Chapter Text
Clarke wanted to scream. Octavia hadn’t stopped talking since they walked out of Lexa’s door and it was driving her insane. After spending the last several centuries basically alone, the werewolf’s constant chatter was overwhelming. She could practically feel her muscles clenching tighter with every new word out of her mouth.
She hated this. She hated being strapped into this iron deathtrap. She hated the irritating whine of Octavia’s voice as she nattered incessantly. She hated that she had no control over where they were going or what they were doing. She especially hated the cold fear that gripped her chest as she was trapped with a monster .
The nightmare from this morning plagued her mind, flashed before her eyes every time she blinked. The snarling hounds and rending of flesh reverberated in her ears. This wasn’t the first time she’d had this nightmare, hell, it wasn’t even the ten thousandth time. But it hadn’t been this real, this visceral, since almost before she could remember. It must have been seeing these werewolves and that other beast last night , Clarke brooded. She knew that the wolves weren’t the monsters that haunted her dreams, but damned if they didn’t look close enough. The red and white wolf hadn’t been too bad; it was the dark one that really triggered her. It was too close, too similar to the… no, I can’t think about this right now . She couldn’t afford to have a panic attack right now, not like last night.
She had just lit her campfire and was settling down for the night when she had sensed the werewolves’ presence--surviving in Underhill trained one to stay alert at all times. She had whirled around and seen the wolf as it pounced. She’d been able to stave both of them off instinctually, fire enveloping her hands without thought. Her mind hadn’t truly been engaged though. One glimpse of the wolves was enough to send her spiraling back to the worst day of her life. She fought automatically and probably wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from killing them if the true monster hadn’t shown up. This monster sent Clarke into a full-blown panic, freezing her in place. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. As much as she feared these werewolves, she would be dead without them. Even her fire wouldn’t have saved her, paralyzed as she was. And that was another thing, she never froze up. Panicking meant death. Shutting down meant death. Yet she had done both in the presence of that mutated abomination. One fucking day out of Underhill and I’m losing my edge , Clarke thought scornfully.
And that was yet another thing. She’d known that Underhill had kept her prisoner for a long time--time was unreliable in the Fae realm--but she never thought it had been over a millenia . Everyone and everything she knew was dust. She thought she had accepted that fact ages ago, but she’d also never expected to escape Underhill with her life. Returning to the human world had thrown her for a major loop and brought up long-buried pains and ancient sorrows. Her nightmares this morning were proof enough of that. Remembering the disaster she made of the bedroom, her thoughts drifted to the one who had rescued her from her dreams.
Lexa had released her from those horrors, at the expense of her hands. The lingering terror had faded when she had looked into those forest-green eyes, immersed in a feeling of safety. She had perceived genuine concern and worry in Lexa’s face that hadn’t been completely hidden once she regained her composure. It was evident in the slight wrinkle between the Alpha’s eyebrows and faint tightness of her lips.
Lexa was an enigma to Clarke. She couldn’t understand why a total stranger would offer so much and ask so little in return. The concept of charity didn’t exist in the Fae. Bargains were the lifeblood of their society, they took everything they possibly could and gave as little back as they could get away with. Technically, Fae can’t lie, but they were master manipulators and tricksters. They twisted words like a silversmith twisted metal. Their ‘gifts’ were never without strings, strings that turned into ropes to hang yourself with. Even a simple ‘thank you’ was interpreted as acknowledgment of a debt owed. For over a thousand years, Clarke had never trusted a single thing offered freely. Her reckless deal with Underhill had already cost her far too much.
