Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mornings were created by the devil, or whatever other evil deity, undoubtedly. Years on the job with all its hectic schedule, yet Clarke still requires at least two huge cups of coffee to wake her brain up. Apparently, her body didn't get the memo. The agent is employing all the mental focus she's got to follow the conversation.

"Any new leads on the bomb fragments?" she asks Raven, as they're walking towards her office.

"That thing was a fucking mess," her reply is colored in annoyance. "We're working on it, but nothing concrete yet."

"Let me know as soon as you get anything useful."

"Of course. Also, about the meeting that Kane set up for today. Any ideas what's on the agenda?"

"None." And it bothers Clarke, to be honest. She only got a call telling her to pass it along to the team, no clue as to the purpose of the meeting, and the agent hates being left in the dark, even temporarily.

"I've heard Jaha is turning up the heat. No offense Wells, but your dad is scary," Raven says as she turns to look at him.

"None taken," the man laughs, raising his palms. "And you know there is a lot of pressure from the brass with all the new developments. Those guys are going down the hill, fast."

Hard to argue with that. No one in the division is saying anything out loud, but the tension has grown after the latest attack and is hanging almost tangible in the air. The unspoken consensus is that substantial developments should be made. Soon.

As they come to the bullpen Clarke can see the whole team already waiting there. Kane is approaching a couple of moments later, there is some movement behind him.

"Good morning everyone, I have a short announcement to make. It's been decided that there's going to be an addition to your unit." Soft murmurs move through the gathered crowd. "Please welcome Senior Special Agents Anya Woods and Lincoln Wilder."

He motions to the couple in matching dark suits to come forward. The man is tall, muscular, and slightly intimidating, but he's wearing a friendly expression, which can't be said about the woman alongside him. She nods in acknowledgment but besides that her body is locked in a stiff posture, a look of concentration is a mask on her face.

Woods. Surely it's a coincidence. She looks nothing like the woman whose image flashed in Clarke's mind as soon as she heard that name. 

"And this is Assistant Special Agent-In-Charge Alexandria Woods." 

Clarke's gaze moves to the last person, whom she hasn't noticed before. And now she's frozen, staring at the second woman. The moment is stretching, stretching, stretching until the taut thread of time just snaps. Clarke catches a concerned look Raven is throwing her way. But she can't say anything, can't move, can't react at all, rooted into her spot.

"Hell no," Raven's outburst breaks the silence.

"Have something to say, agent?" questions the blond Woods.

"The fuck I do. No way we are working with a person who thinks leaving people behind is not a big deal."

"Who do you actually think you are?" the senior agent snaps back, confounded.

"Anya, please..."

The brunette is saying something else, but Clarke can't make out a word with her heart thrumming in her ears. Tight pressure is crushing her chest. She seems to be unable to catch a breath. Panic attack. She is having a panic attack. Alright, she needs to get her breathing under control because she absolutely refuses to faint in front of her whole team. But her body seems to have forgotten how to inhale, and she can't get any oxygen in. Her vision is going kinda blurry. Come on, Clarke. In and out. In. And out. She has no idea how much time passes before her lungs expand again.

"Welcome to the team," she forces out, interrupting the argument. It comes out almost as a hiss. "If you excuse me for a moment." She doesn't wait for a reply and strides towards a staircase exit.

⠀

⠀

Lexa's eyes are following the woman escaping the scene. She looks different now. Her hair is shorter, barely grazing her shoulders. The lines of her face are sharper. Loss is embedded into her skin.

"Must I remind you what is considered appropriate conduct, Agent Reyes?" says Agent Kane, his voice hard.

"No, Sir," replies Agent Reyes, her tone holding no remorse. "I apologize." Which is hardly genuine, as she sends Anya another scowl.

"So, that went as well as expected," murmurs her sister under her breath.

"Let's give her time to adjust. I'm sure it'll be alright." Lincoln, ever the optimist, squeezes her shoulder in reassurance. "It can't be easy for her."

