at college, but not at home.  She wanted to date openly, and that was more than I could handle at the time."

"And now? "

Clarke sighed.  "I think people back home suspect, but they've stopped asking.  Besides, I've been so focused on the game for the last ten years that I've barely had time for myself, let alone anyone else."

"That sounds familiar."  Lexa pulled Clarke closer. She enjoyed the feeling of the warm body pressed against her and thought of the many long nights she’d spent on the road, curled up in bed alone in a dingy hotel room.  "It would be nice though."

"Hmm?"  Clarke's hand stilled.

"To have someone."  The goalie stroked the small of Clarke's back with the blade of her thumb, leaving goosebumps along her skin.

Clarke closed her eyes, imagining for a brief moment a life where obligations didn't bind her to team and county.  "It would be," she smiled sadly, "but I owe too much to my team to lose focus right now."

Lexa nodded, trying not to feel disappointed at Clarke's response.  "Well..."  She leaned in, kissing the top of Clarke's head absentmindedly.  "Maybe, one day, you and I will owe nothing more to our teams."

The blonde buried her face in the crook of Lexa's neck, inhaling the scent of her.  "I hope so."

For a while longer they lay there, bodies enmeshed, minds close to sleep but never quite there.  Finally, Clarke groaned, the ache in her leg getting the better of her.  She pushed herself up on her elbows wincing as she pulled back the covers.  "I think I better try to stretch this thing if I want to play on it again."

Lexa bolted upright at the statement, utterly confused.  "I thought you said you were going to get it looked at?”

Clarke swung her legs over the far side of the bed, cautiously testing the amount of weight the injured limb could support.  She stood up, wincing a little as she transferred a bit of her balance onto it.  "I said I'd get it looked at if it wasn't better by today.  It feels better."

"It looks worse."

"It always looks worse when it's healing,” Clarke said, brushing off the Canadian’s concern. She began hobbling towards the bathroom, and Lexa jumped up behind her, ready to catch her the moment the leg buckled.  Remarkably the blonde managed to bear weight on it, limping into the bathroom on her own to retrieve the bottle of Motrin.  She shuffled back towards the bed slowly and lowered herself onto the mattress with great effort.

"Lexa, it's a bad bruise.  I'll be fine after some rest and ice.  Besides, we don't have a game for two more days."

"Clarke..."

"Lexa, I'm fine."  She swallowed several pills and scooted back on the bed, stretching the leg out in front of her as she reached for her toes.  Carefully she bent forward, tensing her jaw as she began stretching the tender muscles.

"But..."

"I'm fine!"  The words came out through clenched teeth, though Clarke managed to smile through the pain.  "I promise."

Unsure of how to proceed, Lexa hung stiffly in front of the bed.  She stared down awkwardly at the frustratingly determined captain, racking her brain for a solution.  Thankfully, Clarke offered her one.

"Look, if you're that worried, we can meet up tonight.  That way you can check on me."

"Meet up?"

"Yes, for drinks, maybe food.”  Clarke smirked, as though Lexa had just missed the most obvious implication in the world. 

"Food?"  Lexa's eyebrows nearly shot up to the top of her head when she realized what Clarke was suggesting.  "Like, in front of other people?'

"Unless you'd like to meet in secret."  Clarke grimaced, continuing to stretch her stiff and bruised leg.  "Or do you not want to meet at all?"

"No!"  Lexa bit her lip, blushing at her outburst.  "I mean, yes, I do. I'd like that."

Clarke rolled her eyes at the sudden ineptitude of the usually cocky girl, relishing the effect her invitation was having on her.  "Ok, but let's meet off campus. " Clarke massaged her thigh, trying to work out the stiffness in the muscles.  "Some of the girls went out into the city the other night.  They said the Budnamu Brewery was great.  Would 7 pm be alright?"

"I... Yeah, of course."

“Good, then it's a date."

"A date?"

"Yes, a date." Clarke deadpanned. "I mean, it's been a while, but I'm pretty sure the kids still call it that."

"It's a date," Lexa nodded dumbly, stunned that Clarke was asking her out, and in public no less.

"I should shower." Clarke struggled to her feet and cast a furtive glance at the bathroom door.

"You should shower."  Lexa's head wagged up and down, too dumbfounded to pay much attention to what Clarke was saying.

"Lexa...?"

The goalie looked up, snapping back to reality.  "Oh, Right!"  She cleared her throat, trying not to turn red.  "You shower.  I should go."  Lexa grabbed her sweatshirt from the chair in the corner, hurriedly pulling it on over her head as she mussed out her wild mane and shoved her feet into the boots that lay haphazardly by the bed.

"7 pm at Budnamu Brewery?

Clarke nodded.

"And you promise to get your leg look at if it starts bothering you?"

Clarke nodded.

“Ok.  I’ll see you at seven."

Lexa turned to leave but was stopped by a small hand grabbing her elbow.

"Wait."  Clarke bit her lip nervously, hesitating.  Slowly, she leaned up on the tiptoes of her uninjured leg and pressed her lips to the corner of Lexa's mouth, delivering a soft kiss.

"Thank you for staying."

---------

Lexa was in a daze as she drifted down the hallway and boarded the waiting elevator, nearly forgetting to press the button for the first floor.  Clarke had asked her on a date.  It felt almost too good to be true, and yet it had happened.  Lexa had the text confirming the details on her phone.  She could barely contain the smile on her face as she floated through the elevator doors and into the cavernous lobby of the dormitory.  Nothing in the world could bring her down at the moment. 

"Lexa Woods?”

Nothing, except for the sound of her name coming from the stern looking man in the dark grey suit.  He approached her from the cafeteria, and out of the corner of her eye Lexa watched as Raven slipped away, apparently having just finished a conversation with him.  The man held his hand out for her.   "Marcus Kane.  I'm the head coach of Team USA Women's hockey."

Lexa took his hand and shook it firmly.  "Nice to meet you, Sir."

He smiled politely, his appearance losing some of its gruffness.  "May I speak with you a moment?" He gestured to a small lounge just off the entrance to the main lobby.

Reluctantly, she agreed, following him to a suite of armchairs tucked in the back.  The goalie took a seat across from him, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded in her ears as he watched her.

"So," he began earnestly. "I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude.  I hear you cared for an injured player of mine last night, Clarke Griffin."

Lexa nodded apprehensively.  “I did."

Kane looked solemn as he contemplated the young women across from him.  "I understand that you two have been spending some time together.  Am I correct in that understanding?"

Lexa nodded again, her pulse racing as she worried about the direction in which their conversation seemed to be headed.  "That's correct, Sir."

He furrowed his brow, his expression grave.  "Miss Woods, given your respective positions on opposing teams, you understand that the two of you spending time together could be construed as…” Kane searched carefully for the right word.  “Inappropriate?”

“Yes.”

Kane purses his lips for a moment, analyzing her answer skeptically.  Finally, his expression softened.  “Luckily, I considered Miss Griffin's integrity to be unimpeachable.  However, should the two of you choose to continue to see each other socially, I would advise you to proceed with the utmost discretion.”

Lexa nodded vigorously.  "I understand, Sir."

"Good then." Appearing satisfied, Kane patted the armrest absentmindedly. "In that case, Miss Woods, I only need to ask one more thing of you."

Lexa swallowed, dreading his next question.

"What's that, Sir?"

"I need to tell me whether or not my team Captain is hiding an injury from me."

Lexa's heart nearly jumped out of her chest.  It pounded like a bass drum, thumping in her ears and drowning out the hum of the lobby around them.

"I... I don't."

"The truth, Miss Woods."

At that moment Lexa's conscience was entirely at war with itself.  Lie, and she put Clarke at risk.  Tell the truth and she would betray her trust.  Neither one was an attractive option, and she shifted nervously in her seat, unwilling to choose either.

"Lexa..."

She sighed, resigning herself to the lesser of two evil.  Surely, Clarke couldn't fault her for being concerned.

"She says it's fine but, it looks pretty bad.  She can walk on it a little but.…” She bit her lip nervously.  "I think she's probably fine," she back peddled, attempted to reassure him. “Maybe she should have a doctor look at it though, just to be safe."

Kane smiled at her, smoothing out the wrinkles in his pant legs as he rose.  "Thank you for your honesty, Miss Woods."

Lexa untangled herself from the sheets, taking great care not to wake Clarke, who remained tucked into the brunette's chest, fast asleep.  She groped in the semi-dark for her shoes, slipping them on as she grabbed the coffee and snuck out of the room. The door had barely closed behind her before Raven pounced.

"You're sleeping over now?  Is there a U-Haul parked outside somewhere?"

Lexa gripped her coffee cup a little tighter, rattled by the girl's intensity and nowhere near awake enough to handle the third degree.

"What time is it?"

"Five AM, now answer my question."

"Clarke asked me to stay."

The corners of Raven's mouth rounded downward into a scowl, her eyes narrowing in disapproval.  "Did you manage to convince Clarke to get her leg looked at?"

Lexa sipped the coffee guiltily, trying to buy enough time to come up with a good excuse.

"No."

Raven rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the answer.  "Damn it, Woods, I was counting on you!" 

"I'm sorry."  Lexa fidgeted with her coffee cup, nervously wondering why she hadn't tried harder to talk sense into Clarke.  Then again, she thought, why hadn't Raven if it was so important?

"What about you? You could have stayed and helped me instead of just disappearing."

Raven scowled.  "I did not just disappear.  I went to find our coach, who was off screaming to the IOC about that sad-ass excuse for a referee.  Kane left right after the game ended; otherwise, he would have insisted on Clarke getting examined."  She glanced at the door, lowering her voice.  "Did you at least get a look at it?"

Lexa nodded.

"And?"

"Honestly?"  The goalie shuffled in place, rubbing her neck nervously.  "I mean, I'm not a doctor," she skirted the question, swallowing the guilt that welled up as she thought about the angry, purple bruising along Clarke's thigh.  "She said that if it didn't feel better this morning, she'd have it checked out by your trainers."

Frustrated, Raven ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the roots as she clenched her jaw tightly.  Lexa watched the muscles in her cheeks flex as she ground her teeth together, her irritation evident.  After a few moments of tense silence, Lexa cleared her throat, attempting to change the subject.

"Look, I don't know Clarke that well but..."

"That's right." The statement seemed to call Raven back from whatever had been on her mind. Her attention snapped to Lexa, completely focused on the goalie's features as she stared her down.  "You don't know her that well, but I do."  She let out a sharp breath, sipping more of her coffee as she surveyed the hallways to make sure they were still alone.

"Woods, listen to me.  I've known that girl since she was seventeen.  Clarke is my best friend."  

Raven ran a  hand over her tired face, massaging the slightly purple bags that had formed under her dark eyes.  "She's more than stubborn; she's downright unreasonable.  Winning gold means everything to her. She's not going to let anything get in the way of that, even if it means risking a permanent injury."

Raven's face softened.  "Do you know why it took Clarke more than a year to rehabilitate her knee?"

Lexa shook her head, waiting for the American goalie to illuminate her.

"It took her so long because she nearly re-injured it halfway through rehab.  She was pushing too hard, and she put a micro tear in the cadaver ligament she'd received."  Raven stared at her seriously.  "Look, if you're going to be sticking around, you've got to understand how intense Clarke is.  She doesn't know when to quit.  She'll work herself into her grave if you let her."

