Chapter Text
Clarke
Lexa.
The name rolls off Clarke's tongue like a long-forgotten prayer, each syllable offered up to the universe as testament. Over and over again, she whispers it into the darkness, savoring its shape against her lips.
Six months have passed since that fateful day in the hospital waiting room, yet sometimes saying the name still feels almost forbidden. As if the thousands of blissful moments that have occurred since Clarke uttered the words "kiss me" have been nothing more than a mirage—a desperate, wishful fabrication of her heart.
"Clarke?" The sound of her name pulls her back to the present as a familiar set of fingertips trace the curves of her hips, leaving trails of electricity in their wake. "Are you alright?"
"I'm perfect," Clarke responds, running her hands through her mess of blonde curls as her eyes drink in the goddess of a woman beneath her. She rolls her hips in an excruciatingly slow rhythm against Lexa's center, drawing out a moan that seems to reverberate through every cell in her body.
"Claaaarrkkkeee," Lexa groans, teeth sinking into her bottom lip in a futile attempt to stifle her voice. The lamplight catches in her emerald eyes, transforming them into something otherworldly—pools of dark forest green flecked with gold.
"Yes, baby?" Clarke replies, her voice laced with unbridled desire. She leans in close, her breath hot against Lexa's skin as she traces a path up the tender slope of her neck with her tongue, finishing with a sharp nip to her earlobe. "You need something?"
"Yes..." Lexa grabs hold of Clarke's waist and, in one swift motion, flips their positions until she's hovering above her, chestnut curls creating a curtain around their faces. "I need you."
Clarke seizes Lexa's lips in a quick but searing kiss, then pulls back with a knowing smirk. "You need me?"
"Yes, Clarke." The way Lexa says her name—that hard k that no one else quite manages to replicate—sends shivers cascading down Clarke's spine.
Clarke moves in for another kiss, this time swallowing Lexa's moan of pleasure as their bodies press together, skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat.
It's beyond addicting.
Even after all these months.
The way Lexa's body automatically ignites at even the lightest touch. It's a symphony of love composed exclusively for them—a sacred score that only they know how to perform. Over and over again. For all of eternity.
And that's what they have... Eternity. Not that it's been said aloud. But Clarke doesn't need to hear the words to know it's true.
The constant look of desire and devotion swimming in those emerald green eyes is confirmation enough.
Lexa is hers, and because of it, the black void of emptiness that has resided within Clarke's soul for so many years is finally beginning to recede. With each touch, each whispered promise, each shared moment of vulnerability, the darkness gives way to light.
"Then I'm yours," Clarke replies, her voice a reverent whisper. "All yours."
And with those words, Lexa descends upon Clarke, claiming every inch of her heart and soul. Clarke's core ignites in an instantaneous blaze as Lexa dips down and nestles herself between her thighs, the familiar weight of her a benediction against Clarke's skin.
This isn't the first time.
No. Far from it.
But it isn't the last time, either.
It is yet another word etched within the pages of their story. A story that Clarke now knows has no end.
They are destined to be together.
O
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
"Seriously, Clarke! Enough already." O pounds their fist on the shared bedroom wall for the fourth time in the last twenty minutes before flopping back down on their bed, the mattress dipping beneath their weight. "We get it. Lexa's fucking your brains out!"
"Jealous?" Raven asks with a smirk as she emerges from the en suite bathroom in nothing but a towel. Water droplets cling to her caramel skin, catching the morning light that filters through the half-drawn blinds.
"No," O responds, although the heat rising to their cheeks betrays them. "Just exhausted. Someone kept me up all night."
Raven's smirk widens, and O can't help but match it.
God, they love that smile.
"I didn't hear any complaints. In fact..." Raven pauses as she slowly makes her way across the room toward the foot of the bed, her movements deliberate despite the slight hitch in her gait. She casually drops her towel, and O's breath catches involuntarily in their throat. "I believe you were begging me to keep going."
"I don't beg," O retorts with a mock pout, watching with growing anticipation as Raven prowls up the length of the bed, carefully masking the lingering paralysis in her left leg.
It's an off-limits topic, reserved only for those rare late-night conversations when sleep evades them both and vulnerability seeps through the cracks of their usual banter.
O has been there, by Raven's side, ever since day one. Battling an array of doctors and physical therapists whenever they deemed Raven's progress as 'the best it's gonna get.' Fighting for second opinions when the first ones weren't what they wanted to hear. Researching alternative therapies when traditional ones plateaued.
