#allysunargent

Clarke hates that description. Raven loves it.

“Don’t give me that look,” Clarke accuses, picking up the larger crumbs of the scone left on the napkin. “I wanted to bother asking this time, since it’s kind of a weird request.” She takes a moment to brush her hands off on her jeans, leaving Raven to speculate. “You know that stupid family gathering I’ve got next week? Basically just so my mom can show off to family she doesn’t see often?”

Raven nods; that’s easy. Clarke’s been complaining about it for days on end. She once called Raven at two in the morning just because she’d had a dream of it going terribly.

“Is this you asking me to go with you?” she asks. Clarke scrunches her nose but something in her shoulders loosen, so Raven’s at least half right. Which just happens to confuse her more, because how could she only be half right with something like that?

“Sort of,” Clarke says. She takes a deep breath before blurting out, “I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend. And come with me.”

If Raven were a lesser person—Bellamy, for example—she’d choke on the coffee she’s back to drinking. Instead, because she’s an absolute goddess, she manages to swallow the mouthful of mocha before uttering a deadpan, “Excuse me?”

Clarke looks sheepish for all of three seconds before anger flickers into its place on her face. “My mom called me today. She wanted to know if I’d be telling everyone there that I’d dropped pre-med the end of our first year here for a major in art.” She sighs, runs a hand through her blonde hair, making it even messier. She cut it after her break-up with Lexa four months ago, so it now rests at her shoulders instead of her waist. Now, the messier it is, the better Clarke looks. Raven sort of hates her for it.

Clarke continues, “She also asked if I would be telling anyone about Lexa.” The anger sort of deflates out of her, then, and Raven reaches across the table wordlessly to grab her hand in sympathy. Clarke squeezes her fingers in thanks.

“So, basically,” Raven summarizes for her, “she was asking you to play the golden child. The following-in-her-mother’s-footsteps, straight, by the book golden child.”

“Exactly,” Clarke says with a nod.

“And you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend why?” Raven asks. These dots, she hasn’t managed to connect yet.

At this, Clarke throws out a devious little smile that has Raven’s blood running faster. “Well,” Clarke says slowly, “I’ve been out for almost five years now, and I’m happier studying art than I ever did medicine. So, I thought instead of trying to be the best in the flock, I’d just try to be the blackest sheep ever.”

A beat, and then Raven starts laughing.

“I can’t exactly say no to that, can I?” Raven says between giggles. Clarke’s face splits into a grin.

“So you’ll do it?” she asks, and Raven laughs again.

“A chance to eat fancy food and watch you fuck up the poor, tiny minds of sexist assholes? Hell yes, I’m in,” Raven answers, and Clarke smiles around the rim of Raven’s stolen coffee cup, which she’s swiped again, this time without Raven noticing.

When they tell their friends about it, Octavia nearly falls off her tiny dorm room bed laughing, eventually lolling her head around to look at her brother, who’s laughing too, albeit more calmly than his sister.

“And you called her a rich snob when you first met her,” she teases him, but it’s fond, light with laughter. Bellamy sticks his tongue out at her in a rare show of immaturity.

“Get video,” Monty tells Raven seriously, which sends Octavia off again, and that’s that.

A week later sees the two of them in nice clothes—Clarke in a slinky red dress, Raven in tight black jeans and a dark green blouse (“We’re fucking Christmas in July.” “Well, it explains why we’re both so hot.”)—standing outside the mansion that Clarke grew up in.

“I thought you were exaggerating, honestly,” Raven admits. There are four other cars in the driveway asides from Clarke’s white Hyundai, with enough room for at least another two—with more parked on the street—and the driveway is nothing compared to the house. Raven’s intimidated just standing there.

Clarke’s hand slips into Raven’s, her thumb rubbing across Raven’s knuckles soothingly. “I wish I was,” Clarke says, tilting her head and pursing her lips to scrutinize the house. “It was lonely.”

Down the walkway, the door opens and a young man their age comes out, still talking to someone inside the house and holding something in his hands Raven can’t make out from this distance.