Lexa's face fell, her guilt growing as she realized how little she'd done to convince Clarke to get her leg appropriately treated.

"So," the American goaltender stared at her Canadian counterpart skeptically. "Are you?"

Lexa looked up, confused by Raven's question.  "Am I what?"

"Are you sticking around?"

Lexa bit her lip apprehensively, unsure how much she wanted to admit to Clarke's closest friend.

"I'd like to," she paused.  "If she'll let me."

Raven bowed her head, staring at her toes thoughtfully.  "Maybe she will,"  she looked up, her expression deadly serious.  "But, if you care about her you'll help her make the right decision, especially when she refuses to make it for herself."

"Is it just me or is it cold in here?"

Clarke rolled her eyes at her father, smiling at his telltale smirk as he beamed down at her.  Warm yellow light from the afternoon sun spilled through the windows of the old rink, making Jake's face glow.

"Very funny, Dad."

"I'm just saying."  His eyes sparkle with mischief. "I remember this place being warmer when you were a kid."

He shoved his daughter with his elbow, smiling at her reverentially as he gave her the once-over.  "How ya been, Kid?"

Clarke shrugged.  "Tired."

"Of the game?"

"No," she shook her head.  "That's the one thing I never get tired of."

Clarke sighed and leaned into her father's side, burrowing herself into the old, flannel lined corduroy jacket that he was never without.  She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of old spice, bay rum, and stale tobacco that always seemed to cling to him.

"Still smoking?"

"I'll quit when I'm dead."

"Not funny." She frowned, surprised to find that a lump was forming at the back of her throat.  "I miss you," Clarke barely managed to eke out as she forced back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"I miss you too, Kid."  Jake wrapped one of his strong arms around her shoulders and pulled her tighter to him, gazing back at the rink as the shotgun crack of a slap shot broke the silence of the arena.

They stared down at the ice, watching as the puck sailed into the outstretched glove of a goalie.  Clarke watched at the goaltender curiously, recognizing the curly tendrils that peaked out from underneath her helmet.

"Who's the sieve?"

"I, um..."  Clarke fumbled for a way to explain Lexa's odd appearance in her dreamscape.  "Dad, what's she doing here?"

"You tell me, Kid." Jake smiled as he watched the masked figure discard the puck from her glove and crouch lower, readying herself for another shot.  "Never knew you had a thing for goalies."

Clarke felt the blood rush to her face, the blush spreading all the way across her cheeks to the tip of her ears.  "Dad!"

"What?"  He flashed a grin at her.  "You old man can't ask about your love life?"

Clarke blushed even harder, sure that by now, she had turned beet red.  "It's just," she paused thinking of all the conversations they'd never been able to have.  "I never got a chance to tell you..."

"That you're into brunettes?"

"Dad..." Clarke narrowed her eyes, imploring him to solemnity.  "Please, be serious."

Jake's face softened as he pulled her closer.  He stared down at her with a look the reflected nothing but pure, unconditional adoration.  "Kid, why didn't you just tell me?"

"I hadn't really figured it out yet."  Clarke sighed, burying herself farther into her father's side, thoroughly embarrassed.

Jake patted his daughter's shoulder reassuringly, thinking for a moment. "I always wondered why you never went through that boy-crazy phase your mother kept warning me was coming."

 "I thought I was just focused," she shrugged.  "Are you mad?"

There was a pause, and then to Clarke's surprise, a giant roar burst from Jake's lips.  "Kid..." His sides shook as deep belly laughter doubled him over, making his eyes water.  "My one dream in life was that I’d never lose you to some boy."  He wiped tears from his eyes, taking a moment to let his chuckling subside.  "I couldn't be happier."

It took a moment, but Jake finally managed regained his composure.  He winked at his daughter.  "So you like this girl?"

"I do," she nodded.

"Like, or like?"  He emphasized the last word, cocking one eyebrow.

Clarke avoided his gaze, feeling suddenly awkward.  She shuffled her feet nervously.  "I haven't known her very long.  I'm not sure yet.”

Jake's expression became wistful.  "You know," he paused, pondering something for a moment.  "I knew how I felt about your mother five seconds after I met her."  He nudged his daughter in the ribs, playfully.  "Some things, Clarke, you just know."

Clarke continued to stare at her shoes.  "You should see her play; she's so good."

"As good as you?"

Clarke's shoulders slumped, her face falling at the question.  "I'm not so sure about that these days."

"Hey..." She felt her father's fingers under her chin as he tiled her head up to look him in the eyes.  "Don't ever say that."

Clarke tried to look away, but her father held her gaze.  "I didn't teach you hockey because I loved the game.  I taught you hockey because from the moment you first put on skates I couldn't keep you off the ice.  You love to play, and you're great at it; the best."

Clarke finally looked up, acknowledging the honesty in her father's words.  She reached out a hand, squeezing her bad knee as it began to ache. "I'm not sure how long I've got left, Dad."

Jake nodded, his face solemn.  "None of us do, but you know what I always say."

"Find what you love and let it kill you."  They spoke the words at the same time, both smiling at the well-worn expression.

"Can you stay for a bit?"

Jake sighed, his eyes turning glassy.  "'Fraid not."

Clarke clenched her jaw tightly, refusing to let their last moment be a sad one.  She burrowed back into her father's side, wrapping her arms around his wiry frame as his arms encircled her one last time.

"I love you, Kid."

"I love you too, Dad."  Suddenly, the rink was dark.  The pressure of her father's strong, sturdy arms disappeared, and all Clarke could feel was a rush of cold air.  Then her eyes flickered, and she was awake, suddenly aware of a new set of arms wrapping themselves around her waist.

Lexa shifted behind her, pulling the blonde closer as she slid under the covers of the bed.  Clarke stretched a bit, turning herself so that they were facing one another.

"Hey."

"Hey," Lexa smiled apprehensively, clumsily rubbing at the back of her neck.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's ok."  Too tired to be concerned with the intimacy of the gesture, Clarke tucked herself closer into Lexa, leaning her head into the crook of the larger girl's arm.  "Where did you go?"  She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of deodorant and soap.

The goalie kissed the top of Clarke's head and ran a  hand through her disheveled locks, pushing stray blonde strands out of her face.  It was a tender gesture that, ordinarily, would have made Clarke anxious.  To the blonde's surprised, however, she found herself closing her eyes in contentment.

"That feels nice."

Lexa chuckled.  "Speaking of how things feel," she cringed, knowing that her attempt at a smooth transition had been clumsy at best. "How's the leg?"

Cautiously, Clarke began to move her ailing limb.  She stretched the leg, extending it nearly all the way before she winced at the tenderness.  "Well, I can move it at least.  She wiggled her toes, thankful to feel that she had full motion in all of them.  "No numbness or tingling in my foot."

The Canadian bit her lip, nervous to inquire any further.  "And the pain?"

Clarke attempted to bend the limb in the opposite direction, finding that it was much stiffer and more sore upon flexion.  "Well, it doesn't feel great."  She grimaced, "but, then again, it's felt worse."

"Can I take a look?"  Lexa tensed, bracing for Clarke to become defensive.  For a moment the smaller woman stiffened, but the tension in her small frame eased a second later, and Lexa felt her nod into her chest.

The brunette pushed her body upright, pulling back the covers just enough to expose Clarke's legs.  Slowly, she pushed the leg of Clarke's sweatpants up, careful not to jostle her limb as she moved.  Lexa recoiled at the sight of the angry purple bruising that seemed to have grown darker overnight.  

"Clarke," she hesitated, not wanting to upset the fierce girl tucked into her side.  "The bruising looks worse than it did last night."

Clarke nodded, surprisingly calm.  "That's normal.  She raised herself on her hands, chancing a glance at the leg.  Clarke frowned, growling in frustration as observed that the damage had not magically disappeared.  "That's just the blood losing oxygen as it raises to the surface of the injury."

"Wow," Lexa sounded genuinely impressed by her companion's savvy.  "Check you out, Dr. Griffin."

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, right."  She collapsed back against the pillows, groaning in discouragement.

"Clarke," Lexa hesitant, afraid to push the issue any further.  "You said you'd have your trainer look at your leg if it was still bothering you today."

"I know but..."  Clarke rolled closer, settling her weight against Lexa's body.  "Can we just lay here for a while? Please?"  She cuddled up against Lexa's side, sliding a hand underneath her t-shirt and trailing her fingers along sinew and rib.

Lexa shivered at Clarke's touch, her better judgment melting away as goosebumps formed along her skin.  "Yeah, sure.  We can lie here for a little longer."

Lexa shuffled down into the covers and slipped an arm over Clarke's waist, desperately trying not to grin like a fool.  She knew she should feel guilty for giving in so easily, but something about Clarke's touch, something about the way she said "please," tore at Lexa's resolve.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Clarke shook her head.  "I'm not sure I can sleep right now."  She continued to gently stroke Lexa's side with the blades of her fingers.  "Can you talk to me for a while?  Just until I fall back asleep?"

Lexa let her hand dip below Clark's sweatshirt.  She ran a flat palm over her spine and began to rub slow circles over the tense muscles of her back.  She felt almost giddy at the way Clarke' hummed into her chest, clearly enjoying herself.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Clarke breathed contentedly, thinking for a moment.  "I was pretty awful to you last night.  Why did you take care of me?"

Lexa considered how to answer the question, ultimately deciding that honestly was her best option.  She allowed herself a moment to gather the right words, and when the moment was over, stated simply, "Because, you matter to me."

"We just met though,"  Clarke peered up at her, her fingers stilling as she stared up inquisitively.  "How..." she hesitated, trying to understand how Lexa could be so sure about something in so little time.  "I mean, why?"

Unable to articulate her answer, Lexa shrugged.  "Some things you just know, I guess."

Clarke nearly froze at the brunette's words, the sound of them ringing in her ears as she remembered her dream.  Determined that it must be a coincidence, Clarke relaxed again, burying her face back into the crook of Lexa's arm.

"Well, thank you for staying."

"Of course."  Lexa leaned in, allowing her chin to rest on the top of the blonde's head.  She closed her eyes and continued to rub soothing circles up and down Clarke's back.  "What else do you want to talk about?"

Clarke thought for a moment, contemplating her options.  "Tell me about where you grew up."

Lexa laughed.  "It was called Rat Portage until 1905."

"Dare I ask why?"  Clarke laughed softly into the worn fabric of Lexa's t-shirt.

"I'm sure you can guess.  The goalie shifted her long frame, allowing Clarke to rest more of her weight on her.

"It's small, not as small as your hometown, but small enough.  In the summer, it's full of tourists and mosquitoes.  In the winter the only things to do are hole up in a bar and drink, or play hockey."

Lexa fought a grin, giggling to herself.  "Actually, there was one other thing to do in the winter."

She pinched Clarke's side playfully and earned a finger jab in return. "Very funny," Clarke murmured.  "I suppose that means you broke lots of hearts."

Lexa scoffed.  "Hardly.  There wasn't exactly a plethora of sapphically inclined girls at Beaver Brae Secondary School."

Clarke choked on a laugh. "That wasn't the name of your high school, was it?"

"It was, indeed.  Our mascot, somewhat incredibly, was the Bronco."

"Wait," Clarke raised one eyebrow.  "Your high school was named Beaver Brae, but your mascot was a horse?"

