#bol update

Between Our Love

Chapter 11 - stones and starlight

Clarke’s gaze shifts from the strokes of graphite to the girl beyond the edge of the sketchbook, languidly stretching, arms above her head, before she’s even opened her eyes. Yeah, the drawings never come close to capturing the grace of the real thing.

Even when the real thing has messy bed-head and sleepy eyes as she blinks at Clarke as though surprised to see her there. Clarke snaps her sketchbook shut and looks at her, lips pressed together again in a vain attempt to curb the soft smile curving her lips. It doesn’t matter, really—not since Lexa’s lips are curving too, and she’s ducking her head into the pillow almost bashfully.

“Good morning,” she says, voice still a sleepy rasp. “How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” Clarke says, though a glance at the clock tells her she’s been sketching for over half an hour. She doesn’t correct herself, and stands to slip the sketchbook in a random drawer. “You want some breakfast?”

Lexa’s noncommittal hum has Clarke huffing as she turns to face her. She knows Lexa. She’s hungry, she’s always hungry—but she doesn’t want to get out of bed. By Lexa’s lips tugging up into a grin, she’s fully aware Clarke is reading her like a book, but she knows Clarke, too. She pointedly pats the mattress beside her.

They both giggle when Clarke immediately flops into bed. Lexa shifts back a little bit to make room, but they still share the same pillow, faces inches apart. Lexa’s eyes are a lovely pale shade of green this morning.

They avert after a moment, Lexa turning to burrow her face into the pillow again. Clarke snorts, and after a beat, Lexa’s muffled voice says, “I’m still sleepy.”

Clarke laughs quietly. “This is late for you, you’re usually up for a run by now.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight thirty.”

Lexa makes a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan, and Clarke’s amusement grows, especially when Lexa finally lifts her head to turn to face her again. The fine baby hairs around Lexa’s hairline are fluffy and wild from the pillow; her eyes are so green right now, flecks of gold visible and glowing in the pale sunlight streaming through the blinds.

Clarke’s smile is as soft as the way she brushes errant hair out of Lexa’s face. “How are you doing?”

Between Our Love

Chapter 9: as the evening pulls the sun down

Summary: Clexa go on a roadtrip (and sometimes- gasp- there's only one bed!)

Between Our Love

Chapter 8: Autumn Killed the Summer with the Softest Kiss

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Lexa takes a deep breath. Lets it expand in her lungs and then holds it. The sun presses gold and red on her eyelids but she imagines if it were winter. How the air inside her might freeze over one snowflake at a time, like a bubble some carefree child let drift free in the cold.

Warmth on her face and that sharp, bitter bite of ice in her chest. It certainly makes sense.

"Missed what?"

Lexa opens her eyes. She's sitting in a quiet office. A few dust particles float in the muted golden light leaking in through the window blinds. The carpet is a soft green and the chair she sits in, legs drawn up because she's never been able to sit like a normal person for long, is just uncomfortable enough to remind her not to grow too comfortable here.

As if she'd forget.

Her first impression of her new therapist, Becca Franco, was that she had intelligent eyes. Not necessarily kind eyes, but intelligent, though they're not unkind, either. Lexa's not quite sure what to think about it all yet. There's always going to be this shadowy part of her that squirms in its hiding spot, burrowed somewhere deep inside, at the prospect of even considering this. Talking to a stranger about her feelings. She's tried this before. Several times, actually, when she was a child. It never went much further than Lexa, clammed up and silent, eventually offered crayons and coloring pages.

But now here she is. Her wife is dead and her new therapist is staring expectantly at her, cozy in the awkward silence permeating the air. Meanwhile Lexa drowns in it.

Read on ao3

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First update in 2 and a half years 🥹

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: The 100 (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Clarke Griffin & Lexa

Chapter 7: Bring Me Home

This has to be a nightmare.