Raven looks over to Clarke for her reaction, but her (pretend) girlfriend smiles widely and shouts, “Wells!”

The name if not the face Raven recognizes. Wells is Clarke’s childhood best friend, their friendship long and deep and true, something Raven knows she can’t, nor is trying to, compete with. She smiles and goes along willingly when Clarke tugs her along up to where Wells is waiting, arms outstretched for the small blonde who gleefully jumps into them, only at which point does she let go of Raven.

Clarke squawks when Wells’ strong hold and superior height makes her feet come off the ground, which she starts to kick back and forth in protest. Wells laughs and says loudly, “It’s not my fault you’re short!” but goes to set her down anyways. Only then does he see Raven, standing behind Clarke, and his expression goes hilariously confused.

“I’m Raven,” she introduces herself, then adds a bit unsure, “Girlfriend.” Thinks to herself how there’s no going back now that she’s introduced herself as such to Clarke’s best friend. It’s nerve-wracking.

This is good enough for Wells, though, because he nods and offers a hand to shake once Clarke’s moved to the side somewhat. “Wells Jaha,” he says formally, like he’s spent his whole life introducing himself. “Best friend.” He turns to Clarke, amusement clear. “Abby’s not going to like her being here.”

Clarke smiles, devious. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

Wells laughs again, ducking down to kiss her temple. A flash of something—jealousy?—jolts through Raven. “I missed you,” he tells Clarke.

Clarke laughs. “Dude, I only moved two states over. You’re the one who moved across the country.”

Wells shrugs innocently, taking Clarke’s free hand and pulling her towards the mansion. Raven rushes to follow “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turns away from her, and further teasing, at the door to yell inside, “Clarke’s here!”

The front entrance—Clarke would probably call it a foyer and then tease her for still not calling it that even after being corrected—is massive, leading forwards to what is probably an—even larger—living room or kitchen, and upwards to the second floor landing overhead via the winding staircase against the left wall. If Raven thought the outside was intimidating, this room alone should just swallow her whole now.

As if once again sensing Raven’s inner sense of not good enough, Clarke stays where she is as Wells lets her go and continues on to the next room, sliding Raven’s jacket off her shoulders and moving to hang it up. Raven doesn’t even have time to miss her before she’s back, resting her hands on the junction of her shoulder and neck on either side, chin hooking over her shoulder. Her chest plasters itself to Raven’s back as her hands start to rub, and Raven relaxes instantly. This is more contact than they usually have, and even though Raven supposes it’s to fit the role of ‘girlfriend’ they’re both taking tonight to trick her family, she enjoys it all the same.

“You’re gonna be great,” Clarke whispers, right next to her ear. Raven hums, focuses on keeping it like that and not morphing into a moan. “We’re going to make every single old asshole here fucking blue to the face.”

This makes Raven laugh, shattering the cool sense of—well, something, that had settled over their moment. To destroy it completely, a woman walks into the hall then, face already pinched exasperatedly.

“Clarke!” the woman exclaims, and Clarke tenses just so behind her. Judging by that and the similarities between them Raven notes—the waves in their hair, slopes of cheekbones, hard eyes that Raven knows at least one pair of can fucking melt—she can guess this is Abby Griffin, Clarke’s mother.

“Mom, hi,” Clarke says, with cheer Raven knows is false but bets Abby doesn’t. She steps out from behind Raven, leaving her back cold, and hugs her mother—only somewhat awkwardly—when she’s close enough. She only hugs her for a few seconds though before squirming free and stepping back, reaching back to Raven, who in turn automatically curls her fingers around Clarke’s, as natural as taking in her next breath.

Abby sighs quietly, brushing a stray hair back into place and looking to Raven. “You must be Raven,” she says, and Raven nods and smiles a little. “I’m Abby, Clarke’s mother. It’s a pleasure to meet you, although Clarke hasn’t talked about you.” It’s meant to sting.