Lexa shrugged.  "It's Canada. We try to avoid redundancy by not doubling down on beaver themed everything."

"Anyway," the brunette smirked, tracing the edge of the dimple that appeared in Clarke's cheek each time she smiled.  "There were a few curious girls at a handful of parties, but I was hardly breaking anyone's heart.  Most people didn't come out until after high school."

Clarke raised her eyebrows inquisitively.  "Was it hard being out where you grew up?"

Lexa's brow furrowed in thought, her mouth puckering to side as she considered the question.  "Maybe a little," she shrugged.  "I mean, Canadians don't care that much about gay stuff.  Mostly, Kenora was just small.  There weren't that many of us.  Not much point in being out if there isn't anyone to date."  Lexa ran the tip of her finger over the helix of Clarke's ear, eliciting a soft moan from the blonde. "People knew though.  Nobody gave me too hard a time."

Clarke continued to savor the feeling of Lexa's touch as the brunette's fingers moved from the top of her ear to the soft skin of her neck.  She closed her eyes, relishing the way it made her spine tingle.

"What about you?"

Clarke's eyelids fluttered open.  She stared at the olive-skinned girl whose fingers were now tracing the lines of her ribs. "What about me?"

"What were you like in high school?"

"Focused." Clarke rolled her eyes, thinking back to life in her tiny Minnesotan town.  "I had a boyfriend for about six months during my sophomore year, but he took too much time away from hockey.  "Plus," Clarke made a face remembering the hardships of making out when two sets of braces were involved.  "He wasn't a very good kisser, so I ended things."

Lexa tried not to laugh.  "Poor guy.  He must have been devastated."

"Perhaps, but I'm sure Brock Larson managed to move on."  

Lexa bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "You high school boyfriend's name was Brock?"

"Yes, it was." Clarke laughed at the memory fo her first boyfriend, a tall, skinny young man with sandy blonde hair who had been the object of every sixteen-year-old girl's affection.  "My friends thought I was crazy to break up with him," she smiled.  "He made boy's varsity as a freshman and was related to Dave Christian on his mother's side."

"Dave who?"  Lexa cocked her head to the side, lost as to about who Clarke was talking.

"Dave Christian?"  Clarke waited for Lexa to recognize the name. "The Lake Placid Olympics? Miracle on Ice?  NHL player?"

Lexa shrugged.

"He is one of the eight Olympic hockey players who've come from my town."

"Damn!" Lexa's eyes went wide "Are you guys running a breeding program?"

"We have an algorithm," Clarke deadpanned.  "Anyway, dad got sick right after I broke up with Brock.  After he died, I kept to myself and concentrated on hockey. I had to focus on getting a scholarship.  I didn't exactly have time for romance."

"So not much has changed?"  Lexa grinned mischievously, squeezing Clarke's hip.

"Very funny."  Clarke shifted her weight, settling into Lexa's chest. She laced her fingers into the brunette's hair and began running her hand through the mess of wavy curls.  "I almost had a girlfriend in college, but it didn't work out."

Lexa savored the feeling of Clarke's fingers as they massaged her scalp. "Why not?"  

"It's complicated."  Clarke continued to work her fingers through the tangles in Lexa's hair.  "People knew I was bisexual at college, but not at home.  She wanted to date openly, and that was more than I could handle at the time."

"And now? "

Clarke sighed.  "I think people back home suspect, but they've stopped asking.  Besides, I've been so focused on the game for the last ten years that I've barely had time for myself, let alone anyone else."

"That sounds familiar."  Lexa pulled Clarke closer. She enjoyed the feeling of the warm body pressed against her and thought of the many long nights she’d spent on the road, curled up in bed alone in a dingy hotel room.  "It would be nice though."

"Hmm?"  Clarke's hand stilled.

"To have someone."  The goalie stroked the small of Clarke's back with the blade of her thumb, leaving goosebumps along her skin.

Clarke closed her eyes, imagining for a brief moment a life where obligations didn't bind her to team and county.  "It would be," she smiled sadly, "but I owe too much to my team to lose focus right now."

Lexa nodded, trying not to feel disappointed at Clarke's response.  "Well..."  She leaned in, kissing the top of Clarke's head absentmindedly.  "Maybe, one day, you and I will owe nothing more to our teams."

The blonde buried her face in the crook of Lexa's neck, inhaling the scent of her.  "I hope so."

For a while longer they lay there, bodies enmeshed, minds close to sleep but never quite there.  Finally, Clarke groaned, the ache in her leg getting the better of her.  She pushed herself up on her elbows wincing as she pulled back the covers.  "I think I better try to stretch this thing if I want to play on it again."

Lexa bolted upright at the statement, utterly confused.  "I thought you said you were going to get it looked at?”

Clarke swung her legs over the far side of the bed, cautiously testing the amount of weight the injured limb could support.  She stood up, wincing a little as she transferred a bit of her balance onto it.  "I said I'd get it looked at if it didn’t feel better by today.  It feels better."

"It looks worse."

"It always looks worse when it's healing,” Clarke said, brushing off the Canadian’s concern. She began hobbling towards the bathroom, and Lexa jumped up behind her, ready to catch her the moment the leg buckled.  Remarkably the blonde managed to bear weight on it, limping into the bathroom on her own to retrieve the bottle of Motrin.  She shuffled back towards the bed slowly and lowered herself onto the mattress with great effort.

"Lexa, it's a bad bruise.  I'll be fine after some rest and ice.  Besides, we don't have a game for two more days."

"Clarke..."

"Lexa, I'm fine."  She swallowed several pills and scooted back on the bed, stretching the leg out in front of her as she reached for her toes.  Carefully she bent forward, tensing her jaw as she began stretching the tender muscles.

"But..."

"I'm fine!"  The words came out through clenched teeth, though Clarke managed to smile through the pain.  "I promise."

Unsure of how to proceed, Lexa hung stiffly in front of the bed.  She stared down awkwardly at the frustratingly determined captain, racking her brain for a solution.  Thankfully, Clarke offered her one.

"Look, if you're that worried, we can meet up tonight.  That way you can check on me."

"Meet up?"

"Yes, for drinks, maybe food,”  Clarke smirked, as though Lexa had just missed the most obvious implication in the world. 

"Food?"  Lexa's eyebrows nearly shot up to the top of her head when she realized what Clarke was suggesting.  "Like, in front of other people?'

"Unless you'd like to meet in secret."  Clarke grimaced, continuing to stretch her stiff and bruised leg.  "Or do you not want to meet at all?"

"No!"  Lexa bit her lip, blushing at her outburst.  "I mean, yes, I do. I'd like that."

Clarke rolled her eyes at the sudden ineptitude of the usually cocky girl, relishing the effect her invitation was having on her.  "Ok, but let's meet off campus. " Clarke massaged her thigh, trying to work out the stiffness in the muscles.  "Some of the girls went out into the city the other night.  They said the Budnamu Brewery was great.  Would 7 pm be alright?"

"I... Yeah, of course."

“Good, then it's a date."

"A date?"

"Yes, a date." Clarke deadpanned. "I mean, it's been a while, but I'm pretty sure the kids still call it that."

"It's a date," Lexa nodded dumbly, stunned that Clarke was asking her out, and in public no less.

"I should shower." Clarke struggled to her feet and cast a furtive glance at the bathroom door.

"You should shower."  Lexa's head wagged up and down, too dumbfounded to pay much attention to what Clarke was saying.

"Lexa...?"

The goalie looked up, snapping back to reality.  "Oh, Right!"  She cleared her throat, trying not to turn red.  "You shower.  I should go."  Lexa grabbed her sweatshirt from the chair in the corner, hurriedly pulling it on over her head as she mussed out her wild mane and shoved her feet into the boots that lay haphazardly by the bed.

"7 pm at Budnamu Brewery?

Clarke nodded.

"And you promise to get your leg look at if it starts bothering you?"

Clarke nodded.

“Ok.  I’ll see you at seven."

Lexa turned to leave but was stopped by a small hand grabbing her elbow.

"Wait."  Clarke bit her lip nervously, hesitating.  Slowly, she leaned up on the tiptoes of her uninjured leg and pressed her lips to the corner of Lexa's mouth, delivering a soft kiss.

"Thank you for staying."

Lexa was in a daze as she drifted down the hallway and boarded the waiting elevator, nearly forgetting to press the button for the first floor.  Clarke had asked her on a date.  It felt almost too good to be true, and yet it had happened.  Lexa had the text confirming the details on her phone.  She could barely contain the smile on her face as she floated through the elevator doors and into the cavernous lobby of the dormitory.  Nothing in the world could bring her down at the moment. 

"Lexa Woods?”

Nothing, except for the sound of her name coming from the stern looking man in the dark grey suit.  He approached her from the cafeteria, and out of the corner of her eye Lexa watched as Raven slipped away, apparently having just finished a conversation with him.  The man held his hand out for her.   "Marcus Kane.  I'm the head coach of Team USA Women's hockey."

Lexa took his hand and shook it firmly.  "Nice to meet you, Sir."

He smiled politely, his appearance losing some of its gruffness.  "May I speak with you a moment?" He gestured to a small lounge just off the entrance to the main lobby.

Reluctantly, she agreed, following him to a suite of armchairs tucked in the back.  The goalie took a seat across from him, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded in her ears as he watched her.

"So," he began earnestly. "I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude.  I hear you cared for an injured player of mine last night, Clarke Griffin."

Lexa nodded apprehensively.  “I did."

Kane looked solemn as he contemplated the young women across from him.  "I understand that you two have been spending some time together.  Am I correct in that understanding?"

Lexa nodded again, her pulse racing as she worried about the direction in which their conversation seemed to be headed.  "That's correct, Sir."

He furrowed his brow, his expression grave.  "Miss Woods, given your respective positions on opposing teams, you understand that the two of you spending time together could be construed as…” Kane searched carefully for the right word.  “Inappropriate?”

“Yes.”

Kane purses his lips for a moment, analyzing her answer skeptically.  Finally, his expression softened.  "Luckily I considered Miss Griffin's integrity to be unimpeachable.  However, should the two of you choose to continue to see each other socially, I would advise you to proceed with the utmost discretion.”

Lexa nodded vigorously.  "I understand, Sir."

"Good then." Appearing satisfied, Kane patted the armrest absentmindedly. "In that case, Miss Woods, I only need to ask one more thing of you."

Lexa swallowed, dreading his next question.

"What's that, Sir?"

"I need to tell me whether or not my team Captain is hiding an injury from me."

Lexa's heart nearly jumped out of her chest.  It sounded like a bass drum, thumping in her ears and drowning out the hum of the lobby around them.

"I... I don't."

"The truth, Miss Woods."

At that moment Lexa's conscience was entirely at war with itself.  Lie, and she put Clarke at risk, or tell the truth and betray her trust.  Neither one was an attractive option, and she shifted nervously in her seat, unwilling to choose either.

"Lexa..."

She sighed, resigning herself to the lesser of two evil.  Surely, Clarke couldn't fault her for being concerned.

"She says it's fine but, it looks pretty bad.  She can walk on it a little but.…” She bit her lip nervously.  "I think she's probably fine," she back peddled, attempted to reassure him. “Maybe she should have a doctor look at it though, just to be safe."

Kane smiled at her, smoothing out the wrinkles in his pant legs as he rose.  "Thank you for your honesty, Miss Woods."

