#clexa week

They’d been going through a rough patch lately, her and statistics. See, despite the wild accusation that half of all marriages end in divorce, data from the US census reveals that the number is closer to twenty-five percent, and in decline nationwide. The risk of someone contracting breast cancer at forty is point sixty-one percent and the risk of that person dying from it is point one percent.

Yet, despite these statistical improbabilities, Lexa had watched them all happen in real time. Her wife had left her and two years later married another woman. Only five years after that she’d been put in the ground.

The world was a great and terrible thing and Lexa knew better than to bet it all on statistical improbabilities.

The lights flicked off and Lexa snapped her head to the door where Anya stood.

“Shit, it was so quiet in here I thought you left the lights on.” She flicked them back on.

“We’re still in here,” Lexa told her, “I’m finishing up some grading.”

Anya jumped, blinking at Aden. “How long have you been here?”

He frowned, going back to his homework.

“Well,” Anya slid over to Lexa’s desk. “I need a favor.”

“No,” Lexa said easily, returning to her grading.

“I got tickets to that Clarke Griffin concert,” Anya said. “Obviously I’m not taking Quint and my sister anymore, would you come?”

“I hate pop music,” Lexa said.

“Put in earplugs. I just need to post something for Instagram.”

“No,” Lexa said.

“Isn’t Clarke Griffin the one who does Arsonist Lullaby?” Aden asked.

“Yeah,” Anya looked over at him and Lexa looked up. He refused to, concentrating intently on his textbook. “You like that song?”

“It’s fine,” Aden said.

Anya looked at Lexa who sighed. “When is this concert?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“We’re free,” Lexa muttered and Anya smirked.

“So this is her new song, Marry Me,” Anya said as Lexa drove, “It’s about her fiancé Finn Collins, he’s that actor, he was in—uh…”

“Space Walker,” Aden filled in from the back.

Lexa looked at him from the rearview mirror but he didn’t make eye contact, staring out the window.

“Space Walker,” Anya continued. “It was about him proposing to her. She’ll probably sing that. I’ve played you some of her old stuff, right?” She asked.

Lexa shrugged. “It was fine. I’m just not that into pop, I guess.”

The concert venue was already packed, parking lot filled up to its capacity, and they parked a mile and a half away, trudging the walk through the unseasonable September cold. They weren’t dressed for it either, prepping for the heat of five thousand strangers. Anya was holding a sign saying Marry Me, after the ridiculous song.

It surprised people, when they met her, how into pop culture she was. She could recite the entire Kardashian tree from memory, belt off just about any Clarke Griffin song, and teach you how to break a man’s wrist in three places with one fluid movement. Gym’s too often had bad pop music blaring, was Lexa’s guess, and Anya was a gym teacher. Didn’t quite cover the Kardashian obsession though… War analytics?

They managed to squeeze into the seats Anya got way too far up and Lexa put in her ear plugs.

“How much money did you spend on this?” She asked Anya. Anya said a number back to her and Lexa smiled at the quiet.

Aden was taking pictures of the crowd, the set up, and looked moderately excited. He wasn’t smiling or anything like that, but he didn’t look like he was about to throw up like he did most of the time now.

The openers came on late, like they were bound to fucking do, and Lexa tried to remain upbeat about the whole affair. At one point during their last song someone had started applauding and about a third of the stadium had joined in, to push them off the stage a little sooner.

Then Clarke Griffin came on.

Clarke Griffin was, uncharitably just another blonde bombshell, a Britany copycat with less charisma and stage presence. Or, at least, that was always how Lexa had imagined her from brief clips of her songs on the radio or the few ads she had seen on the sides of busses.

In person Clarke was—intense. She looked at the audience like she was looking at them all individually, sang like she wanted her throat to cut open, and even her love songs were raw like a wound. It was almost—painful to watch. But Lexa couldn’t turn away. For the first time, she understood why the world was captivated by Clarke Griffin.

After one of her songs Clarke Griffin took a drink of water near the microphone and stood up. “You guys all know my fiancé, Finn Collins.”

A cheer went up and Lexa narrowed her eyes at the woman. Something was—off.

Anya pulled out Lexa’s earplugs. “Hold my sign for a sec.”

Lexa grabbed the sign, and the earplugs, glaring as Anya took both hands to do something on her phone.

“Can you—can you turn on the house lights?”

The house lights turned on and Clarke stepped closer to the audience. Tears were running down her face and it was—it was terrifying.

“I wanna—I wanna see who I’m talking to here, I guess,” Clarke laughed. “God, I talk to you guys all time, Instagram lives and YouTube comments. I think this is the first time I’ve seen so many of you guys though.”

“Well, we, Finn and I, were gonna surprise you guys tonight,” She cleared her throat a few times. Lexa realized the woman was close to breaking down. Wasn’t there someone who could step in? A manager? Why were they letting this happen?

“My dancer Felipe is actually an ordained minister,” Clarke continued. One of the dancers straightened and the crowd went really really quiet. “But sometimes, the person you were gonna spend the rest of your life with, isn’t who you thought they were. And yeah, you wanna give up on love, give up on hope, you want to give up but—you can’t, right? The show goes on?”

“We love you Clarke!” Someone screamed and there was a moderate amount of applause.

“Thanks you guys,” Clarke said. “I just—I keep making the same mistakes, keep thinking I’ve found something different but it always ends the same. I know there’s a pattern but I just—I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong. Maybe I just have to—I don’t know—do something insane. So sure, why not, yes, I’ll marry you.” And then she looked directly at Lexa, holding Anya’s fucking sign. “You,” she said to Lexa.

Lexa froze.

Clarke pointed and Lexa saw her own terrified face in the Jumbotron.

“Oh my god,” Anya said.

“Go up, Mom,” Aden said, pushing her forward.

Anya gave her a shove too and there was chanting as she made her way to the stage. At some point, the sign was taken out of her hands but she didn’t know when or where. By the time she reached the stage and the dancers held out their hands for her, it was gone.

Clarke did a sort of twirl and her dress transformed into a shining white.

She looked scared, from this close up, and Lexa realized she was almost an inch taller.

Anya had her earplugs, and the breath of the crowd was deafening from the front of the stage, she couldn’t even hear herself think.

“Do you,” Felipe said, “Clarke Griffin, take… um—this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? And like—it’s fine if you wanna think or—”

“I do,” Clarke said, no hesitation. She made direct eye contact with Lexa, eyes boring into her’s.

“Okay,” Felipe said. “And do you, random woman, take Clarke Griffin as your lawfully wedded wife?”

Lexa swallowed hard. She glanced over at Aden, at Anya, trying to find them in the crowd.

“No! Finn!” Someone called.

“Do it!” Someone else yelled.

“It’s up to you,” Felipe said.

Clarke was still staring, and Lexa saw the fear behind them, the quiver of her chin. They’d get annulled it was—she could go along with this. It’d be a little insane but people forgot about things. It’d be fine. Clarke was in pain, that wasn’t fine.

“Yes,” Lexa said. “I mean—yes, I do.”

Felipe sighed. “Then by the power invested in me, by the state of New York, I now pronounce you, wives. You m—”

Clarke kissed her.

Lexa didn’t even move and Clarke grabbed her by the back of her neck and pressed their lips together and Lexa went blank. It hadn’t been that long, since she’d been kissed, had it?

Lexa hands moved to her waist, pressed in tighter and no—she remembered this. Like riding a bike. Clarke was warm, soft in her arms, and she smelled like vanilla, and Lexa pressed tighter.

This didn’t have to end, did it? Did all things?