Underhill, in the guise of a young child named Tilly, had promised her revenge and power in exchange for exterminating some ungrateful pests. She had been convinced she had nothing left to lose, so she took the deal. Underhill had been true to its word, it had given Clarke long life, enhanced speed, strength, and the ability to wield fire to devastating effect. And Clarke had, in return, incinerated everyone Tilly pointed her towards. For years she had been a mindless tool in Tilly’s hands. She had been maddened by grief, blind to the lives Tilly forced her to take. Clarke had eventually come back to herself, only to behold the swathes of destruction she’d wreaked at Underhill’s command. Secretly she thought that Underhill allowed her to regain her sanity, if only because it had grown bored and had found a new way to play with its flame-wielding toy. From then until now, Clarke had played a game of cat-and-mouse. Tilly would throw obstacles, mainly in the form of Fae monstrosities, in her way and watch as Clarke fought for her continued survival. Mastery over her fire had come quickly, as a single mistake often cost her dearly in blood and pain.
So no, she hadn’t believed Lexa when she promised protection and sanctuary without naming a price. Every minute of her life since the Fae Queen had kidnapped her taught Clarke to be wary of apparent good intentions. Nevertheless, when she had stared into Lexa’s eyes and voiced her suspicions, Lexa had taken her concerns seriously and produced a thoughtful exchange. More than anything, it was her candid straightforwardness that convinced Clarke of Lexa’s good intent.
And then there had been that moment in the bathroom after Clarke’s shower. Singing was one of the few joys Clarke had left. Her song in the blissful heat of the shower had been a hymn honoring her father’s memory. She had cried as she sang, raw and cathartic at the same time. The shower had left her feeling rejuvenated both physically and emotionally. She had paused before exiting, seeing Lexa’s outline through the foggy glass of the shower door. She had felt uncharacteristically shy at the thought of someone, of Lexa, witnessing her moment of vulnerability. She had never been one to let timidity control her actions though, so she had taken a deep breath and stepped out. She’d had a few moments to study Lexa’s face before she noticed Clarke’s presence. Lexa’s expression had been awed. She had seemed lost in melancholy memories of her own. It surprised Clarke that Lexa hadn’t closed herself off once she was aware of Clarke’s exit. She had remained unguarded and at ease. Clarke couldn’t help but be captivated by the strength of her vulnerability. Lexa radiated an aura of safety that Clarke craved with every fiber of her being. She had ended up telling Lexa things she hadn’t spoken of to anyone outside of her best friend, Wells, and Wells had been dead for a long, long time.
The car’s sudden stop shook Clarke from her ponderings. Looking out Octavia’s window, she saw a large metal structure with a considerable chunk of its roof missing. Octavia was unbuckling her seatbelt and climbing out of the car, so Clarke hurried to follow. They walked up to the building and Clarke could hear music blasting out of the open double doors. Octavia started calling for...a bird? Clarke thought maybe she misheard what Octavia was yelling over the music. A 5’5” woman with muscled arms and a leg brace limped out from behind a heap of metal, Clarke was sure the heap had some kind of purpose but she hadn’t a clue what it would be.
“O! Where the hell’ve you been?!” The woman grabbed Octavia in a bear hug, lifting her slightly off the floor.
“What’s up Ray? Why the hell is there a hole in your roof?” Octavia gripped Raven around the waist and lifted up to her shoulder height.
“Oh that? That’s old news. I wanna hear about this gorgeous stranger lurking behind you,” Raven jerked her chin in Clarke’s direction as Octavia put her back on the ground and let go.
“This mysterious beauty goes by the name Clarke. I found her camped out in the forest last night while on patrol,” Octavia waved Clarke closer and slung an arm around her shoulders, which Clarke promptly shrugged off, sidling away.
“Since when do you bring home strays, O?”
“Since they can ‘flame on’ like Johnny Storm.”
“WHAT?!” Raven leaned over and grasped Clarke’s hands, bringing them up near her face and examining them like she’d be able to figure out how Clarke’s fire worked just by looking. Clarke could feel metallic Fae magic sparking under Raven’s skin.
Clarke yanked her hands down and twisted out of the woman’s hold, gripped one of her wrists, spun around behind the girl’s back and wrenched the arm up in a shoulder lock. She held it tight enough that Raven had to rise onto her tiptoes to avoid dislocating her own arm.