They've made it their silent mission to keep pushing, even when Raven doesn't have the strength to push herself.
It's the ride-or-die foundation of their relationship. There's no shying away or deflecting. Not anymore.
"You okay?" O asks, gentleness replacing the teasing in their voice as they notice Raven pause momentarily in her approach.
"Always," Raven replies, the answer coming a little too quickly for O's liking.
"Rae..."
"O..." Raven counters without missing a beat. "I'm okay."
"You'd tell me if you weren't, right?" The question carries the weight of their shared history—of misunderstandings, of lies told to protect feelings, of truths withheld until they festered into wounds too deep to easily heal.
Raven closes the last few inches between them and plants a firm, decisive kiss upon their lips. "Stop worrying."
"I can't. I..." O trails off. Although the overwhelming tsunami of self-doubt and fear has long since subsided, there are still moments when the residual traces haunt them.
Maybe they aren't good enough...
Maybe who they are isn't truly enough for Raven... Not in the long run.
Raven gently takes hold of O's face, cupping their cheeks in her hands. O melts instantly beneath the warmth of those chocolate brown eyes—eyes that have always seen them more clearly than they ever saw themselves. "O Blake Griffin... I love you."
And just like that, O's heart drowns in an instantaneous wave of life-affirming love. Even after all these months, those words never diminish in power. Each time they're spoken, they remake the world.
"I know, but—"
"Ah..." Raven interrupts with a victorious grin. "Someone owes me breakfast in bed."
"What? No. That didn't count." O's protest is half-hearted at best.
"The rules are the rules. No more 'buts.' No matter what. I love you, O. End of story..." Raven's smile turns mischievous. "And besides, I remember someone firmly holding my ass accountable last week even though I swore a million and one times that it was just a slip."
O matches Raven's smile, conceding defeat. "Okay... Fine. Pancakes or waffles?"
"Both."
"What? C'mon... Both? That'll take me—"
"Roughly an hour... Which means you'll be finishing up just in time for when Anya and Mama G get here." Raven's eyes sparkle with a mix of triumph and adoration.
O laughs, the sound free and unrestrained in a way it never used to be. "You just wanted to get out of breakfast duties, didn't you?"
"Something like that..." Raven admits, not even attempting to look guilty.
"You're lucky you're cute." O starts to rise, but Raven pushes them back down onto the bed, her body a welcome weight against theirs.
"And you," Raven murmurs, lips hovering just above O's, "are insanely hot..."
She punctuates her statement with another searing kiss, and O feels their body ignite with the promise of what might come next—of a future where each day begins and ends in exactly this way.
Raven
Thirty minutes later, Raven finds herself leaning against the hood of her 1978 Firebird, waiting outside the Better Tomorrow Rehab Clinic. The metallic red paint gleams in the late morning sun, a defiant statement of resilience. It had taken more convincing than she'd anticipated, but somehow Raven had managed to get Lexa to agree to let her be the one to pick up Anya today.
One hundred and thirty-six days.
That's how long it's been since Raven has seen Anya in person.
Not that they haven't been in touch during this time.
No.
It started with an email.
Late one night, during a particularly bad bout of insomnia when phantom pains kept her from sleep, Raven found herself compelled to reach out to Anya. Although they hadn't spoken since that fateful day in the hospital room, she had been keeping tabs on her through Lexa.
It had taken two temporary stints in different rehabilitation facilities before finding one that meshed with Anya's headstrong personality. And, according to Lexa, Anya was finally making real progress.
Visitors were strictly forbidden, but Anya was allowed to receive emails and calls.
So, Raven fired up her laptop and began to write.
What started as a one-off thing quickly transformed into a semi-regular late-night ritual. Raven and Anya exchanged over two dozen emails covering a wide array of topics that had been taboo when they were together. For the first time, Raven felt like she was getting to know the real Anya—not the girlfriend, not the caretaker, but the woman beneath those roles.
It wasn't long before emails evolved into phone calls. Some were quick check-ins, while others stretched well into the midnight hours. The first few were awkward, filled with pregnant pauses and hesitant words, but eventually Raven and Anya found their groove again, and the awkwardness melted away like morning frost.
And Raven was reminded why she had been drawn to Anya in the first place all those years ago. Friendship with Anya came easily. It was fluid and simple. Like a comfortable, well-loved pair of sweatpants that fit perfectly.