With that, he started towards the elevators, leaving Lexa to dread her decision.

Next Chapter ->

“Yeah, but she did come off the ice on her own.  I mean it’s not like anyone had to help her off.”

“That check looked horrible.  I don’t know how Griff was walking after that.”

“Well anyway, Raven stayed behind to talk to her.  Maybe she can convince…”

The conversation stopped abruptly when the women noticed Lexa.  Each one cast concerned glances her way as they pasted, eyeing her suspiciously as she headed down the hall.  Lexa made a point of walking past the American locker room, doubling back when she was sure the other players were out of sight.

“You're being ridiculous!”  She could hear the sound of someone yelling could through the door.  Before Lexa could even grab the handle, it swung open, revealing an irate Raven Reyes, her face red from arguing.

“Oh, great!”  Raven threw her hands in the air, looking Lexa up and down doubtfully.  “Well, maybe you can talk some sense into her!” In a huff, Raven stomped out into the hallway and disappeared towards the busses.

Clarke sighed, looking skeptically in the Canadian goalie's direction. Still was half clad in hockey pants, shin guards and skates, she shifted uncomfortably on the bench.

“What are you doing here, Woods?”

The tone of Clarke’s greeting took Lexa by surprise, more irritable and exhausted than happy to see her.  Lexa felt a wave of uncertainty wash over her.  “What was she doing there?” she wondered.  Granted she hadn’t known the American Captain very long, but as she’d watched the violent scene unfold on television, she'd been filled with the distinct sensations of terror and worry, followed by a terrible need to find out if Clarke was hurt.  Lexa remembered being sure of her purpose as she’s dashed out of Canada house and grabbed the first available ride to the rink, but now, she couldn’t quite place what her plan had been.  Had she merely wanted to know if Clarke was injured?  Had she meant to confront the Swiss player and defend her friend's honor?  “Friend,” the word bounced around in Lexa's head echoing off the far walls of her conscious.  Was that even what they were?

"I..." She stammered.

Clarke leaned forward, her eyebrows arching towards her hairline expectantly.

"I just wanted to see if you were alright."  She shoved her hands in her pockets awkwardly, totally unsure of herself.

Clarke sighed, avoiding the tall Canadian's gaze.  "I'm fine."  She frowned as she began unlacing her skates.  "Looks like you're not off the hook for the playoffs."

There was a touch of bitterness to that statement that felt underserved, and it wounded Lexa more than it should have.

"Hey,"  Lexa clenched her jew, annoyed that her concern was being dismissed as competitiveness.  "I don't care about that.  I was worried about you."

"Well, don't be.”

Clarke continued to avoid her gaze as she pulled her second skate off, though Lexa could hear the subtle tremor in her voice.  The blonde pushed off her hockey pants, tearing off her game socks and making quick work of her shin guards, all of which she thrust frustratedly into the large gear bag in front of her.  Clad only in a Bauer neck protector shirt and compression pants, Clarke forced herself up off of the bench carefully.  Lexa noticed the way she clung to her stick for balance, taking great care to keep her weight on her good leg as she attempted to step over her equipment.

"I'm absolutely…”

Before she could finish the statement Clarke's foot caught in the loose strap of her bag, and she jerked forward, off balance.  Reflexively, she stuck out the other foot to stop her fall, bringing all of her weight down on her injured leg.

The second pressure shifted to her wounded limb it buckled, and Clarke let out an agonized cry that raised the hair on Lexa's neck.  The goalie lunged forward, catching Clarke around her shoulders just before she toppled to the ground.

"I don't need your help,"  Clarke groaned through gritted teeth.

Lexa sighed, trying to be patient with the stubborn woman.

"At least let me help you to the training room so you can ice that thing."

Clarke's eyes were screwed shut in anguish, her breathing ragged as she fought the pain coursing through her leg.  Swallowing her pride, she nodded, and Lexa slipped one hand around Clarke's back.  She slung the smaller woman's arm over her shoulders and held it in place, bracing her around her mid-torso as she pulled Clarke up.  Lexa walked forward cautiously, allowing the injured skater to use her as a crutch as they made their way through the swinging doors of the training room.  Once inside, she eased Clarke down onto the padded table top, gently picking up her legs to swing them over.

Clarke braced her hands on the table’s edge and leaned to one side, keeping as much weight as possible off her weak leg.  She attempted to ease herself down slowly, reaching to pull her pants off.  As soon as her weight settled, she grasped the table again, desperately pushing herself back up. Unable to let go, she cast an abashed glanced at Lexa.

"Can you," her eyes darted towards her waistband.

As respectfully as she could, Lexa gripped the top of Clarke's compression pants and began pulling them down.  She stopped abruptly when she saw the blonde wince.

"Stop!"  Clarke grimaced, gasping for breath.  "Go slow, ok?"

“Sorry! Sorry!”  Wordlessly, Lexa began her ministrations again, moving with as much care as she could muster.  She pulled back the stretchy black fabric, rolling it down Clarke's leg with great hesitation.  As soon as Lexa passed the material over the top third of Clarke' thighs the black and blue of a large and angry contusion began to show along the muscles of her right leg.  A few inches more and the bruising looked even worse

"How I sit?"  Clarke forced through clenched teeth.

"Clarke..."  Lexa felt a cold chill shoot up her spine as she realized the extent of the damage.  "I don't have any medical training, but this looks pretty bad."

"How's the knee?"

Lexa anxiously pulled back the fabric a few inches more, observing the knee thoughtfully.  Like the quad, the knee was bruised, though not as swollen as Lexa expected.  "I'm not sure.  I don't know what I am supposed to be looking for, Clarke, but I really think you need to get this checked out by a doctor."

The American ventured a quick peek at her leg.  Grimacing, she turned away quickly.  She swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to vomit.

"Well, at least it hasn't swelled up like a water balloon.  That's a good sign."  Clarke exhaled a long, slow breath, trying to stop her mind from racing.

"Can't you get me some...?"

"Ice, right!"  Lexa finished the sentence, dashing off to the cooler and filling two bags with ice shavings.  She returned to the table, placing them against the warm, swollen flesh of Clarke's leg.

"Here, hand me that," Clarke pointed to stretch-wrap, stuck on a handle at the end of the table.  Lexa passed it over obligingly, pulling up a chair up as she watched as Clarke skillfully secure the ice to her leg.

"Where did you learn how to do that?"  Lexa smiled, trying to break the tension with small talk.  "I even touch that stuff, and it's wadded up, tangled mess."

Clarke focused on the cylinder of plastic wrap, her eyes never leaving her work.  "I told you, my mom was a nurse."  She continued wrapping, binding the bags in place.  "She knew my dad was terrible with blood, so she taught me basic first aid when I was really little."  She finished securing the ice, and tore the plastic, fastening it expertly.  "Also, I spent some time interning with our trainers when I got injured."

Clarke leaned back a bit, finally able to settle her weight now that the cold ice was numbing her injury.  "When I first hurt my knee it wasn't clear that I would be able to play again.  I had no idea what I was going to do, so our trainer let me work with him for a while to see if I might have an interest in sports medicine.”

"Did you enjoy it?"  The goalie smiled at her sympathetically.

Clarke shrugged, examining her handiwork.  The blonde leaned forward, looking defeated. She pulled her uninjured leg into her chest, hiding her face against it.  "I guess it was an ok alternative."

Lexa hung awkwardly at the side of the table, unsure what to say that might help Clarke.  Just as she was about to speak, she heard a muffled sob escape the blonde, then another.  Lexa stared silently as Clarke finally unraveled, weeping softly into her curled leg.  Lexa began to get up, convinced that Clarke would want to space to fall apart alone.  To her surprise, however, the American reached out, grabbing her hand.

"This isn't fair."  The words slipping out between choked sobs and forced Lexa her back into the chair.  Unable to offer any other comfort, she simply held Clarke's hand and allowed her to cry.

"I know it isn't. I know"

Lexa wasn't sure how long they had stayed like that, camped out in the deserted rink while they waited for the swelling on Clarke's leg to subside.  The whole time the brunette sat patiently, assuring her companion that she had nowhere else to be

"It takes as long as it takes," she'd assured the blonde calmly between trips to the cooler for fresh ice.

When Clarke was finally able to put weight on the leg, they departed the rink cautiously, careful not to be spotted by errant fans.  Chivalrous to a fault, Lexa slung Clarke's gear over her shoulder, her other arm braced securely around the little center's waist as she helped her out of the rink and into a waiting cab.  They'd ridden back in relative silence, a quietly crying Clarke curled into her side as Lexa attempted to give directions to their driver.

"Around the back, please.  Away from people."

By the time they arrived at the dormitories, discretion was hardly a concern.  The hour was late, and the streets of Olympic Village were deserted, save for a few roving security patrols.  None-the-less, Lexa did Clarke the courtesy of sneaking her up the service elevators, wary of allowing anyone to see her condition.  They moved slowly enough that it took twice as long to help her back to her room, but Lexa never once complained.

When they'd finally reached Clarke's suite, the girl stiffened. She squeezed Lexa's shoulder gently to stop her and apprehensively stared at the door.

"Raven," she whispered.  “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

Lexa nodded, easing her worn out companion delicately to the floor.

"Pass me your key card."   She hitched the gear bag higher on her shoulder.  "I'll check and make sure the coast is clear.

Clarke slipped the card from her pocket, mouthing a silent "thank you."

Lexa slid the key into the electronic lock and easing the door open as quietly when the light turned green.  She slunk inside slowly, tiptoeing through the short hallway to peer into the bedroom.  Lexa breathed a sigh of relief, observing that Raven's bed was unoccupied, the sheets still made perfectly.  She set Clarke's gear bag down in the corner, returning to the dim glow of the hall.

"You're safe.  No one is here."

Clarke looked relieved.  She attempted to get up but abandoning the effort when her leg throbbed in pain.  By now Lexa knew better than to wait for the Captain to ask for her help.  She crouched down, motioning for Clarke to place her hand on her shoulders as she snaked her other arm under the blonde’s legs.  It took tremendous effort, but Lexa managed to push herself up.  She cradled the smaller girl against her chest, her arms straining under the surprising weight of Clarke’s toned body.  After a few attempts, Lexa managed to turn the door handle with the point of her elbow, taking great care not to bump her companion’s leg as she backed them into the room.  Gently, she made her way over to the bed, straining to place Clarke down without aggravating her injury.

"Here."  Lexa lifted her leg carefully, sliding an extra pillow beneath the knee for support.  She slipped off Clarke's sneakers and placed them neatly by the dresser.

"Medicine?"

Clarke pointed to the bathroom.  "There's an industrial sized bottle of Ibuprofen on the sink."

Lexa crept through the dark quietly, returning a moment later with a handful of pills and glass full of liquid.  She took a seat on the edge of the bed, handing both items to Clarke.  Never one to enjoy tablets, the blonde tried not to gag as she forced herself to swallow the medicine, washing it down with a giant swig of water.

"Thank you," Clarke whispered as she sank back into the pillows, her eyelids drooping.

Lexa grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of the bed and pulled it over the exhausted woman.  She watched as Clarke shifted, adjusting her body warily until she'd found a comfortable position.

"Clarke," she bit her lip nervously, hesitant to leave without ensuring that the stubborn girl was going to take proper care of herself.  "I really think that you need to get your leg examined."