Raven doesn’t give her that satisfaction. “It’s hard to talk about someone to someone you don’t talk to,” Raven replies, her tone matching the fake polite of Abby’s. Clarke turns into Raven, coughs out a laugh into her shoulder, and Raven tastes the barest hint of victory, strong and sweet, in her mouth.

Abby’s smile is brittle, and she looks to Clarke. “I thought we’d talked about this,” she says plainly.

Clarke shrugs. “Raven’s more family than most people in there to me,” she says, jutting her chin out past Abby. “I thought it would be good to bring her. Wells is fine with it.”

Abby rolls her eyes. “And I’m assuming this means you’ll be telling everyone all about the career in art you’re pursuing?”

Clarke’s smile shifts to feral. “I sold my first painting last month.”

Abby sighs again, pinching at her nose. “Clarke,” she says finally, “you know Marcus and I support you, no matter what. But these people are difficult. They expect something from you.”

“You mean from you,” Clarke corrects. “To prove that you raised me to their standards. I can handle them, Mom. Can you?” With that, she pushes past her mother and continues on to where everyone else is, Raven falling into step easily with her, despite the quickened pace. Her legs are longer than Clarke’s, anyway.

Since Raven met Clarke three years ago, Clarke’s gone home to her family over holidays a total of two times. Once was a ski trip, back in her pre-med days, over Christmas that Clarke had come back from surly and sour. The other was at the start of the summer after their first year of college, to tell her mother and stepfather she’d changed her major. Within two weeks, Octavia was changing her status on Facebook, going on about how great a summer with Clarke around would be, even if she and Octavia’s brother were at each other’s throats every other day.

Besides that, any conversations Clarke ever has over the phone with anyone who shares her blood end with her scowling or flipping out biting remarks for days. Raven knows she doesn’t like her family that much. She’s still wondering just what exactly made them be here tonight.

So Raven isn’t overly surprised when people come up to Clarke rather quickly, crowding around them in a semi-circle within minutes. Clearly, Clarke is something of a rarity at family gatherings. Raven reaches out with one hand to grab champagne off a passing waiter’s tray for the two of them, draping her arm across Clarke’s shoulders once she’s handed the second glass off. People are looking, so Raven starts acting.

“Thanks, babe,” Clarke murmurs, reaching her free hand up and holding onto Raven’s hanging , wrist curled over the curve of Clarke’s shoulder. Raven sneaks a look at the relatives around them, and nearly snorts at their saucer-wide eyes.

“Clarke!” one of them finally exclaims, prompting Clarke to look at him down the length of her champagne flute. “Who is this?”

“Hello, Uncle,” Clarke says kindly, although she doesn’t move to hug or kiss him. Or anyone else around them, for that matter. “This is my girlfriend, Raven.”

“Pleasure,” Raven says, sipping at her own flute. She wants something stronger, especially if they’re going to be here for a while, but somehow she suspects that isn’t going to happen.

This is met by silence and long stares, but finally a woman, probably one of Clarke’s aunts, says too kindly to be real, “Did you two meet in one of your medical classes?”

Clarke and Raven both laugh—Raven, at least, because of the perfect coincidence that will now allow Clarke to completely blow away anyone she wants. Clarke’s is faker, meant as part of the show.

“Sorry,” Clarke says, controlling herself. Another woman is looking at them with a pinched expression, her distaste the most obvious. “No, we didn’t. I’m not even involved in pre-med anymore, Aunt Cece.”

“What are you doing, then?” Clarke’s aunt is moving from confused to annoyed, and Clarke’s not helping. She’s oozing self-confidence about things, according to them, she should not be in the least bit proud of. Raven’s feeling weirdly attracted to her.

“I’m majoring in art, now,” she tells her family.

“And I’m a mechanic,” Raven adds. “I’m still in school, but I’m focusing more on opening my own shop. We have a friend who’s a business major, so we’re going to open something up together once we’ve graduated, probably.”

“That’s admirable,” an uncle says, although his wife then adds, “And dirty.”