Lexa takes one step into the room and shudders to a halt. Panic rises so suddenly she sways where she stands, bracing herself with a hand on the door jam, and sucks in a shaky breath as her gaze lands on the bed where Clarke lays, swallowed in generic white blankets, blonde hair glowing beneath the dimmed fluorescent lights. Oh, God. Lexa can’t— she can’t stand to see this. Not this. Not Clarke.

Lexa stumbles forward, her quiet intake of breath lost amidst the quiet creaking of the door shutting behind her. It still manages to wake Clarke, and the relief that floods through Lexa at seeing lashes flutter over blue eyes is strong enough to make her weak at the knees.

“Lex?” croaks Clarke, blinking at her. 

 Lexa can’t say anything around the lump in her throat, just staggers forward to take residence in the chair next to Clarke’s bed. 

 “Where— what—” Clarke’s struggle to clear her throat sounds like gunfire in the stale quiet of the hospital room. Lexa takes Clarke’s hand without a second thought, squeezes her cold, trembling fingers, and looks into glistening blue eyes filled with fear. “Is— is the baby okay?”

 Clarke rasps the words out, but it still takes a moment before they sink into Lexa. And when they do, her stomach lurches unpleasantly and her heart drops right down to her toes. 

 She freezes, lips parted as she stares at Clarke, utterly unnerved, and realizes that her first response to all of this has been Clarke. She’s been worrying about Clarke just as much if not even more so than the baby, and what—

 What does that mean?

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: The 100 (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa

Chapter Seven: Bring Me Home

Eleven a.m. on a breezy Thursday morning finds Lexa sitting alone beneath a framed black and white photograph of the earth taken from the moon, with a scrawl beneath it entitled Earthrise, 1968. Daytrip Diner is bustling with regulars, which Lexa quickly realized in her time here is what comprises the vast majority of their customers aside from truckers and other travelers. La Bamba crackles out of the jukebox in the corner. For the past several minutes Lexa’s been drumming her fingers on the linoleum table surface, trying her best not to steal some of the strawberry milkshake sitting before her. She eventually picks up her phone from the table and angles it at the shake, snapping a picture of it and flicking to texts.

Lexa: If you aren't here in the next five minutes, this is gone.

The response is immediate.

Clarke: Don’t you dare Lexa Woods!!!

Lexa: Where are you? You’re not driving and texting are you lol

Clarke: No way! Stopped at a red light, traffic is terrible

Lexa frowns down at her phone.

Lexa: I could have picked you up

Clarke: It’s the opposite way, I didn’t want you to go to any trouble. It’s fine, I’m almost there!

Lexa: You’re never any trouble.

She thinks the better of it when she realizes what she’s said.

Lexa: I take that back.

Clarke: No, too late, no take backs

Lexa: You are FULL of trouble

Clarke: That’s a lie I’m an angel

Lexa: And I’m the next Drew Barry

Clarke: I swear to God if you get that song stuck in my head one more time

Lexa: You love that song

Clarke: Yeah but that doesn’t mean I want it in my head a thousand times a day. I found myself humming it yesterday while a client was looking over their work and they totally recognized the tune.

Lexa: See? Trouble

Clarke: I’m going to kick your butt

A corner of Lexa’s lips tip up at the text, and especially at the bells she hears ring as the door opens. She quickly jots off a reply before reaching for the strawberry milkshake that’s been taunting her for the last seven minutes.

Lexa: You could try

There’s an anticipatory flutter in Lexa’s stomach when Clarke takes a few steps into the diner, pausing to let a food-ladled waiter pass by, head swiveling as she scans the room for Lexa. Temps in Polis are still on the sweltering side in mid-August, and Clarke’s outfit reflects that. She’s wearing a loose tank over shorts and a pair of flat sandals. Her hair is drawn up in a high, messy bun, a few loose tendrils framing her face, and something about her causes Lexa to want to squirm in her seat. It’s not that she’s beautiful. It’s that Lexa knows she’s carrying her baby. She can’t help the way her gaze lingers over Clarke’s stomach. You still can’t even tell she’s pregnant. She glances back up at her face, swallows, and then she’s smiling as Clarke reaches her.