“I don’t like being touched,” Clarke voice grated into Raven’s ear, she then let go and backed off a few feet as a boy came running out from another part of the building at the sound of Raven’s bark of pain.
“Who the fuck are you and what the hell are you doing to Raven?!” the boy--who looked about sixteen with dirty blonde hair and blazing gold eyes--yelled as he charged at Clarke and swung a fist at her face.
Clarke ducked under the flailing fist, caught the arm, pivoted, and used the teenager’s own momentum to throw him over her shoulder. He bounced once off the floor and was on his feet in a flash. He surged toward her and seized her around the waist, head tucked against her side. She dropped all her weight behind her elbow as she drove it into the muscle right between his neck and shoulders. He crumpled to the floor in pain and clutched his neck. Clarke immediately withdrew and readied herself for another attack.
“Aden! WTF dude! I appreciate your championship of my honor, but let’s try to avoid attacking our guests,” Raven exclaimed.
“Sorry, Ray,” he got up off the floor, rubbing his neck with a chagrined half-smile, “I saw her attack you and I kinda raged out for a minute there.”
“Yeah, well, I did maybe deserve it a little. I should know better than to go grabbing strangers out of the blue.”
Raven looked over to where Clarke was standing and held out a hand.
“I’m sorry for being a dick, the name’s Raven and this little dude is Aden, my grease monkey.”
Clarke eyed to proffered hand warily and folded her arms across her chest, leaning her weight onto her back leg. Raven let her hand drop with a shrug.
“I’m not little! I’m at least a head taller than you,” Aden fake pouted and bumped Raven with his shoulder.
For the duration of the fight, Octavia had been relaxed against a wall, hands stuck in her jean pockets. Now though, she marched forward and grabbed Aden by the collar of his shirt, yanking him down to face-level.
“Listen here, Aden, I know you’re still new to this whole wolf thing, but you can’t lose control like that! You know better! What would have happened if she had actually wanted to hurt you? You fought like an untrained puppy, Anya would be ashamed of you,” she glared at him, her eyes glowing the ice blue of her wolf.
“I’m sorry, O,” he said meekly, baring his neck in submission, “and can you pleeeaaaase not tell Anya? She’ll kick the shit out of me for a week for losing control like that.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll keep it between us, but you gotta promise it won’t happen again, ‘kay?” she released his shirt and gave him a friendly shove, “Raven here is our resident genius. She can build or destroy anything if you give her enough time and explosives. She’s part-Fae, like a lot of the non-wolves here in town. She’s a, what do you like to call yourself, Ray?”
“The man who got my mom pregnant, I refuse to call him my father, called himself a gremlin, but I prefer the term iron-kissed,” replied Raven, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“Yeah, she’s iron-kissed, so she can work with iron and stuff without getting hurt like any other Fae would. She’s literal magic with machines and keeps most of this town running. Aden here’s a werewolf, as you probably figured out already. He was Changed earlier this year and still seems to be having some self-control issues. Otherwise he’s pretty chill and is one of the Commander’s favorites, not that she would ever admit it.”
Clarke continued to stand where she was, stony-eyed and detached. She wasn’t about to let her guard down now, not when she’s been attacked twice in this place.
“Okay, well this has been fun. Maybe we’ll stop by later and try this again,” Octavia gave Raven a hug goodbye and threw a couple of mock punches at Aden’s abs before hugging him too. Raven and Aden waved their goodbyes and went back to work, the music starting up again without a visible signal.
Clarke trailed Octavia to the car, ignoring her apologies and assurances that Raven and Aden are actually really cool and not all jerks and they’re just really excitable okay? Clarke mutely strapped herself back into the car. They drove for a couple minutes in blessed silence, Octavia finally picking up on Clarke’s wish for quiet.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Octavia continued on without waiting for Clarke’s response, “why didn’t you go all Human Torch on them like you did with me and Bell?”