Raven shrugs, knows she probably shouldn’t but can’t resist saying, “I like it better than way.”

Multiple relatives choke on their drinks, and Clarke bursts out in laughter, dragging Raven away from them without another word. They end against a wall, Raven’s back to it and Clarke against her, laughing into her neck. It only takes a minute for Raven to get lost in the feeling of it, Clarke’s body shaking against hers in delight.

“You’re my new hero,” Clarke gasps into her shoulder, and Raven laughs again.

“My fucking pleasure,” she says, and Clarke looks up at her and grins. She’s close enough that there’s only a few inches between them. Raven would barely even have to move forward, and their lips would be touching.

Clarke blinks, and maybe she realizes it too.

Someone taps on Clarke’s shoulder, and she turns away slightly to look at them, and the moment breaks.

“No making out at family reunions!” the woman says loudly, but she’s grinning. Clarke pulls away from Raven completely to hug her, and she tries to tamp down her disappointment. She’s mostly successful.

“I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to see you again,” the woman says. She’s their age, or close, and now it’s jealousy that Raven’s trying to ignore.

Clarke snorts, pulling away. “Stop being so dramatic, Harper, Christ,” Clarke says. “Am I the only one who hasn’t forgotten you and Wells both moved across the fucking country?”

Harper shrugs. “Whatever, at least we come back and visit,” she says accusingly.

“You could just come visit me,” Clarke defends. Harper sticks her tongue out at her, but nods, agreeing. “How are you and Wells doing, by the way?”

Harper smiles. “Amazing,” she says, dreamily. Catching sight of Raven, she blinks and waves even though she’s only a couple of feet away. She leans into Clarke, murmurs, “This your girlfriend Wells and my mom mentioned? She’s having a fit, by the way.”

At this, Clarke laughs loudly. “Yeah, sorry about that,” she says, to which Harper immediately replies,

“No you’re not. And neither and I. Fuck her, honestly. I love her, but fuck her. I’m Harper,” she tells Raven.

“Raven,” she introduces, coming off the wall and towards them. “Your mom?” she questions.

“Clarke’s aunt,” Harper answers. “One of them. I’m her cousin. And I’m engaged to her best friend.” She brings up her left hand, showing off the sizable engagement ring, and Raven nods, understanding.

“Speaking of Wells,” Clarke asks, “where is he?”

“Shit,” Harper curses, looking around as if she’s only just noticed his absence. “Probably being held hostage by his father. I’m going to go try and save him. Wish me luck!” she presses a kiss to Clarke’s cheek and then is gone, the skirt of her blue dress twirling around her knees as she turns on her heel and rushes off.

“I like her,” Raven says once she’s gone, sliding her hand into Clarke’s.

She smiles at Raven, leaning into her. “Yeah, Harper’s great. I argued with her mom almost as much as my own, but Harper always took my side. She’s one of the few people I actually like being related to.”

Neither of them bring up Clarke’s dad, although Raven knows from previous conversations, typically in the dead of night, curled together on a single dorm bed, that he was Clarke’s favourite family member, hands down. She also knows his death is part of the reason she doesn’t visit often.

They hit up the food table, gathering up plates of tiny sandwiches and far too many desserts, and then Clarke leads her to a coach towards the back of the large room. Clarke tells her it’s a living room, but it might as well be a carpeted ballroom to Raven. She sits, and Clarke lays across it with her feet in Raven’s lap, and they watch the people around them. Raven makes judging comments and Clarke throws in some of her own for good measure, and answers any and all of Raven’s questions about who’s in the room with them. Wells comes over once, with Harper, and a few more relatives that Clarke announces her title as black sheep of the family to, who end up scurrying off, scandalized. 

Mostly, they’re left alone, gossip being enough to spread Clarke’s news. When people look over, Clarke waves and brings her latest glass of champagne into the air in a mock toast. Raven’s hand is wrapped around Clarke’s ankle and often, Clarke will lean forward to whisper something in Raven’s ear, her fingertips brushing her upper arm. It’s probably only when people are looking, Raven acquiesces.