As if Lexa could forget that. She was extremely hesitant to accept this assignment, only the growing seriousness of the matter tipped the scale.

The small group of people surrounding them are wearing expressions ranging from confusion to worry, they keep glancing towards the door that Griffin exited.

"I'll go check on her," says an agent she walked it with. He receives an approving nod from Reyes.

Lexa hears a black-haired woman on her left muttering. "Raven, what the hell was that about? Does Clarke know Commander from before? Do you?" She doesn't catch the whispered response.

Ah, yes, the Commander. Not-so-secret nickname Lexa got around the Bureau for being ruthless and supposedly having a heart of stone. She used to concern herself with it once, at the time when her heart was softer, being handled with gentle care. Not anymore. If her reputation can bring her more respect or cooperation at the job, Lexa will take it. It's not like she could possibly control what is said about her behind closed doors anyway.

The quiet conversation is dying down, and Lexa examines the group, plucking out a younger girl with blond hair, New Agent Trainee written all over her worried face. 

"Agent," she addresses her. "Would you mind showing us to our desks?"

"Of course, Agent Woods." She perks up and walks to the left corner of the spacious bullpen.

"Here you are."

"Thank you, agent." Lexa swears she could see the girl slightly blushing under the attention before she nods and goes away. She supposes all she can do for now is to wait for Agent Griffin's return.

⠀

⠀

As the door behind her closes, Clark all but collapses onto the concrete steps. Her still ragged breathing echoes of the gray walls. The attempts at calming aren't helping much. Clarke still feels panic starting to rise, afraid of what's going to happen when it bubbles over the brim.  Her heart is a wild animal thrashing violently against the confinement of her rib cage. She can hear its drum in her ears, feel the pulse in her whole body. Clarke presses her back against the wall, the cold of the stone sobering her up the tiniest fraction.

The door opens, and she flinches, not wanting anyone to see her like that. When her eyes focus on her best friend, her guard goes down. He sits on the steps, wrapping her in a tight hug.  Despite her best efforts a tiny sob tears free.

"Shhh, it's okay, Clarke. You are going to be okay. Let it out."

She can't. If she did, how could she be sure of being able to come back? How would she rearrange herself into neat presentable pieces when her chest feels cracked open?

Her body doesn't care though, wired up with the shock of the encounter, desperate to free itself of the emotion. It weeps and shakes until she feels hollow. Wells isn't saying anything, simply holds her, as if trying to absorb some of the pain leaking out of her pores.

Eternity later, when her tears dry up, she says, her voice barely audible, "I don't know how to do it."

"What?"

"How am I supposed to work with the person responsible for the death of my fiancé?"

⠀

It was a hot humid day, her hands felt sticky against the leather of the steering wheel. Her window was down and Clarke was enjoying the wind ruffling her long hair. It felt nice to be finally out in the fresh air even when the sun was beating down. Finn was going on about something, tapping his fingers on her thigh, but she was only half listening, keeping her attention on the road. Clarke felt content in the moment, enjoying the drive and the company.  She feels jealous of that girl sometimes, her heart not yet marked by tragedy.

Clarke spotted the car ten minutes down the road. A black sedan, one of the hundreds in the busy afternoon traffic, simple, inconspicuous. But she was sure she'd seen that exact car parked near the facility, and now it was following them, two occupants inside.

"Hey, Finn."

"Yeah?"

"Do those guys look suspicious to you?" the agent asked, trying to keep the uneasiness out of her voice.

"Nah, babe." He shook his head. "You're just being paranoid on your first big undercover mission. There's no way we've been made."

It was true, Finn was much more experienced in the UC work than her. He spent countless hours working to convince her to join the op, and weeks smoothing everything over with the superiors. It would be fun, he'd said. But Clarke wasn't sure. She was good at undercover. However, the constant vigilance that came with the territory of a long-term assignment was grinding down on her mental reserves. Clarke supposed it was good that she was sharing the time with somebody she loved.