They were meant to be friends. Always had been... It just took a long, roundabout journey for both of them to arrive at that obvious conclusion.
"Reyes," Anya calls out, snapping Raven from her thoughts. She looks up to see Anya walking toward her with an army duffle slung over her shoulder and a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
"Woods," Raven responds, matching Anya's smile with a devilish smirk of her own. "Looking good."
"Was going to say the same." Anya reaches the car but stops short of going in for a hug, her body language betraying a newfound uncertainty. "How's the leg?"
"Right one is back to normal, but still having numbness in the left below the knee." Raven's response is matter-of-fact, devoid of the bitterness that once accompanied discussions of her injury.
Anya nods, and Raven catches a glimpse of the nerves radiating from her former girlfriend. Raw and vulnerable. Like a once-wounded animal timidly stepping back into a harsh and unforgiving world.
"C'mere." Raven opens her arms and motions for Anya to come closer.
"What?" Anya balks, pretending to be clueless though her eyes betray her.
"You know what," Raven insists. "Get your ass over here and give me a hug, Woods."
Anya hesitates for another moment but then surrenders. She moves into the warm embrace, and Raven feels the layers of anxiety gradually melt from the older woman's body, tension releasing with each passing second.
The hug isn't long, but it's enough.
It's a start.
Lexa
"Need a hand?"
Lexa stops scrubbing the frying pan at the familiar sound of her sister's voice from the kitchen doorway. A small smile curves her lips at the unexpected offer. "No. But I wouldn't turn down the company."
Anya slowly makes her way into the kitchen and plops down at the table as Lexa continues to clean the leftover dishes from brunch. The afternoon sunlight streams through the window, casting golden patterns across the countertops and turning ordinary moments into something almost sacred.
It had been a good meal.
Better than good.
The best they've had in years.
There wasn't anything extraordinarily special about the food itself. No. Just another Sunday morning brunch consisting of O's infamous bacon-infused pancakes, Belgian waffles, and a bottomless pot of coffee.
It was the company.
The mere addition of Abby and Anya to their usual mix is what made it so memorable. As if they were the final two puzzle pieces needed to complete the picture that had been started all those months ago back in the hospital.
At first, the conversation had carried undertones of awkwardness. Pauses that lingered a little too long for comfort and jokes that fell flat in the silence that followed them.
But then, by some small miracle, Raven found a way to break the ice. She brought up the clear and present elephant in the room.
The accident.
Not directly, but through an impromptu update on her rehabilitation progress. It was a masterful segue into the broader subject—the catalyst for her and Clarke finding one another again.
From there, the conversation flowed freely. Not necessarily with ease at all times, but healing nonetheless. Wounds acknowledged. Apologies offered. Forgiveness granted. New beginnings tentatively embraced.
"You seem happy," Anya remarks casually, but Lexa knows those words carry immense weight, especially coming from her sister.
"I am."
"I always knew you two would wind up back together. You just needed to get your head outta your own ass first."
"Who's head outta who's ass?" Clarke asks as she makes her way into the kitchen, arms full of more dirty plates and glasses. She places them down next to Lexa and plants a loving kiss on her cheek, lingering just long enough to make Lexa's heart skip.
"Lexa's," Anya answers without hesitation.
"My head was never in my ass," Lexa scoffs, feigning offense.
"Oh, it was," Clarke contradicts with a playful smirk that makes her eyes sparkle like sunlight on water.
"Clarke..." Lexa hits the signature k a little harder than she means to, and instantaneously Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa's waist, pulling her close. "You're supposed to back me up here. Not Anya."
"Not when you're wrong, baby," Clarke replies, giving Lexa another playful peck for good measure. Anya chuckles at the exchange, the sound rich and genuine in a way Lexa hasn't heard in far too long.
"God, it's nice to see some things never change... Especially with you two," Anya remarks. A genuine smile slides across her face, and Lexa returns it, feeling the familiar warmth of sisterhood that had been absent for too long.
As if on cue, Clarke rests her head in the crook of Lexa's neck and gives a gentle squeeze with her arms. It's a small but powerful gesture—one that carries a sense of never-ending love and comfort. A promise made without words.
No. Anya is wrong. So much has changed...
But changed for the better.
Better for Clarke...
Better for O...
Better for Raven...
Better for her sister Anya...
And, of course, better for herself.
However, there is one element that, regardless of the passage of time or the hiccups in life, always remains the same...
Love.