"I will."  Clarke sighed her expression one of disheartened resignation.  "Just give me tonight.  If it's not better by tomorrow, I'll go to our trainers."

Lexa nodded, satisfied for the moment that the American was acting responsibly about her well-being.  She tugged the covers up a bit higher over Clarke's shoulder, filled with the urge to stay and keep watch, though she knew that she should leave before Raven returned.  Lexa stroked her fingers over Clarke's weary brow, cocking a crooked smile.  In spite of the emotional chaos of the evening, there was something strangely satisfying about the night she'd spent helping Clarke.  She tucked several straying strands of golden hair behind her ear and watched as her eyelids finally fluttered closed.

Sure that she was no longer needed, Lexa began to rise from the bed, fighting the urge to kiss her companion goodbye.  Before she could leave, Clarke's voice halted her in her tracks.

“Stay."

It was spoken softly, more a plea than a request, and the word tugged on Lexa's heartstrings.  Without a second thought, she slid off her shoes and lowered herself back onto the bed.  The goalie slid beneath the covers, careful not to disturb her half-sleeping companion as she curled up against her.

"I'm here."  Lexa's arm slid protectively over Clarke's waist, pulling her closer.  "I'm not going anywhere."

Next Chapter ->

"That looks like it needs a stitch."

Echo turned just in time to catch the towel her goaltender had tossed to her.

"It'll be a helluva scar though."  She pressed the cool fabric to her lips, allowing the terrycloth to soak up the remaining blood on her chin.

"What happened anyway?  I couldn't see from all the way down here."  Lexa pulled off her helmet, wiping the sweat off her brow.

"I tried to poke the puck away from that wiry little forward, but her stick rode up mine and hit me right in the mouth."

"Serves you right for giving me so little to do during that game."

"Jealous that you didn't get to hog the spotlight this time?"

Lexa smirked.  "Well, at least now you more like a hockey player than a Victoria Secret model."

Echo rolled her eyes.  "Blow it out your ass, Woods."

A casual observer would have assumed that the exchange was another flare-up in the bitter rivalry that had been souring their relationship since the moment Lexa had joined the team.  There was, however, a playfulness to their exchanges now; a tentative, enemies turned friends quality that signaled a thaw in the longstanding iciness between them.

"So..."  Echo tossed the blood-stained towel back at her teammate. " Beers at Canada house later?"

"Oh... Yeah."  Lexa tried not to show her excitement at being invited out with her teammates a second time. "For sure!"

Echo rolled her eyes again, not at all fooled by the sinewy girl's show of nonchalance.  "Ok, weirdo. I'll see you there after I get this sewn up."  With that, the defenseman wiped her chin a final time and skated in the direction or the boards.

Clarke crouched low, her shoulder aggressively leaning into the face-off-circle.  The black disk hit the ice, landing with a hollow thud, and before Clarke could react, she felt the blunt point of an elbow connecting with the cage of her helmet, knocking her onto the ice.  She heard the sound of her helmet colliding with the rock-hard surface of the rink; the clatter of it reverberating in her ears.  In the fog of her confusion, she could make out the faint sound of the whistle being blown.

"Elbowing! Major penalty!  Five minutes!"

Clarke rose from the ice slowly, her vision swimming for a moment before the rink came back into focus.  Then her head gave a painful pulse, and the world suddenly felt razor sharp and far too loud.  Careful not to wobble, she skated over to the bench, following her teammates who had been called over by a scowling Kane.

The grizzled Northern Minnesotan coach looked over his players with fatherly concern, noticing each wince and every choppy stride brought on by the lumps the girls had been taking during the game.

"Is anyone hurt?  Does anyone need to come off the ice?"

A sea of reluctant shaking heads met his question, a response which the coach sincerely doubted.

"Ladies, this has been an extremely physical game.  I've never before seen play quite this dirty, nor do I think that there is any need to point out to you how prejudicial the referees are being. Mark my words, the committee will be hearing about this from me, but unfortunately, that is a matter for after the game."

Kane looked around sternly.  "You're ahead two-zero.  There are only three minutes left in this game, and right now the only thing this Swiss team cares about is keeping you from that shutout.  I want this win as badly as anyone, but there's no sense in letting yourselves get injured out of pride.  We've got plenty of young players looking for ice time, and we're not even into the playoff rounds.  If you're hurting, speak up right now."

The players remained silent, deepening Kane's frown.  He looked over at his goalie, panting as she leaned against the boards.  "What about you, Reyes?  You look beat."

Raven shook her head vigorously, beads of sweat dripping off her forehead, her expression a look of pure, dogged determination.  "No way.  I want that goose egg."

Kane scanned the crowd of players.  Harper was holding her side where a vicious elbow had caught her in the second period, and Octavia was nursing an angry looking fat lip form an errant stick, but it was Clarke about whom he was most worried.  His leading scorer had born the brunt of the Swiss team's physical punishment, dominating her from the moment she'd stepped on the ice.  He peered down at her now as she leaned a hand on the boards for balance, apparently still trying to shake off her last collision with the ice.

"You look like hell, Griffin.  I'm taking you off the ice."

The blonde woman shook her head slowly.  She pulled up the cage of her helmet, finally looking at him as she grabbed a water bottle and blasted her face off with cold liquid.

"I've got this, Coach."

His mouth puckered, considering whether or not he should buy her tough act.  "That last hit you took was pretty hard.  You're sure you aren't feeling concussed?"

Clarke shook her head.  "It rattled my cage pretty hard, but I don't need to come off."  She attempted to demonstrate her level of cognitive clarity by touching the tips of each of the fingers of her right hand to the adjacent thumb, one of the concussion tests she knew Kane would insist on her undergoing later.

Kane considered her a moment longer.  "And your knee?"

"It's on fire, actually,” the words ran through Clarke’s head, though she fought the impulse to telling.  If she could make it through a season of aches and pains from the treacherous joint, she could make it through the next three minutes. "I'm good, Coach."

He nodded apprehensively.  "All right then, get back out there.  We've got a power play to kill."

"Ouch!"

The women gathered around the table at Canada House admired the stitches in Echo's lip as she displayed her war wound with pride.

"How many is that?"  Gaia peered in, squinting her eyes.

"Just three, and two on the inside.  No big deal."

"Won't you be bothered by the scar?"  Emori leaned in peering at the puckered flesh.

Echo shrugged nonchalantly.  "I'll go see a plastic surgeon once we're back in Canada if it heals badly.  Until then all I care about is standing on top of that medal platform."  She took a sip of her beer, wincing as the carbonated liquid hit the delicate stitching of her laceration.  "Besides, with this face, I think I can make the whole lip scar thing work for me."

"And even if you can't, you've got that incredible humility of yours to compensate for it,"  Lexa smirked as she sipped her lager.

"As if you're one to talk, Woods."  If the jab she'd taken at Lexa sounded shrewd, no hint of animosity was evident on Echo's face.  The women gathered at the table were surprised to find their Captain smiling playfully at the star goalie.

"Don't tell me you two have finally learned to play nice."  Gaia gave her roommate a knowing look.

"We're cool for now," Echo shrugged.  "So long as this one helps us keep that sweet, sweet gold out of the hands of our southern neighbors."  Echo closed her eyes and tipped back a long swig of beer, smiling ruefully as though the amber liquid tasted of victory.

Gaia winked at Lexa.  "I don't know, Woods.  Clarke Griffin gave you a pretty good run for your money last game.  You think you can shut her down if we go toe to toe for gold?"

Echo chuckled between sips of beer.  "If this game gets any more brutal she might not have to." She nodded her head towards the giant flatscreen at the front of the room, where an determine Swiss national team continued to beat up on their American counterparts, fighting furiously to score.

With three minutes left in the game, there would have been plenty of time for a turnaround had the Swiss team not been so obviously outmatched.  The brutality of the play was a clear indication of the Swiss team's frustration; a fact evident to Lexa as she watched a Swiss player snag the skate of an American defenseman with the blade of her stick.  The referee raised his hand and blew the whistle, indicating a penalty.

"Really? She only got a minor for that?" Lexa was baffled given the obviousness of the offense.

"I'm surprised the ref called it at all, honestly."  Echo sipped her beer, staring at the screen.  "That's the same blowhard who was railroading us the other night.  He's been even worse in this game."

The girls continued to sip their beers watching the screen distractedly between side conversations and swigs of beer. 

"Hopefully, we don't get that idiot in the final round."  Echo rolled her eyes.  No matter for the Yanks though, they're about to wrap this thing up."

The women watched as the final minute of the game ticked off.  In the last thirty seconds of play, Octavia Blake caught the puck along the boards and sailed it out to a waiting Clarke, who shucked a Swiss defenseman, heading down the open ice.  It was a clean breakaway on a power play, and it had every certainty of yielding a goal. With twenty seconds left, the Swiss player in the penalty box was released just as Clarke crossed center ice, making a beeline for the for the oncoming center.

“Oh, shit!”  Echo’s eye went wide, as did everyone else’s in the room as the people gathered watching what happened next.

Lexa looked on in horror as the Swiss player flew towards Clarke and bent low, ramming her shoulder into the thigh just above the American Captain’s bad knee.  The force of the collision sent the small center flying over her opponents back.  She tumbled through space, spinning in a full circle, her body contouring at a strange angle.  As the final buzzer sounded, signaling the game's end, Clarke landed flat on her back, her body slack and lifeless.

Every face in the Canadian hospitality house was now locked on the screen, staring at the limp body lying motionless on the ice. The remaining players hurried to clear off the rink as Team USA’s coach and trainers scrambled across the slick playing surface, desperate to get to the injured Captain.  They huddled around Clarke, shrouding her from view.  What seemed like an eternity passes before a roar finally went up from the crowd.  Astoundingly, the Captain had fought to her feet and was managing to skate off the ice, unassisted, though the act was a monumental struggle.  Lexa couldn’t help but notice that Clarke was barely putting weight on her bad leg.

“I’ll be damned.”  Echo shook her head, marveling at the display.  “Can you believe she was able to shake off a hit like that?” She turned in Lexa’s direction, eager to get her two cents, but the goalie was nowhere to be found.  Confused, the Canadian Captain searched the room for her teammate, catching just a glimpse of the goalie just as she hurriedly disappeared through the front door.

“Where’s she off too in such a hurry?”  Gaia cocked a curious eyebrow towards the door, having noticed the brunette’s abrupt departure as well.

“No idea,” Echo shrugged, but her curious gaze remained fixed on the still swinging doors to Canada House, her brow furrowing.

Next Chapter ->

A minute and a half left on the clock as the puck sailed out to a waiting Czech defenseman at the point.  She began to drop low, taking a mighty slap shot that caught the shin pad of a Canadian center as it ricocheted towards the front of the net.  Momentarily abandoning her refusal to help Lexa, Echo made a break for the puck, colliding with the Czech forward who had scrambling to pick it up.  The two women battled ferociously for control of the disk, with the Czech winger growing more and more desperate to elude the large and imposing defenseman.  Finally, she'd had enough, and the Czech’s elbow shot up forcefully catching Echo in the chin just below her cage, knocking her helmet halfway off as the pointed end of it collided with her bottom lip.  Echo stumbled backward long enough for the Czech women to take a wild shot on net.