She trusted Finn completely, yet there was this persistent hum at the back of her mind. Something wasn't right. Clarke made an unexpected turn and her hopes were broken when the car went after them. Not her overactive imagination then.

"Call it in," the agent said, now sufficiently freaked out. 

"What?" Finn sounded surprised like he couldn't completely comprehend what she was saying.

"That car is following us, I'm sure of it. Call it in!" Clarke exclaimed.

He finally snapped out of it and did, as she was trying to break away from the chase, but the attempts were futile.

"I know the area, there is an abandoned building on the right, three blocks from here. Stop there!"

"Are you sure?" Her instincts were telling her that it was a bad idea. Shouldn't they keep driving and wait for the backup? 

"Just do it, Clarke." The authority in his voice made her give in.

He jumped out of the car even before it fully stopped, unholstering his gun and running towards the huge two-story structure. Clarke followed suit. She heard the car pulling over just as they entered the building.  

"We should split up," said Finn.

"What? No! That's a terrible idea." But before she could finish, he was already running away. That's not the proper procedure, screamed the voice in her head, as she was moving through the building. It looked like an old factory or something, with lots of rooms of different sizes. She heard commotion and shouts coming from the entry and sped up, deciding to go upstairs. They only have to hold on long enough for the backup to reach them. Clarke was worried about Finn, but she tried her best to push the thoughts out of her mind and focus on keeping herself safe.

Two shots rang from somewhere downstairs and her heart skipped a beat. There were heavy footsteps running up the stairs. Shit. She kept racing through the rooms in search of appropriate cover. The agent ended up in a hall full of various machinery. If she was lucky, she could hide and get a tactical advantage instead of being chased like prey. Luck was rarely hers to claim though. Another gunshot rang from behind, and Clarke ducked in time for it to fly past her. She fired back missing the target.

"No point in hiding, Blondie," the voice was taunting her and getting closer. "Come out, and you will be fine."

Clarke would've rolled her eyes if not for the imminent danger. There was a heavy-looking cart full of metal near her, it screeched as she pushed it and ran in the opposite direction.

"Your choice, bitch," said the man. Another gunshot.

Clarke stumbled as pain exploded in her leg. Her vision went blank for a moment, she lost her balance and almost toppled to the floor. A hand flew to her thigh coming back wet with dark cherry blood. Her basic training kicked in despite her overwhelming desire to just stop. The agent turned as much as she could, shooting multiple times towards the assailant. She saw his body hit the floor not moving and collapsed to the ground right after.

The world went hazy then. Her memory is a collection of snapshots after that. The blonde was barely conscious, her thoughts plagued by the excruciating pain. The agony was flowing through her body, settling as lead in her muscles and bones.  She snapped to reality at a voice approaching. Clarke was immediately on high alert, though she couldn't aim for shit with her hand violently shaking because of adrenaline.

There was a woman in the doorway. Tall and fucking gorgeous, her mind supplied. Okay, Clarke was definitely out of it with shock. The agent tried to point her gun at the woman to no avail. Yet no shots came at her, which was strange, as she couldn't possibly present an easier target, lying on the floor. Her eyes had the hardest time focusing, but as the woman came closer the blonde was able to see 'FBI' written in the bold letters on her vest.

"Agent Griffin, I'm Agent Woods. I'm going to get you out of here. Can you walk?" she inquired examining Clarke's leg.

"No, I'm fine, it's fine." Her words were rushed and slurred. "I need to get to Finn, we got separated."

"Agent, you're bleeding."

"I'm okay. I'm not leaving him here," the blond wasn't relenting. She tried to pull herself up but failed.

"My team is going to rescue him, you need to worry about yourself." Strong arms tugged her upright.

"You promise?" She met the woman's eyes seeing the ongoing debate of her mind reflected in them.

"Yeah, I do," the brunette sighed, resigned. "Let's go."