Clarke hesitated for a few moments before answering.
“You and your brother were much more dangerous opponents than a half-Fae cripple and an idiot puppy. You and he attacked with the intent to kill or at least wound. You presented an actual threat that warranted the use of my fire. Raven wasn’t truly attacking me and Aden was trying to defend his friend. Subduing them was easy enough that I didn’t need to cause real harm.”
“That’s valid, but how did you get to be so damn fast? I thought you were a normal human, other than the whole fire-bending thing. No regular human would stand a chance against even a newbie werewolf’s speed.”
“I never claimed to be normal,” with that Clarke looked pointedly out the window, effectively ending the conversation.
Once in town, they pulled into a parking spot in front of a store with the words ‘Niylah’s Trading Post’ hanging above the door. A chime sounded when they opened the door and entered. The walls of the store were all covered with merchandise, everything from old-timey candy to winter gear to power tools. Rows of stocked shelves filled the space, with neat hand-written signs labelling each row’s contents. To the immediate left, in front of the candy jars, was a long counter. Behind the counter was a door labelled ‘Employees Only’.
“Hold your horses!” a sing-song voice saturated with a Southern twang called out from the side room. After a minute, a tall, willowy blonde woman in a red and blue flannel, well-worn jeans, and hiking boots walked out, dusting off her hands, “How’ve ya been, Octavia?”
“Hey Niylah, this is Clarke. She’s new in town and the Commander said she needs the whole shabang,” Octavia pulled Niylah into a long hug, before gesturing to Clarke.
“The Commander rescued another stray, did she?” Clarke bristled a little at being called a stray, but Niylah overlooked it, “what size are you, hun?”
At Clarke’s look of confusion, Niylah smiled and moved closer. Octavia gave a tiny warning shake of her head and Niylah stopped herself before she put her hands on Clarke.
“May I get a couple measurements? I promise no funny business,” Niylah leaned closer to Clarke and winked conspiratorially. Clarke released a small chuckle, much to her own surprise. She liked this woman, she was cute and funny and put Clarke at ease better than anyone else she’d met so far (she ignored the image of soulful green eyes lurking in the back of her mind). She nodded in assent and Niylah grabbed a tape measure from her pocket, stretching it across Clarke’s shoulders, along her arms, around her hips, and down her legs. Clarke enjoyed the practical efficiency of Niylah’s movements and the brief, warm brush of her hands. It had been so long since Clarke had let herself enjoy physical contact. Touch always meant either pain or loss of her control. It had become instinct to shy away or react explosively when her personal space was invaded. However, she trusted Niylah for some unknown reason. When Niylah stepped away, Clarke took a half-step to follow before returning to her senses.
“Niylah has that effect on everyone,” Octavia explained, noticing Clarke’s movement, “She’s an Omega wolf, meaning she works differently than most werewolves. She exists outside of pack dynamics, she’s not dominant or submissive and she doesn’t have to bow to anyone, including the Commander. Omegas have the ability to calm the wolf part in all of us werewolves and it helps relieve a lot of stress, especially in the wolves that struggle with control. She keeps her ability really well in hand so no one feels coerced or exploited, but she can’t completely stop it from leaking out in touch. Most of us love having her around and her power is better than catnip to our wolves. Niylah’s old enough and strong enough to even put non-wolves at ease.”
Clarke wasn’t sure she liked the idea that anyone could have such an effect on her, but she trusted her gut and her gut said that Niylah was safe. Niylah returned carrying a stack of shirts, pants, underthings, and a couple shoeboxes.
“Alright, sugar, why don’t you try a couple of these on and see how they fit,” Niylah suggested.
Clarke started stripping off her clothes and Niylah and Octavia glanced at each other, eyebrows raised in surprise. Being werewolves, stripping in front of others was the norm but they knew that most non-wolves had a thing about modesty. Octavia shrugged and let it happen. Clarke was now in underwear and an old-fashioned breast band. She held up a sports bra by a strap, looking perplexed.