She gets lost in the feeling anyways.

They leave half-drunk on champagne without saying goodbye to anyone asides from Harper and Wells. Harper’s found the harder stuff in the back of the cupboard and is properly drunk, leaning against Wells and trusting him to hold her up. Wells hauls her off towards their car, and Raven and Clarke are left alone on the winding walkway of Clarke’s childhood home.

“Thank you,” Clarke says. They’re still holding hands. “For doing this with me.”

She leans over and presses a single kiss to her lips, and then goes off towards her car, too. Raven does what she always has; she follows.

They hold hands on the way back home the next morning, intertwined fingers resting on the console as they sing along to Raven’s most played on her IPhone. When they get back to campus, late at night, they fall into Raven’s dorm room together, pushing the beds together even though her roommate hates them both and will hate them all the more for this, and they fall asleep.

Three weeks later, and they’re still holding hands everywhere they go. In class if they share it, at the coffee shop they spend way too much time at, even when they’re with their friends. They’ll lean into each other without thinking about it. Are always touching now. Their friends confront them about it, eventually.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Octavia asks them one day, when they’re all hanging out in the apartment she and her brother share. Raven and Clarke are together in an armchair, limbs tangled together and Raven’s head in the crook of Clarke’s elbow, simply because it’s the closest part of her.

“We’re cuddling,” Clarke says, slowly, as if speaking to a child.

“Yeah, but you’ve been doing it all the time,” Bellamy cuts in. “Ever since you went to D.C. last month.”

“Did you guys finally have sex?” Miller asks bluntly. Clarke snaps her head up, but Raven’s half asleep and half drunk on Clarke’s closeness. She stays where she is.

“Excuse me?” Clarke asks incredulously. Octavia rolls her eyes.

“You guys are acting more like a couple than Monty and Miller.” She gestures to the aforementioned pair, who are sitting together on the loveseat, barely touching although Monty’s slouched half on Miller. “And they’re actually dating.”

“We’re in the habit of it,” Raven mumbles, eyes closed and muscles relaxed. “Since Clarke’s family thing.”

Clarke makes a noise of agreement. “But we’re not dating,” she says.

“But you want to be,” Octavia wastes no time in firing back.

Clarke makes a choked-off noise. It’s what finally makes Raven move, to look back at her.

“Do you?” Raven asks her simply.

“Do you?” Clarke echoes, stalling. Raven seems to surprise her by shrugging and tucking herself closer. She watches the muscles of Clarke’s throat work as she swallows.

“Um,” Clarke replies finally. “I don’t know? It never even occurred to me before.” Her voice is so quiet, meant for only Raven’s ears. She starts to play with Raven’s fingers. In the background, there’s hushed words from their friends and then the volume on the TV is turned up, giving them as much privacy as they can get. “But this,” Clarke continues, with a nervous laugh, “it doesn’t feel weird. It feels right. Natural.”

Raven blinks, starts to lean in, and then Octavia says loudly, “Do not make out in my favourite armchair!”

Clarke laughs again, still nervous, and dips forward to put her forehead against Raven’s.

“So?” Raven shrugs. She’s so desperate for someone in her life that’ll stay, she figures a missing point on a lightning bolt doesn’t matter.

Finn smiles at her. “You’re right,” he says; his voice is higher than hers. “We can still be soulmates, if you want.”

Raven nods, her ponytail flying behind her wildly. “I do,” she says happily. His fingers move from her wrist to her hand, holding it, and for a while, she’s happy.

(Twelve years later, she lands of Earth to find that that extra point matters a hell of a lot. He was never her soulmate, and somewhere inside they both knew it.)

**

Clarke’s Soul Mark sits on her collarbone, easily hidden by any shirt. She makes it a point though, when she’s old enough, to wear shirts that show it off anyways. She loves the way the bolt cuts across the bone, each of the three points of lightning looking different with the angles the bone creates.