Lexa caught the poorly aimed shot easily, holding the puck until she heard the whistle.  To the goalie's great surprise, the referee pointed at the face-off circle, making no mention of the elbow.  She stared over at Echo, her face cage hanging open as she pressed a hand to her bleeding lower lip.  The Canadian captain skated angrily over to the referee, exchanging heated words with him.  Over on their bench, Indra waved her arms furiously.  Close enough that she could make out their conversation, Lexa listened as the referee dismissed Echo's demands of a penalty call.

The referee shook his head. "The contact was accidental.  No penalty," the man spoke with a strong accent, his voice forceful as he pointed towards the face-off circle.

Echo's eyes went wide, wild, unbridled anger clouding her expression.  "But that's ridiculous!  Even if the contact was accidental, which it clearly wasn't, that's still a minor penalty!  Are you blind?"

He scowled.  "I said no penalty. Go line up before I penalize you for delaying the game."

"This is crazy!  How can you not call a penalty on something this obvious." Echo's eyes were red and furious as she clutched her bleeding lip.

The referee rolled his eyes.  “Damn it, this why I hate working the women’s games.  The men never complain about rough plays but you girls… You’re are always crying about nothing."

Something in Lexa finally snapped, and she flew out of the goal, making a beeline for the offensive official.

"What the hell is your problem! How dare you talk to her like that!"

He looked at her curiously, pointing to the net.  “You get back in that net!”

Unable to contain her righteous indignation, Lexa inched forward intimidatingly, towering just above the short, homely man.

"Not until you apologize to my captain.  What you just said is fucking disgraceful!  Your whole performance in this game has been fucking disgraceful!"

The referee sneered at her.  "Get back in the net, or I'll throw you out of this game."

"Apologize, and call the damn penalty! That was an illegal elbow!" Lexa roared in his face, poking him in the chest with her glove for emphasis as she leaned down condescendingly. "Maybe you would be calling the men's games if you weren't such a shit referee."

With that, the referee clenched his jaw furiously, his face turning a bright shade of crimson as she blasted his whistle "Game misconduct!"  He pointed off the ice.  "Number eight is ejected!"

"WHAT!"  Lexa threw her hands up in the air, listening to the crowd loudly protest the dramatic call.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Coach Indra looking ready to climb over the boards and throttle the man.  Echo merely hung there, suspended in her disbelief at Lexa defending her.

"GET OFF THE ICE!"

The referee blew his whistle continuously, as he pointed towards the rink exit.  With no recourse available, Lexa turned, knocking the obnoxious steel contraption from the ref's hands as she headed off the ice.

"LEXA WOODS!"

"Can you please keep your voice down!"  Clarke shot Raven a death glare as she shoved an extra pair of socks into her small sports duffle.

"As in superstar goalie for our one true rival, Lexa Woods?"  Raven was quieter this time, her attempts at a whisper barely less than standard volume.

"Yes, that Lexa Woods. Now, would you please get ready?  We have to be on the team bus in ten minutes." Clarke looked pleadingly at her giddy roommate, desperate to take back the information she'd just imparted.

Raven jumped over to Clarke's bed gleefully, grinning like the Cheshire cat.  "Griff, I was ready a half an hour ago.  Don't think you're getting out of giving me details."

The blonde rolled her eyes.  "I told you, there is nothing to tell.  I  was in a weird place.  I had a ton of pent up stress and energy. Lexa was just..."

Clarke paused, groaning defeatedly.  "She was there."

"She was there, so you fucked her brains out?"

Clarke turned her face up in objection.  "Ugh!  Don't be disgusting, Raven.  I didn't fuck her brains out."

"So she fucked your brains out?"

"No, Raven! "

"So you didn't fuck?"

"No! I mean, yes! I mean..." Clarke screwed her eyes shut in frustration. "It wasn't like that."

"It sure doesn't sound like it was an episode of Little House on the Prairie. Did you sleep with her or not, Clarke?"

"Yes," Clarke moaned, her head hanging as she admitted to the one night stand.

Raven shot up, clapping her hands with joy.  "Well, was it good?” she asked, trying not to let her eager delight spill over into hysterics.

Clarke sighed as she stared at her determined friend.  A Raven in want of information was a force with which to be reckoned. Ultimately, there would be no denying her.  "Might as well get it over with," Clarke thought to herself.

"Raven, if I tell you this you have to swear on all that is holy," she paused. "You have to swear on our friendship, that this information stays between you and me."

The taller girl held up a tan, perfectly manicured hand as though pledging allegiance.  Her face became stern, her expression one of utter solemnity.  "Clarke, on my honor as a deeply lapsed Roman Catholic, I swear on our friendship that anything you tell me, I will take to the grave."

Clarke breathed out slowly, already lamenting what she was about to admit to her friend.  "It was good."

Raven's face immediately broke into an ecstatic smile.

"Like, really, exceptionally good."  Clarke could barely look at her friend, her face turning red as Raven hugged her enthusiastically.

"Oh, honey. You had awesome anger sex with our team's arch nemesis.  I'm so happy for you!"

Clarke groaned, profoundly regretting her decision to give Raven an honest answer when her friend had asked her where she'd gone after their game.

"Raven we have a game in an hour.  This revelation aside, can you please try and focus?"

"Griff, we have a courtesy scrimmage against the Korean national team in an hour.  I will think of nothing other than your hookup until you avail me with more details after the game."

"You're the worst,"  Clarke mumbled into her friend shoulder.

"I love you too, babe."

"Hey."

Lexa looked up as Echo kicked her skate.

"That was dumb you know, getting yourself thrown out of the game like that."

"We were up by five, and Emori was more than capable of handling the net for the last minute."

"Still..."

"You could just say thank you."  Lexa stared up at her defenseman momentarily, trying not to look annoyed.

Echo shoved her hands in her pockets nervously, avoiding the brunette's gaze.  "Thank you,"  she kicked at the floor sheepishly, struggling to get her words out, "for sticking up for me back there. With the way I've been treating you, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't."

"Don't worry about it."  Lexa smiled hesitantly at her captain. Unsure of how to proceed beyond the small gesture, the goalie turned her attention back to unbuckling the straps of her leg pads.  She watched as Echo glanced awkwardly over her shoulder, staring at the doorway to the locker room where Gaia's stood, gesturing her silent encouragement. 

"Look," Echo cleared her throat, staring at the ceiling as she fought her desire to leave the interaction at thank you and be done with it.  "Some of us are going down to the Holland Heineken House for food and beers later.  You probably have other plans but..."

"I don't," Lexa spoke a little too quickly, embarrassed at having betrayed her excitement as she looked up from her shins.

"Oh," Echo nodded. "Well, you're welcome to come, if you want to."

Lexa paused, trying to act cool.  "You sure? I wouldn't want to impose."

The imposing defenseman rolled her eyes. "Wood, just accept the damn invitation before I change my mind."

Lexa nodded, grinned as she watched Gaia give a thumbs up from the doorway.  She threw her leg pads into her gear bag, unlacing her skates hurriedly as Echo headed for the door.  "So we're best friends now, right?"  Lexa chuckled as she pulled on her sweatpants.

Echo chuckled under her breath, shaking her head.  “Nope. I still can't stand you."

"Over here, Griff," Clarke heard Raven's voice calling to her from somewhere in the back of the crowded hospitality house.  She squeezed through the crowd, making her way over to the long table where Raven, Octavia, and Harper sat, clutching extremely tall glasses, brimming with amber colored beer.  She took a seat next to Octavia, fighting the urge to caution the 19-year-old not to drink too much.

"Sorry that I'm so late. I had to go over some game points with Coach."

Raven waved a hand dismissively.  "Yes, yes, we all know you're very responsible.  Now, drink up."

The goalie pushed a tall glass of pilsner towards Clarke, who stared at the beverage apprehensively.

"Loosen up, Clarkie.  We've got three days off.  Live a little."

Sighing, she reached for the beer and took a small sip.  "Fine, but just one."

"Of course." Raven winked at her mischievously.  "Just one."

Three beers later, Clarke was all warmth and easy laughter as Raven entertained the group with stories of their first season together.

"She had such a chip on her shoulder!"

"I did not!" Clarke giggled through another sip of beer.  "I was trying to prove myself, like everybody else."

"Like hell!"  Raven tipped back the remains of her glass and ordered another.  "You were trying to prove you were Wayne Gretzky."

"Well, you try being this size on that roster.  I was the smallest team member by four inches and 40 pounds."

"You were pretty tiny."

Octavia smiled awkwardly, trying to hold her own amongst the veteran skaters.

"Weren't you the youngest too?"

Clarke nodded.  "Yes, by a little bit."

Raven gave her a playful nudge in the ribs and wiggled her eyebrows.  "She's being modest. She was the youngest player ever selected to a U.S. Olympic hockey team.”  She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and scrolling through her photo app until she found the right picture.  "Here, look."

Octavia and Harper leaned over the table as Clarke groaned her eyes in protest.

"Raven, please don't tell me you're showing them the photo I think you are."

"I'm showing them the photo you think I am," she laughed wickedly.

Clarke peered over the table at Raven's screen.  Sure enough, there was a picture of her squinting, smiling sheepishly and holding up a hand in protest, her braces-clad teeth on full display.  "Oh g-d, that photo is horrible!”

"It's adorable!"  Raven smiled, flipping through a few more embarrassing snapshots.  "That was our first week of training.  She was such a baby!”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "I got those braces off a few weeks later, but this one..." She pointed at Raven. "Compassionate saint that she is, she made sure to take plenty of beforehand photos so I could never live it down."

Octavia was in hysterics as she flipped through the candids, gleefully flipping from one unflattering image to the next.   Harper's attention, meanwhile, was drawn to some new fascination at the entrance to the hospitality house.  Raven nudged the defenseman with her foot, regaining her consideration.

"Hey, what got you staring so hard?"

Harper blushed at having been caught red-handed.  She cleared her throat, pointing discreetly towards the front of the room.

"Looks who's here."

Three sets of eyes followed her slender index finger to where a Canadian player had just ducked inside.  The woman was angular and piercing, with a long nose that ended, somewhat surprisingly, in a slightly bulbous tip.  It would have looked homely on anyone else, but offset against the chiseled jawline and high, sharp cheekbones it only made the woman look more contemptuously alluring. Her dirty blonde hair and exactingly curved brows framed large, light-brown eyes that scanned the room cautiously.

Clarke narrowed her gaze, her pulse speeding as she stared at the women who was partially responsible for the year she'd spent limping around on a bum knee.  She felt heated; indignant and incensed as she stared at the player whose cavalier disregard for safety and restraint had single-handedly cut her career short.  Of all the indignations she had suffered as a result of that fateful moment, the worst was knowing that Echo was walking around on two good legs, miraculously uninjured though both of their legs had impacted during the on-ice collision. This imbalance of repercussion was almost certainly due to the considerable size differential of the two women, with Clarke the unlucky smaller party.  A moment later the blonde jumped, shaken out of her fixation by the sound of a hand smacking the table-top.

“Fucking Côté! I can’t stand that girl!”  Raven seethed.  “I should go over there and knock that smile right off her smug, self-righteous face.”

The goalie glared daggers at the intimidating defenseman, as though she might jump over the table at any minute and charge the unsuspecting woman.

Immediately shifting back into captain mode, Clarke placed a restraining hand on her friend's shoulder.