But as Clarke moved her leg, another jolt of pain traveled through her, this time accompanied by weariness. The edges of her vision grew cloudy. She tried her best to fight against it. But her eyelids fluttered closed. The sounds got muffled. Her mind. Went. Dark.

⠀

When Clarke came back to herself, her body was a map of pain. There were wires and tubes everywhere, needles were piercing her skin. She had only a vague recollection of the past events. As Clarke was attempting to blink away the confusion, the door opened, and in came a woman wearing a white coat, followed by another one in scrubs.

"Miss Griffin, my name is Dr. Cartwig. Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital," Clarke rasped in response.

"Yes, you've been shot. We were able to..."

Her memories flashed by in an abrupt series of fragments. The sun heating her skin as she got into the car. The speedometer needle climbing up while they were trying to break loose. Finn running away. Getting shot. Shooting a man. Green eyes before darkness.

"... it will probably take you a couple of days," the doctor was talking, but Clarke could hardly divert her attention from the insistent throbbing in her head. Finn. Finn. Finn. But before the questions could leave her lips, she felt the world tilting again and fell back into the blackness.

⠀ 

Tense murmurs were coming from the corner of the room. Two people. No, three. Familiar voices. But it took her a while to pull herself back to the surface. When Clarke opened her eyes she spotted her parents sitting on the couch at the front of the room, talking to Thelonious Jaha. She was going to listen to their conversation for a bit, but a cough broke out of her parched throat and three pairs of eyes snapped to her.

"Oh, honey, you are awake." Her mum rushed to her side, taking Clarke's hand in hers.

"You've had us worried sick, kiddo," despite the words, her dad's tone only held obvious relief.

"How are you feeling, Clarke?"

"Like I've been shot." She turned to Jaha, far more alert now to ask the important questions. "Where is Finn? I want to see him."

The carefully curated expression on Jaha's face left her troubled.

"Baby, you're hurt," replied her mother. "You need to care about yourself." She was unmistakably deflecting.

"Where is he?" Clarke demanded, her patience running thin. Which in truth was her mind's feeble effort to keep her from discovering what she'd already pieced together. The pause was dragging on, nobody daring to speak.

"Clarke," Jaha began, his tone the only needed confirmation.

"No," Clarke whispered, shaking her head. It couldn't be.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "Agent Collins was killed during the rescue mission. I'm so sorry, Clarke."

"No." It wasn't possible. "No, she said her team was going to save him," Clarke howled and jerked her hand away. "No!"

There were hands on her body to keep her from hurting herself. Another woman in scrubs entered as Clarke was crying and muttering her denial over and over. A surge of forced stillness ran through her body, her world going pitch black once again. 

⠀

The next days were painted by the sounds of her sobbing. And when no more tears came, Clarke was wasting her days away by staring into the abyss. They flew by. A day. Two. A week. She couldn't count. And didn't care. There was a gaping hole where somebody tore the heart out of her chest. Clarke used to think her physical pain was a torment, well, she'd been sorely mistaken. She would get shot a thousand times to rewind the time and get Finn back.

⠀

"She was in charge of the operation," Clarke says. "And Finn died."

"I know." She's always found Wells's voice to be very soothing.

"She promised me," the blonde adds. "Why would she promise me?"

In all honesty, she knows why. Clarke would have died there as well, trying to save him, leaving the cement floor marred with her blood. Maybe they should have let her.

"She was in charge. And now she's hijacking my investigation," the blonde says frustrated.

"Do you think Kane would do that?"

"Well, she definitely has seniority."

"Maybe you should check? You know, before Raven goes and kills either of Woods?"

"You've got a point." Clarke has a faint smile on her lips.

"I always do, Griff," brags Wells. He stands up and gives her a hand.

"Thank you." His smile is the only response she gets.

⠀

As they exit the stairwell, Wells squeezes her hand and walks to his desk. Clarke marches towards the bathroom, hoping to avoid bumping into anyone. She could only imagine how bad her face looks right now with tear streaks of mascara and flushed skin. Not a flattering image for a unit leader, that's for sure. It takes her some time to compose herself and return to an adequate professional look.