“Come here, hun. Let me help,” Niylah took the sports bra and circled behind Clarke, “this functions like your breast band, but it’s definitely easier to put on and this one at least is pretty comfortable. Gotta keep the girls supported, ya know?”
Niylah found the end of the strip of cloth covering Clarke’s breasts and helped her unwind it. If Clarke had thought her touch felt good before, the effect was multiplied a hundred-fold against her bare skin. She relaxed into Niylah’s hands and released a tiny sigh of pleasure. Niylah leaned forward against Clarke to help her arms through the bra straps. She could feel the soft cotton of Niylah’s flannel against her back causing her heart to flutter and she gulped a little. Octavia snickered in the background. Ugh, fucking werewolves and their fucking supernatural hearing , Clarke grumbled to herself without moving a hair away from Niylah. Clarke missed having the warmth against her when Niylah moved away to secure the bra clasps.
“There, all done. How does that feel?”
“Mmmmm,” Clarke replied, not really talking about the bra and then she blushed as she realized what Niylah was asking about, “uh, yea, no it’s good, it fits fine.”
Niylah smiled and rounded to Clarke’s front. She folded her arms and cocked her head wolfishly, tapping a finger against her lips. She examined Clarke’s bra, checking the fit.
“There’s one thing I have to fix. This may get a little, uh, intimate, but I promised to keep things professional and I keep my promises,” another wink and a cheeky smirk when Niylah saw Clarke’s blush.
Odin save me, a pretty girl touches me and I turn back into a hormonal teenager , Clarke thought, absolutely mortified. She gave Niylah the go-ahead and Niylah stepped up to Clarke again. She glanced at Clarke for confirmation and then slid one hand under the bra to lift up her breast and adjusted the front of the bra with the other. She repeated the process on the other side as Clarke recited the lineage of her gods--and knowing Norse gods, this was not a simple task--in an effort to avoid blushing harder. Finished with adjustments, Niylah pulled back and reassessed the fit.
“Alright I think that works pretty well, sweetheart. How ‘bout you try on the shirts and pants now?”
Clarke rapidly pulled on a shirt and some pants, not paying any attention to the clothes themselves, just wanting to move on from her embarrassment. The clothes all fit perfectly. Niylah had an excellent eye for judging sizes and she’d also obviously been paying close attention to every inch of Clarke. There were several shirts of different styles and five or six pairs of jeans, leggings, and athletic shorts. The shoes fit perfectly too and Niylah showed her how to tighten the laces and tie everything properly. Clarke had been tying knots practically since before she could walk, but it gave her another excuse to have Niylah’s hands on hers as they guided her through the motions. Niylah bagged up all the clothes along with other supplies like toothbrushes, hairbrushes, etcetera.
“Oh, also, the Commander just texted me and told me to ask if you had any fire extinguishers available,” Octavia chimed in.
“Let me see,” Niylah replied thoughtfully, “I’ll have to check in the back. That’s not a common request.” She walked down a row and through a door at the back.
“Fire extinguishers?” asked Clarke, the translation spell giving her the literal meaning of the words, but not explaining what they meant.
“You’ll see,” brushed off Octavia, “They’ll help prevent any more fireballs in the house.”
Niylah returned carrying a large box full of red cylinders with black hoses attached.
“This is all I’ve got, sugar. I’m not one to question the Commander,” Octavia snorted and Niylah shot her a mock glare, “but why does she need so many fire extinguishers?”
“Clarke here is a bit of a firebug. There was a SNAFU at the Commander’s last night requiring some reconstruction. I think she’s trying more preventative measures from now on.”
“Makes sense, alrighty I suppose I should let y’all go on about your day. I’m sure you have plenty more to do. Clarke,” Niylah held Clarke’s hand warmly between both of her own, “it has been my pleasure to meet you,” Niylah’s voice lowered to a velvety purr on the word pleasure , “Octavia, don’t be a stranger,” with that she released Clarke’s hand and gave Octavia a hug.