“Raven, don’t. What happened was an accident.”  The words tasted like poison in Clarke’s mouth, but she forced them out anyway.

“Griff, how can you say that?”  Harper stared across the table at her friends, genuinely shocked.  “She nearly ended your…”

The thought trailed off into nothing as Harpers' eyes caught a glimpse of a second player who’d slunk in just being the Canadian Captain.

“Whoa.”  Harper’s eyes widened, her mouth hanging open a little as she drank in the intoxicating sight.  Everyone’s gaze shifted to the front of the room, where Lexa Woods hung hesitantly in the doorway.  Finally, she slipped inside, reluctantly following on the heels of the girl in front of her, unaware of the four American women whose stares were fixed on her as she made their way toward a table full of her teammates.

“Ugh!  She’s even sexier off the ice.”  Harper bit her lip and sighed, taking a sip of her drink as she continued to study the imposing figure cut but the Canadian goalie.

Clarke, Raven, and Octavia all spun their heads towards Harper, thoroughly shocked by the offhand revelation.

“I thought you had a boyfriend!”  Octavia’s eye popped wide open in shock.

Harper grinned sheepishly and shrugged.  “I mean, I do, but it’s not like I don’t have eyes.” Besides, I’ve always been open to the possibility.” 

Raven leaned across the table now, studying her friend curiously.  “Harper McIntyre, are you saying that you’ve dipped your toes in the waters of sapphic pleasure?”

Harper smiled coyly. “I dated a lot of people before I met Monty.”

Raven’s smile grew by a mile.  “Dude! You’re bi! How did we not know this?”

The soft-spoken defenseman shook her head, polishing off the last of her drink.  “I don’t ascribe to labels.  I see people, not gender.  However, if I had to call it something, I’d say I’m pansexual or polysexual, not bi.”

Raven rolled her eyes.  “Whatever you call it, you’re lusting after Lexa Woods!”

Harped chuckled and held up her hands. “I mean why wouldn’t I?  She’s a show stopper, and honestly…”

Harper leaned over the table secretively, bowing her head so only her friend could hear her.

“I saw her in the gym the other day doing pull-ups in nothing but tiny shorts and a sports bra.  She was covered in sweat, and I mean…”  Harper pulled at the front of her shirt, pretending to cool herself.  “That body… Those tattoos... All that toned muscle… I swear, I almost had to take a cold shower afterward.”

Raven smirked mischievously “I can only imagine.”  She chanced a quick glance at Clarke as she spoke, earning a swift kick under the table.

Clarke cleared her throat, trying not to blush furiously.  “Guys, we shouldn’t be talking about other players like this. It’s unprofessional.”

The stern statement seemed to strike a bit of solemnity into Octavia and Harped, their faces sobering a bit. Raven, however, would not be deterred.  “Clarke!  Are you not looking around this hospitality house right now.  Every athlete in here is hitting on someone, or about to be hit on by someone.  “Loosen up, girl! We didn’t just bring you down here for the cheap pilsners and the sightseeing.”

Realization suddenly hit Clarke like a freight train, and she screwed her eyes shut in frustration.

“You’re all trying to get me laid aren’t you.”

Guilt written all over her features, Octavia bit her lip nervously.  “Don’t look at me. It was their idea.”  The youngest current member of their team, the black-haired forward shrunk a bit, loath to be in trouble with someone she considered a mentor.

Harper reached across the table, gingerly placing her hand atop Clarke’s.  “Griff, we love you girl, but it’s been at least two years since you saw anyone. Be honest, aren’t you kind of going crazy without a little…”  She dipped her chin, her eyebrows wiggling. “You know?”

“I’m not answering that!” Clarke’s face burned with embarrassment, and not only because her friend had just insinuation that she had become a stiff in the past few years.  As soon as Harper had asked the question, a play by play of Clarke’s night with Lexa had begun to flash through her mind.  The captain found it hard to keep a straight face while remembering the unspeakable pleasure of having the brunette's face buried between her legs, her wild curly mane tickling the inside of Clarke's thighs.  For a moment she could almost smell the sweat pooling between their bodies, and taste herself on Lexa’s lips.

And then the moment was gone, and Clarke snapped out of it a second too late to realize that she’d been staring at Lexa the whole time.  She instantly turned bright red.  “I’m focused on my job.  I don’t have time for anything else right now.”

Her friends were all grinning at her, not the least bit fooled.  Octavia snickered into her beer, and Clarke reminded herself to scold Raven and Harper later for inviting a 19-year-old to drink with them in the first place.  Harper looked back and forth between the Canadian table and her captain a few times, her face a perfect picture of validation.

“Ok, so… I’m not the only one here who finds Lexa Woods attractive.”

“I’d say that’s fair.”  Raven felt another kick to her shin.  She tried not to wince as she smirked at her best friend.  Clarke, it’s alright to have fun sometimes.  You’re not going to lose your edge just because you talked to a pretty girl.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Raven, it’s fraternizing.  If we end up playing them in the final…”

“Okay! Okay!  Don’t talk to Woods then.  Find someone else, but go find someone!”

Raven gestured around the room.  “You’re in Olympic Village, Clarke.  This place is teeming with eligible, visually appealing single people that have the bodies of Greek gods.  Girl, this is literally the last time you’re ever going to be swimming in a pool of potential one-night-stands this top shelf.

As soon as she had made the statement, Raven’s face fell, realizing the unintended insinuation behind her words.  There was a moment of silence as the truth of Raven’s words sunk in for everyone.  No one on the team mentioned it, even in the privacy of privileged conversations, but it was a truth universally acknowledged that this would be Clarke’s last Olympics.  The uneasy feeling passed as quickly as it had come, and a second later Clarke was rising from her seat.

“Fine, but if you three are determined to set me up, then I’m going to need another beer.”

Raven swatted her friend ample backside playfully.  “That’s right Griffin!  Go get you some, girl!”

Clarke groaned, rolling her eyes as she made her way towards the bar.  Safely hidden inside the gaggle of people clambering for drinks, she snuck another look at the Canadian goalie, turning just in time to catch Lexa look away from her and apologize to a teammate for being distracted.  Clarke couldn’t help but smirk, wondering if Lexa’s mind was currently being invaded by the same salacious thoughts that had disarmed her earlier.  Perhaps it was the beer, or the suggestive insistence of her far too eager friends, or the intrusive memories of the night before, but at that moment Clarke decided that Raven was right. A little fun wouldn’t kill her.  She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed a quick message.

[Hey, this is Clarke.]

[Hey. What’s up?]

The response was tenser than she’d hoped, but Clarke remained undeterred.

[You still up for making this a two-night stand?]

She waited with bated breath, wondering if her dismissiveness in the aftermath of their encounter had put the Canadian phenom off of her.  A second later her phone vibrated in her hand, a single word appearing on the screen.

[Absolutely.]

Next Chapter ->

Clarke had kissed her in the locker room, and the kiss had been a spark to a powder keg.  What followed after had been a madcap scramble to retrieve clothing, a brief taxi ride back to Olympic village in which every effort was made to hide their dangerously roaming hands from the driver, a calculated separation between elevator rides so as not to draw attention to themselves.  Throughout, Lexa's pulse had raced frantically, terrified that too much time was passing, that any delay would restore Clarke to her senses, realizing it was all a mistake.

Any fear of missed opportunity faded the second Lexa opened her door to the licentious determined girl.  Clarke's lips were on her instantly, crushing her own with desperation as she struggled to shut and lock the door behind them. Fingers roamed along her hips and snaked under her shirt,  tracing the lines of her abs as she attempted to walk them back towards the bed.

"Your roommate?"  Clarke mumbled as her lips began a trail down Lexa's neck, attaching themselves to a spot on her shoulder that made the tall, tan girl feel boneless and dizzy. 

The bed felt much too far away, and Lexa backed Clarke up against the nearest wall, managing little more than "boyfriend" and "celebrating" in response as she grasped at a thigh and hitched it up, settling her full weight against the blonde.

Clarke's hands were in her hair now, their lips connecting again as they pressed into each other, two waves of terrible, long-ignored need that crashed together and swelled, the first amplified by the urgency of the second.

"No one can know."

The warning came out barely audible, dampened by the sound of gasps for air between reckless, rough kisses and the sounds of the struggle to pull off clothing while still pressed together.  Given a second to think about it, the cautionary demand might have felt hurtful, but Lexa was too busy removing her shirt to care much about caveats. She pulled the navy blue cloth over her head, struggling to free an arm from one of its long sleeves as she haphazardly discarded it on the floor.  Half naked now, save for a sports bar, Lexa peered down over a speechless Clarke.  The blonde stared hungrily at the expanse of Lexa’s stomach, her breaths heavy and labored as she examined the nooks and grooves of the sculpted muscles on display.  Clarke ran her finger over them wantonly, exploring every inch of the heated, tight flesh.

“How do you even look like this?”

Lexa leaned over the smaller woman, stealing another kiss and deepening it as she pressed Clarke back into the wall.

“Five-day-a-week workouts and thirteen years of no days off.”

The words were rushed and came out between kisses that Lexa trailed over Clarke’s plump lips and down her neck.

“That sounds awful.”

The brunette nodded, her eyes closed, her fingers roaming to find purchase on soft supple flesh and digging into it.  “It is.”

Lexa felt the tips of Clarke’s fingers dip tentatively inside her waistband.  The brunette’s head fell back in pleasure as the fingers ghosted softly over the V-shaped lines formed where her hips met her lower abdomen.  The feeling of those fingers sent a tidal wave of electric current coursing through Lexa’s body and made her spine tingle and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.  A wave of heat radiated off her skin, and she felt her pulse throb in her veins as though her heart was about to burst. Suddenly, something inside Lexa snapped.

She gripped at the curves of Clarke's hips and pulled her towards the bed greedily, dropping down and drawing the smaller girl on top of her as soon as she felt her legs hit the back of the mattress.  Clarke's weight on top of her was euphoric, and if any wariness had existed before, it disappeared as Lexa lost herself in the hands that ghosted over her ribs, sliding up the toned expanse of her stomach as they slipped under the material of her sports bra, pushing it off eagerly.  Lexa ran her hands along Clarke’s back.  She drew them around her soft, smooth hips, and tucked themselves into her waistband before they stilled apprehensively, waiting for permission.  The room felt as though a boiler had exploded, steaming and ovenlike.  All Lexa could do was stare into the blue eyes hovering over her and lay there anxiously, aching with want as she waited for the Clarke to give her approval.

“Clarke, is this ok?"

Momentarily frozen, Clarke hung above her, her expression alive with want and temptation, lost in the ardor of the moment.  Her eyes though, the piercing cerulean of them was clouded with trepidation, as though they were gazing over the edge of a precipice, wondering if the drop was a lethal one.

It took a monumental effort, but Lexa managed to find her better angels. She pushed herself up on her elbows and gazing upward understandingly as she struggled to ignore many a lascivious impulse.

"We can stop.  We don't have to..."

"No."  And like that, the certainty returned to Clarke's eyes.  She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head, removing it in a single, swift motion.  Clarke reached behind her gracefully, unclasping her sports bra and delicately letting the straps fall.  Slowly, she slid the material down her arms, freeing the most incredible pair of pale, perfectly round breast Lexa had ever seen.  Clarke’s took Lexa’s hand in hers, bringing it upward until the long, elegant fingertips had reached the point where the blonde’s ribs gave way to her ample chest.  She allowed Lexa’s hands to take over, enjoying the feel of them ghost over the swell of her bosom and closing her eyes as one thump smoothed over the hard pebbled surface of a hardened, pink nipple.