Her dad jokes that it’s a symbol she’s a ruler, like Zeus.

“Let’s just hope that if I ever meet my match, we’re a better fit than Zeus and Hera,” she replies. Her dad laughs, and she ducks away from the hand he tries to ruffle her hair with.

She only sees Finn’s Mark when they have sex, his hair too long and hiding it the rest of the time.

“Maybe we’re soulmates,” he says, his voice sounding funny. She chalks it up to her fingers on his neck, or maybe the fact that her bra hit the floor five minutes ago.

“Yours only has two points,” she says, but her mouth’s turning up at one side anyways. “Mine has three.”

Finn pulls her down and kisses her instead of responding. It’s easy to convince herself it feels right.

**

“Tell me you weren’t screwing my Soulmate as I was risking my ass to come down here!” Raven’s just on this side of yelling, and on the other side of angry. She’s brandishing the two-headed deer figurine at Clarke like a weapon, or maybe just as the damning evidence it is, but Clarke doesn’t care about that suddenly as her head spins.

“Soulmate?” she asks, and she sounds odd to her own ears, like her mind’s thinking up scenarios she can’t even compute yet.

“Yeah,” Raven replies, maybe growls. She pulls down the arm warmer covering her left wrist, shoving it in Clarke’s face. It’s so close she can barely focus on it, but the black lightning bolt is obvious no matter what. A lightning bolt with three points.

Clarke’s finding it hard to breathe.

“What?” Raven says, her lip curling up in a vicious smile. She’s taking Clarke’s silence as defeat, she realizes. “Didn’t know what you were fucking up, did you?”

“Raven,” Clarke chokes out, but she can’t talk right, so she settles for pulling down the collar of her jacket, showing off her own Soul Mark.

Raven’s brow crinkles in confusion, then clears out when she realizes, her eyes widening. Her eyes flick from her own wrist, to Clarke’s collarbone, back again, and again, back and forth.

“Holy shit,” she says finally, her voice barely above a breath.

“Finn’s only has two points,” Clarke says, finding a way to talk again.

“Holy shit,” Raven says again, and then she turns around abruptly, shoulders hunching as her hands grab the table she’s been working at. The raven around her neck swings into Clarke’s sight for a moment before Raven rips it off, throwing it at the wall. “Leave,” she tells Clarke without turning.

Because she’s a coward, Clarke does.

**

Finn’s dying, and all Raven can think about is Clarke.

Clarke, her apparent soulmate. Not Finn, as it turns out, but Clarke. She can’t believe this. She doesn’t know what to do.

She watches in a bewildered state of awe as Clarke pulls the knife out of Finn’s chest, and then disappears up the ladder soon after because of course there’s fucking poison on the knife.

Raven’s sure she’s about to pass out. The fact that Clarke is moving so much is a goddamn miracle. Raven refuses to believe she’s unaffected by this.

She’s loved Finn for ten years, more than half her life. She should feel like her world is ending right now.

(It feels like it’s beginning.)

**

Clarke sits shoulder to shoulder with Bellamy, her head up against the metal wall of the dropship behind her. The Grounder is across the room from them, passed out for the time being, and they’re alone except for him. They each have a foot against the closed hatch, making sure it stays that way. His pants have ridden up at his ankle, and she can the top of a blue line coming up out of his boot. His own Soul Mark. Her eyes flick to his face, drawn and tired. He can’t be older than 25, but he looks like he’s seen too much already. She knows she has.

She doesn’t particularly like the guy, but at least at the moment, she feels like she understands him.

“I wish I’d used less of Monty’s moonshine to sterilize everything,” she says, mostly just to break the silence. And to try to get rid of that blank look in his eyes. “I could use some of it right now.”

A strangled sound makes its way out of Bellamy’s chest, and she chooses to take it as a laugh.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Bellamy tells her, jutting his chin out towards the Grounder.

“I’m sorry you had to do it,” she replies. Swallows hard.

They lapse back into silence, but it feels easier now. Lighter.