When she knocks at Kane's door, the reply comes immediately. "Come in."

Clarke steps into his office. "Do you have a moment, Sir?"

"Yes, Agent Griffin. I suppose you have some questions regarding the newcomers?" He puts down his pen and looks up from the papers.

Clarke can feel the stares traveling on her back. Never has she been so regretful of the fact that the majority of the walls on their floor are made of glass. She stills herself the best she can to refrain from turning and closing the blinds.

"Yes, Sir. Am I to transfer the command to Agent Woods?"

"No stepping down is required," he assures her. "The unit has been showing great results with you as a lead agent. You've more than proven yourself. It's still your team. Agents Woods and Wilder are just a fresh set of eyes."

Clarke is actually surprised by that, ASAC not leading the unit isn't unheard of, but definitely is rare. She wonders how Woods feels about being commanded by a lower-ranking operative.

"But Agent Griffin," her boss goes on. "Take advantage of this opportunity. They all are very experienced investigators and, I believe, can provide new invaluable insights into the case. We really must nail it down. There's a lot at stake." The severity of his tone leaves no room for interpretation.

"Of course, Sir." She nods.

When Clarke walks out of the room, everyone suddenly tries to busy themselves, completely lacking subtlety, as if they weren't spying on the conversation mere moments ago. The agent comes closer and the team goes back to surveying her with the intensity of highly-trained professionals. She notices that the new agents have been shown to their desks. Good. She'll have to spend less time pretending to be unaffected by their arrival.

"Briefing in five," the agent throws, ignoring the looks and walking towards her office.

⠀

After a short round of introductions, everyone takes their seats in the conference room. Clarke has delegated the presentation, so she's sitting with the group in the front row.

"You okay?" Raven checks.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the blonde reassures her, though she sees that her friend doesn't fully believe her.

"So, the Wallace family have been governing a little town near Mount Weather for generations," Octavia begins. "As time went by, the town started to separate themselves from the society more and more. With the rhetoric about being true owners of their land, not recognizing the government's authority, fall of the capitalistic society, the classics."

The new agents are listening attentively, but it's clear from their faces that they've come prepared and know most of it if not all.

"With Dante Wallace in charge, they formed a militia with the mountain as the base of their operation. At the outset nothing too violent, mostly some arms trafficking to finance the cause. Two years ago, however, after the death of his father, Cage Wallace inherited leadership of the organization and things started escalating quickly, that's when they appeared on our radar." Octavia motions for her brother to continue.

"At first, it was your typical homegrown terrorists' kit: bombs, guns, and even more guns. But recently, there's been talking about them launching a mass attack on the civilians."

"Do you think the bombing was in preparation?" asks Agent Wilder.

"We believe so," Bellamy elaborates. "A week ago, they bombed a medical research facility in the suburbs. There were no victims and only mild property damage to one of the wings. We think it was a trial run on a smaller scale."

"Well, Cage does love his bombs, that's for certain," Jasper snickers.

"And have you been able to source the components?" A question comes from Anya.

"The bomb was a big tangle of nonsense," Raven complains. "Most of the things we've recovered are generic, stuff you can buy anywhere.  But there are a couple of things which may get us something. They're being processed as we speak."

"Are there any leads on their next possible target?"

"Afraid not. Right now we're contingent on the results of that analysis."

As they're going on discussing details of the case, Clarke can't help but sneak a peek at the brunette, who is quietly sitting in the corner of the room. She looks focused on the briefing, her face doesn't betray any emotion. If Woods notices Clarke's eyes on her, she doesn't show it. It's strange to see her sitting in the same room, a piece from her past, coming back to haunt her. Even a short glimpse rattles Clarke's carefully constructed inner balance. The thought of them working together for the foreseeable future chips away a bit by bit of her composure.