When Clarke opened her eyes the sky of them had darkened; and given way to an endless sea of want and lust. "I don't want to stop."

What had happened after that was mostly a blur.  Clothes were removed and forgotten, lights dimmed, and the whole of the world fell away until there was nothing but the two bodies in the bed.  The tiny word beneath the thin dormitory sheets was warm and wet, and alive with the moans and gasps of pleasure. The whole affair was a savage, needy sprint that left both women sweaty and sated, gasping for breath as exhaustion finally overtook them, and sleep conquered their drained and diminished bodies.

Staring at the figure next to her, Lexa couldn't help but wonder what the fallout would be when finally Clarke woke up.  Despite the emotional chaos of the encounter, at the time, they had appeared to orbit in a strange kind of consensus, confederates in their longing.  Post rendezvous, however, the goalie worried that the girl in her bed would wake filled with regret, or worse yet, feeling as though she'd been taken advantage of in a vulnerable state.  Neither possibility was palatable, and as Clarke began to stir, a preemptive wave of guilt rose up in Lexa's chest, feeling as though it would suffocate her.

The body under her arm shifted and rolled, and Clarke's eyelids fluttered open.  Clear blue pools peered up at the brunette calmly, still half drunk with sleep, but betraying no trace of disappointment.  To Lexa's great relief, Clarke gave a lazy half smile, sighing as she burrowed closer.

Lexa let it happen, doing her best not to smirk as Clarke curled into her and tucked her head against her chest.

"Griffin, are you trying to cuddle with me?"

A groan rumbled off of her ribcage.  "Oh, please. Don't act like you didn't have your arm over me just now."

She could feel Clarke fighting back a grin as a laugh tickled her sternum.  "Try not to ruin this by being yourself, Woods."

"Noted."  Lexa tried not to smile as she pulled the covers over them, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the warm body huddled against hers.  It was almost perfect, save for the nagging sense that she ought to clear the air, absolving her conscience once and for all.

"So," she hesitated. “You don’t have any regrets about last night?"

Clarke's breathing was warm and even against her skin, and the pad of her thumb stroked at the soft skin of Lexa's stomach.

"Not as long as no one finds out."

The statement prickled more than it felt it ought to, but Lexa let it go, dismissing the sensation as a bruised ego.

"Your secret is safe with me."  Without knowing why, she pressed a tender kiss to the top of Clarke's head, as though the act solidified her promise of discretion.  For a moment things felt awkward, but rather than object Clarke pressing her lips to the valley of skin above Lexa’s breast, forcing the goalie to ignore the way it made her pulse race.  Her hold on the smaller girl's torso grew tighter, more protective, and she ran a hand down Clarke's spine, surprised by the amount of muscle that clung to her tiny frame.

They lay there for a few moments, enjoying the afterglow as outside the sound of athletes filing out of hotel rooms and heading off to enjoy the evening began to grow louder.

"I need to leave."  Clarke finally broke the fragile bubble shrouding them from reality.  "You probably want to go celebrate your big win with your teammates."  There was almost no hint of bitterness to the statement, but Lexa could tell the American captain was still smarting from the loss as she leaned over the edge of the bed and began groping in the darkness for her clothes.

"You could stay for a bit."  Lexa played with the curve of the blonde's hip.  "We've already crossed the Rubicon and violated international athletic status quo."

She kissed the skin of the captain's back, enjoying the feeling of the warm body next to her more than she realized she ought to. "We might as well make the most of the evening."

Much to her chagrin, Clarke removed Lexa's hand from her hip, rising from the bed.  "Nice try Casanova," she smiled coyly, "but, as much fun as that sounds we've got a team meeting tomorrow, and bed-checks in an hour."  She searched the floor for her clothing, haphazardly pulling on an oversized shirt that she realized a second later belonged to Lexa.  Clarke peeled it off, tossing the article unceremoniously toward the bed, where it landed half shrouding the goalies head.  "Sorry," the blonde bit her lip as Lexa pulled the fabric from her face, "but the team captain can't exactly be absent for a curfew she's enforcing."

“Yeah, I guess,” Lexa nodded, hiding the pang of disappointment that had risen in her chest.

She watched as Clarke groped in the dark, desperate to find panties and a missing sock.  Lexa fished a bit of lace out from under the sheets and extended the fabric toward her frustrated companion.

"Here."

Clarke smiled graciously, tucking the fabric into the pocket the sweatpants she was struggling to pull on.  "Thanks."

“Don't mention it,” Lexa propped herself up in bed, watching her dress, wondering why she felt more bothered than normal by a girl leaving so soon after a casual rendezvous.  Trying to maintain her foothold in the situation, Lexa leaned back in the pillows, arms folded behind her head, cool and casual.  “So, you wanna exchange numbers or something?”  She paused, suddenly feeling tense, as though the statement had come off more needy than nonchalant.  She wracked her brain for a way to follow up the question with something that would make it seem more detached. 

"We have three days off.  I wouldn't mind making this a two-night stand if you were up for it."

Clarke chuckled, shrugging on her hoodie and grabbing her sneakers. She took a seat on the bed, pulling them on and staring skeptically at Lexa.

“I thought you didn’t do repeat performances?”

"Says who?"

Clarke narrowed her eyebrows.  "Says the Swedish snowboarder three rooms down from me and the German short track speed skater one floor up."

"Oh." Lexa's face fell. 

"Oh, indeed."

The goalie swallowed, trying not to appear guilty in the face of the knowing look Clarke was shooting her.  “I mean.. I do if the company is tempting enough.”

“Ugh,” Clarke made a sickened face, pulling on her last shoe. "I'm so flattered." She frowned at the naked girl reclining on the pillows, her face a mixture of annoyance and sarcasm. “You're gonna have to do better than that Woods.”

“Wait!” Lexa sat up a bit, sobered into sincerity. She pushed the tangled mess of loose curls out of her face, grabbing Clarke's wrist before she could push herself off the bed. “Honestly, I had a good time tonight."  

The brunette's face became soft, her gaze as genuine as she could make it. "I know what my reputation is, but if you're up for it, I think we should do this again."

Clarke considered the offer carefully, unable to take her eyes off the nude girl, whose toned muscles shifted temptingly under her tawny skin.  “I feel like it goes without saying that you can't tell anyone about this."

“What?"  Lexa touched her hand to her chest, feigning an expression of wounded shock. "You mean I can't tell my incredibly competitive and suspicious teammates that I'm fraternizing with the enemy? I'm sorry, but that's a bridge too far, Griffin.”

Clarke rolled her eyes “Ok, point taken. You're not going to tell anyone.”

“So,” Lexa leaned on her elbow, grinning hopefully, "does this mean that I get your number?"

“No,” Clarke looked at her suspiciously.  "But you can give me yours, and I'll think about it."

"I'll take it."  Lexa accepted the captain's phone graciously, tapping the screen hurriedly and saving her number before the girl has a chance to reconsider.  "You won't regret this, Griffin."

Clarke smirked, stealing a final quick kiss from the tall, frustrating girl in the bed  "I'm sure I will, but let's worried about that later."  She ran her fingers along the sinewed flesh of Lexa's stomach, unable to resist the urge to feel her soft skin once more before she left.

"You should get dressed, you know.  Sounds like your teammates are headed out to celebrate.  You're going to miss them if you don't hurry."

Lexa blushed.  "Yeah, they kind of didn't invite me."

Clarke stared at the goalie curiously, as though she'd just said something utterly ridiculous.  "Why wouldn't they invite you?"

"They kind of hate me."

The American girl nodded, considering the information judiciously.  "Well, did you give them a reason to?"

Lexa shrugged. "My existence, in general, annoys them, but apparently the latest slight was something I said in an interview about feeling like I had a major advantage because I'd transitioned to the team from the OHL."

"Ah, that explains it.” Clarke shook her head in amusement.

"What?"  Lexa cocked one eyebrow.  "I don't get why that would upset anyone."

"Exactly," Clarke nodded.  "You don't get how that statement diminished the credibility of the women's league.  You're too caught up in proving yourself as a men's hockey player."

"But..." Lexa fumbled for a response, irritated that Clarke wouldn't recognize the obvious fact behind her statement. "I didn't mean that other women's players aren't good enough to play in the men's league.  I think some of them are.  I mean, if you were bigger..."

"But I'm not bigger, Lexa."  Clarke cut her off, rolling her eyes at the statement she'd heard a hundred times before.  "I'm never going to be more than 5'4" 140 pounds.  That doesn't mean that I'm not a great hockey player."

Clarke rose from the bed and retrieved her jacket from the floor.  "I know that I'm a great hockey player. Like you said earlier, how many people could have made the shot that I made tonight?"

“Admittedly,” Lexa huffed, “none.”

Clarke nodded. "Right, but even so, I'm never going to be able to compete with men twice my size.  The physics of it just aren't fair, and there is no getting around that. The NHL's average body metrics are six foot one inch and two hundred pounds.  Do you even know how few women fit that metric?"

Lexa shook her head.

"It's a fraction of a percent, .051% to be exact, and even at that size, a woman would still have a different musculature.  That stacks the odds pretty high against us in any position outside of goaltending."

Clarke looked the tall, powerfully built Canadian girl up and down, solemnly.  "I don't think you realize how lucky you are to have a body like you do. That's why it's critical to have a women's league, so phenomenal women's players don't get left behind just because they're biologically designed to be smaller.  And, I mean it's not like we aren't just as exciting to watch.  The US Women's National Team has never been ranked lower than 3rd by the IIHF, and we've been ranked 1st since 2009.  Moreover, we've won eight of the past ten world championships.  Do you know how many the US Men's National Team has won?"

Lexa shook her head.

"Two, and the last one was in 1960.  The men are ranked 6th in the world, and they've never been higher than 4th, and yet, until a year ago they earned 70,000 dollars a year to our 6,000 dollars every four years."

"Wow, really?"  The goalie stared, stunned.

"Yes, really."  Clarke finished pulling on her coat, playing with the zipper awkwardly.  "Woods, the worst thing about you is that more than anyone, you know what it's like to have your talent continually scrutinized because of your size and gender.  Yet, for some reason, when you face criticism that is obviously gender-based, you doubled down on that bias rather than pointing out the injustice of it."

The captain finally looked up from her jacket. "You're an outstanding goalie, Lexa.  You went undefeated in the last three games of your Major Junior season and the first two games of the Olympics.  Honestly, you might be one of the best to ever play the game."

"So you've been googling me?"

"Not the point."  Clarke rolled her eyes, her face suddenly soften, as though she felt sorry for the girl in the bed.  "Aren't you tired of playing in leagues where you're chronically underestimated and unappreciated?"

Lexa stared at Clarke in astonished silence, too shocked and confused by the poignant criticism to form a coherent response.

From across the room, Clarke smiled at her sympathetically.  "Look, if you want to win over your team, try defending what they do." 

She crossed the floor, grabbing her cell phone from the bedside table.  

“Just… Try not to have such a big chip on your shoulder is all I'm saying."  With that, she pressed a quick kiss to Lexa's forehead and headed for the exit, disappearing through the door before Lexa could say another word.

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