Her mind goes to Raven, the desperation in her voice as they struggled to save Finn. The way she’d all but screamed “he’s all I have!” at the Grounder. She’d wanted to shake the other girl, tell her that’s not true, that she’s never going to have to worry about that again.

“Raven’s my soulmate,” she finds herself saying. Bellamy’s head turns in her direction slowly, eyebrows raised high.

“Seriously?” he says, but it’s not judging, surprisingly enough. “Not Finn?”

Clarke shakes her head, pulls her neckline down enough to show the Mark. “Finn’s has two points,” she says, explaining although not knowing why. “Ours have three.”

Bellamy makes a sound back in his throat, considering. “Didn’t have you down for being into girls,” he says finally, and when she shoves him, the tension cracks a little.

It all but shatters when she says with half a laugh that breaks her faux-serious tone, “If your sister wasn’t under the floor for most of her life, I totally would have hit that.”

“Yeah, well,” Bellamy says once he’s recovered. “Looks to me like you’re taken.”

**

Raven’s staring at Finn’s sleeping form, trying to decide if she loves him or not.

The simple answer is, of course she does. She thought, up until a day ago, that they were soulmates. Destined since before birth to be together. Maybe a missing, or extra, point doesn’t matter all that much. She still loves him.

The complicated answer isn’t like that so much.

The complicated answer? She’s known all along, somewhere in the depths of her heart, that they were never meant to last. That she was a desperate kid, trying to survive, lonely as all hell, but smart enough to know that a Soulmate couldn’t leave. That finding a Mark to match hers meant having someone at her side, permanently. That she found an inch and took a mile. The complicated answer is that she only loved him with pieces of herself, and not everything she ever had.

(There’s an answer to a question she hasn’t asked yet, and that’s that she’s fairly certain she could love Clarke with everything. And more. But she’s not ready to ask it, yet.)

Raven looks at the metal raven in her hands, picked up off the floor after Clarke had left, and makes a decision.

She puts the raven down on the table next to Finn. Stands up, presses a kiss to his cheek, and whispers, “Goodbye,” in his ear.

She’ll make it official when he wakes up. For now, she leaves.

**

Clarke finds Raven outside the dropship, helping clean up the wreckage of the storm. Silently, she helps Raven carry a large branch that might very well be most of the tree it came from to outside of the ruined walls. They drop it, straighten again only to stare at each other.

Clarke wets her lips, her tongue darting out and across them. (She doesn’t see the way Raven’s eyes track the movement.)

“You know it’s not true, right?” Clarke blurts before she can help herself.

Raven gives her a confused look. “What’s not true?” she asks.

“That Finn’s all you have,” Clarke says, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I mean, uh.” She looks at the ground, scuffs the toe of her boot in the dirt. Looks up again. “You’ve got me,” she says finally.

Raven blinks at her, obviously surprised. “Really?” she says, and her voice is so small suddenly. It scares Clarke, but it also makes her pulse quicken.

“Yeah,” she breathes, daring to step closer. “Even if nothing ever happens, I’m still going to be here.”

Raven kisses her.

She moves so quickly Clarke doesn’t even register her closing the remaining distance between them until it’s done and Raven’s lips are pressed against hers, her hands on either side of her face, lithe body pressed up against hers. Clarke’s completely engulfed by Raven in a second, and all she can do is press her hands to Raven’s waist and hold on.

The kiss is over nearly as quickly as it started, with Raven pulling away only to put her forehead to Clarke’s and breathe heavily, her eyes still closed. She’s too close to be anything but a blur, but Clarke opens her eyes anyway, drinks in whatever she can.

“I’ve never been with a girl before,” Raven whispers, surprising a laugh out of Clarke.

“I’ll teach you,” she says, and moves to kiss Raven again. Raven smiles against her mouth.

**

When Finn tells Raven two days later, once he’s woken up and Raven finds some time to see him, that he slept with Clarke, Raven pats him on the knee and says with a smile,

“Me too.”