Raven's phone pings and she looks up from it with satisfaction. "Seems that we are in luck."

"What is it, Raven?" asks Clarke.

"We've got a name."

Chapter Text

"Maya Vie." A young woman with dark wavy hair and hazel eyes is looking at them from the photo on the computer screen. "Twenty-two years old, her record is clean. No priors, no arrests, not even a parking violation. Are you sure it's her?"

They have gathered in a room someone called 'the den', and Lexa can see why. There are no windows, it's dark with most of the light coming from the bluish glow of multiple computer screens. For some reason, half of the unit insisted on coming into the relatively small area to check out the new lead themselves, even the probie is standing near the door, looking unsure. Lexa has a feeling they are going to be a challenging bunch.

"The girl is cute," chimes in Agent Jordan, if she memorized his name correctly.

"Could you not please?" groans Reyes. "And yes, I'm sure. Her credit card purchase included three of the rare components. Check her socials and family history, any associations with the Mountain?"

"Nothing on her social media, just the typical college kid stuff," says Agent Green, typing rapidly. "Mother is deceased. Oh, okay, that might be it. Her father, Vincent Vie, grew up near Mountain Weather. His last registered address is in a nearby town. This could be our connection."

"I think so. Thank you, Monty. Could you send me her file and let's have the uniforms bring her in," says Griffin, walking towards the exit.

This can take hours, assuming the suspect is on the Arkadia campus. Lexa has already read all case files and personnel files on the team. She has nothing to do until the girl gets here, so she decides to use the time to properly explore the floor that she's rarely visited before. The agent turns to see Lincoln chatting with the black-haired woman, Agent Blake. There's something familiarly soft flickering in his expression. Interesting. Lexa decides to file it to analyze for later and finds her sister outside near the room. 

"Text me when she's here, please?" the brunette asks. "I want to look around for a bit."

"Sure. I'm going to catch up on some leftover paperwork while we are free."

Lexa walks down the corridor to the bullpen. It's a spacious area full of agents working behind their desks. Can't say she enjoys the constant low hum of the conversation, but she'll manage. The panoramic floor-to-ceiling window near her new desk is a great added bonus. It opens to the Bay Area framed by the forest contrasted with the high-rises on the opposite side. Lexa can only imagine the stunning view during the colder months. Many walls on the floor are made of glass, allowing the light to pass through freely. Yet it doesn't feel like you are in a fishbowl on display. Instead, Lexa can appreciate how much brighter the space seems compared to the office in TonDC where she spent years at the beginning of her career.

There's Griffin's office and the conference room opposite each other by the window, and Agent Kane's office is on the other side. The room next to it looks like a forensics lab. Agent Jaha is working on something inside, she doesn't expect him to acknowledge her at all, considering the dirty looks Reyes's been throwing her way, but he offers Lexa a small smile when he notices her looking before getting back to his work.

The room on the left a little further down the hall seems to be another laboratory of some kind. From what she can see through the opened door, it takes up a considerable amount of space and is full of various equipment Lexa doesn't know names for. It definitely appears to have all the bells and whistles possible, she's impressed. She also remembers seeing Agent Reyes coming out of it before, so it's probably reasonable to avoid her dominion for the time being.

Lexa passes a changing room and equipment room neighboring the lab and sees a door at the end of the hall labeled 'GYM'. She discovers a big sparring zone, an area with free weights and a good amount of gym equipment behind. Longing tugs at her chest when her eyes catch the treadmills located near another big window. The agent glances at her watch, it will probably be at least an hour before the suspect is brought, but it's not like she could run in her suit. No, thank you, she does enough of it on the streets. Lexa comes to look around in the changing room and is rewarded with a wardrobe full of clean clothes to borrow. She picks up a pair of sweatpants and an oversized FBI T-shirt and decides to give in to the nagging desire to blow off some steam.