“Don’t worry, Niy, you can’t get much stranger than me!” Octavia called over her shoulder as they left the store, Niylah’s laugh following them out.
“Holy shit I’m so hungry I could eat a cow,” exclaimed Octavia, and rubbed her belly, “wanna get some food?”
Clarke hadn’t eaten since the rabbit she caught and cooked for lunch the day before. She had gone hungry for longer than that in her life, but she would always take advantage of the opportunity for a meal. She nodded in agreement and Octavia set off down the sidewalk.
“There’s a great diner just down the street. I just realized! You’ve never had a burger, have you?” Clarke shook her head and Octavia clapped her hands in glee, “I can’t wait to see you try one! We have to make sure to get a little bit of everything so you can have the full experience.”
Octavia practically skipped the rest of the way to the diner. The sign on the windows read ‘Grounder’s’. It was a classic diner, striped vinyl booths, jukebox playing music in the corner--the song ‘What’s New Pussycat' had been forcibly removed after one quite memorable afternoon--and wrap-around windows lining the outside. They hopped up onto stools at the counter and Octavia slapped the countertop to get the owner’s attention.
“Hey, Miller, my dude!” a handsome dark-skinned man with short black hair and a neatly trimmed beard exchanged a series of complicated hand gestures with Octavia before slapping her on the back and pulling her in for a hug. These people really are touchy-feely, aren’t they, Clarke mused.
“Hey, O,” he returned, smiling broadly, “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Clarke, she’s the Commander’s newest project. She’s pretty much a total badass and will seriously fuck you up if you mess with her. Clarke, meet Nathan Miller, best goddamn cook in the whole state of Montana, other than his husband of course.”
Nathan Miller raised his eyebrow, obviously impressed by Octavia’s high praise. He extended a hand in greeting. She hesitantly stretched out her own hand and gave his a firm shake. Octavia grinned happily at Clarke’s progress.
“Look Miller, I’m gonna need a feast. I’m absolutely starving and Clarke’s taste buds are a little out-of-date. This will be her introduction to good food, so make it the best you’ve got.”
“I can definitely do that! Lemme go crack the whip at Bryan in the kitchen and then I’ll grab your drinks, an extra large Dr. Pepper for you, O, and for you, Clarke?”
“Why don’t we just fill a bunch of water cups with what you’ve got and we can try them all out,” Octavia answered for her.
Miller headed through the swinging kitchen door to fetch their drinks.
“Miller and his mate are both werewolves too. Them being gay is a bit of a sticking point for a lot of other packs. Damn misogynistic bastards, the lot of them,” muttered Octavia bitterly, “Miller and Bryan wandered into town about fifteen years ago and never left. I’m glad too, Bryan makes the best double bacon cheeseburger I’ve ever had!”
Miller came out of the kitchen balancing a tray with one huge plastic cup and a bunch of little ones. He set the tray on the counter and lined the smaller cups in front of Clarke.
“Okay, we’ve got chocolate milk, strawberry milk, Sprite, Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, Pineapple Fanta, root beer--that one’s locally made--Hi-C, blue Powerade, orange juice, apple juice, and apple beer.”
Clarke enjoyed trying all the different drinks, making a face at the bubbles in the soda and letting loose a gargantuan belch at the end. Miller and Octavia thoroughly delighted in all her reactions and made easy conversation about town gossip. Soon enough a bell rang from the back and Miller disappeared into the kitchen and returned with trays laden with food. A slender pale-skinned man with narrow features and sharp cheekbones accompanied him, holding yet more food. It all smelled divine and Clarke’s stomach released a loud rumble, making everyone laugh again.
“This gorgeous creature is my husband and mate, Bryan,” Miller said, pride and love beaming from his face as he introduced the other man, “and this is Clarke, newest addition to Aspen Creek.”
“Hiya Clarke, how are you liking town so far?” Bryan’s smile was kind and infectious.
Clarke had to swallow the food she’d been stuffing her face with before she could answer. She choked a bit, took a sip of chocolate milk, and cleared her throat. Her visit with Niylah had done wonders to help Clarke feel at ease around these wolves. She even forgot about their more monstrous side for the time being.
“It’s very different from where I grew up. I’ve never seen anything like what Octavia’s showed me today.”
“Oh yeah? Where did you grow up?”
Clarke clammed up at the question. She was far from ready to talk about her previous life with anyone. But I told Lexa about my father , Clarke thought, what makes her any different? Clarke still couldn’t bring herself to open that can of worms in front of virtual strangers. She shook her head slightly and kept on eating. It was meant as a deflection tactic, but she really did savor every bite. Bryan really was an excellent cook and everything was made to perfection. There were five different kinds of burgers, country-fried steak, crinkle-cut french fries, curly fries, three different kinds of pancakes, waffles, and more. Every type of food you could imagine being served at a diner had at least a small portion present. Miller and Bryan had gone all out with this one. Octavia wolfed--no pun intended--down enough food to feed a T-rex and there was still plenty for everyone else. Clarke moaned at how good it all was. Like everything nowadays it seems, it had been far too long since she’d eaten anything not cooked hastily over a campfire. She ate until her stomach bulged and begged for her to stop. She slumped over with her elbows on the counter, basking in the feeling of a full stomach. She’d probably regret eating so much rich food later, but living in the future had never been her style. Octavia stretched her back, arms extended overhead, and then patted her stomach, which was still bafflingly flat and toned.
“What did you think, Clarke?” asked Miller.
“Mmmm, I think I have never eaten anything as delicious as this,” Clarke answered contentedly.
“Well I hope you saved room for desert,” Bryan laughed.
Clarke's eyes widened as he brought out at least ten different slices of pie and five milkshakes. Octavia cheered and snagged one of the milkshakes for herself.
“So we got your basic apple pie, cherry, blueberry, rhubarb, mixed berry, banana creme, chocolate, pumpkin, pecan, and last but not least, key-lime pie. For the milkshakes, we have chocolate--though it looks like Octavia’s claimed that one--, vanilla, strawberry, caramel which is my personal favorite, and cookies-and-creme,” Bryan pointed to each one in turn.
Clarke’s head spun with the effects of a food coma and the thought of eating more. She barely managed to pick her fork back up--it had taken her a bit to get used to using one--and break off a piece of each pie. She thought the endeavor was worth it though as each pie exploded with flavor. Most of the pies were too sweet for her, but she took a liking to the rhubarb and even managed a second bite. The milkshakes were easier to work on, but she still left most of each for Octavia, who gladly emptied them all. After finishing the food, they lingered at the diner chatting and gossiping, while Clarke rested her head on her arms and listened. She liked Miller and Bryan. They clearly loved each other and the diner. They were warm, friendly, and Clarke felt more relaxed knowing she didn’t have to worry about them trying anything with her. In her experience, males were predators, taking advantage of perceived weakness and targeting vulnerable women and children. She’d lived through it enough both in her village and in Underhill. These men were certainly predators, but only in the literal sense of them being wolves; they were kind and funny and unashamed of being themselves. They didn’t have the wanton lust in their eyes that most men she met did when they saw Clarke’s attractiveness. Clarke drowsed, lulled into a half-sleep by her full belly and the pleasant hum of conversation. She realized she didn’t feel half as irritated with Octavia’s voice as she had when the girl had first picked her up. Eventually Octavia noticed Clarke’s semi-comatose state and wrapped their conversation up. She hugged both men, repeating the same complicated handshake with Miller as when they first walked in. She lifted Clarke off the stool, pleased to note that Clarke didn’t flinch this time, and they walked back to the car.