⠀

Her feet are thumping over the high incline as she's staring out the window in front. This one has a city view, showing busy streets and rushing crowds. Running's always been her favorite way to clear up her mind, crisp early morning air and quiet allow her to reflect and analyze. Now though, Lexa wishes to go on until her muscles ache and her lungs burn. No such luck. She's been at it for half an hour already and barely broke a sweat. No outrunning her unease today.

It's obvious where this uncomfortable feeling sitting in her chest is coming from. Her mind keeps circling back to blonde, frozen in place, her breath caught in her throat and color draining from her face. The look she got when Lexa's name was announced is a jab to her heart. Agent Griffin is trying hard to hold the facade, but the brunette knows the emotions splashing around in those icy-blue eyes. Pain, anger, fear, grief. So much grief you sometimes wonder how is it you haven't drowned in it yet. Lexa hates to be the walking reminder of somebody's most painful memories. That's why she seriously considered declining the assignment, but this is far too important, and she can push through her own discomfort. Lexa just hopes they'll be done with it soon, and she can be out of Agent Griffin's life for good. A text notification pops up on her government-issued phone.

"Uniforms are coming in 15," the message from Anya reads.

So much for unwinding. Lexa throws a towel over her neck and walks to the changing room.

⠀

⠀

Clarke is standing in an observation room, looking through a two-way mirror. The woman on the other side is clearly nervous. She's constantly glancing around and shifting in her chair. Her fingers keep tapping an unsteady rhythm on the desk. The worried expression on her face accentuates her youth. Not somebody you would casually suspect to be a terrorist bombing building.

The door opens and Agent Woods walks in. "Has she said anything?"

"No. Hasn't requested a lawyer either."

"Mind if I go in alone?"

"Well, you're the boss now, aren't you?" Clarke hates how immature that sounds. Yet she hands in a folder with the information Monty compiled for her.

The brunette only responds by taking the file and rolling her eyes unamused, then goes to open the door leading to the interrogation room. The woman behind the desk almost jumps out of her chair, startled.

"Miss Vie, my name is Agent Woods, I'm going to be conducting the interview. Can I get you a glass of water or something else to drink?" the agent says, sitting down and opening the folder.

"No," the woman mumbles. "Thank you, Ma'am."

"I'll be honest with you, Miss Vie. Your situation doesn't look good right now. This is a receipt for some materials you've bought recently. Could you tell me more about that?"

This is not exactly how Clarke's assumed the interview would play out. She mostly expected Woods to bully the girl into a confession. Yes, she's been avoiding a lot of conversations going around about the agent, preferring to remain ignorant as much as possible on that particular matter. But even she isn't oblivious to the Commander's reputation around the Bureau. Brutally efficient. Heartless. The talks paint quite a picture.

The subject is studying the paper she's been given. "Yes, I was asked to buy those for the compound. Not many of us have personal cars, so the ones who do usually go to the city for different supplies."

"And were you aware that those materials were later used to build a bomb?"

"What?" the woman blurts out, a genuine shock taking over her face.

"The bomb was detonated at a research facility last week. You may have seen it on the news," Agent Woods continues.

"What? No, it couldn't—," she stumbles over her words. "No, I had no idea. Are you sure?"

"Unfortunately, I am," the agent confirms. "This is rather serious, Miss Vie. You're a suspect in a domestic terrorism case. This kind of charge comes with a long prison sentence. However, it could be reduced if you are willing to give us information useful to the investigation."

The woman doesn't respond, and she's practically shaking. Clarke isn't sure she is in a state to provide anything valuable.

"Miss Vie, do you understand?" Woods is trying to get her out of her trance.

"Yes," she mutters and then adds louder. "Yes, I do."

"Do you have any helpful information to share?" the agent asks.

After another long pause, Miss Vie finally says, "I hadn't known, about the bomb. My family has lived there for three generations, my mother's parents moved to the Mountain when they got married. Things were good when Mr. Dante was in charge, but his son... My father and I, we don't agree with his ideas. A lot of people don't. But you have to understand," she pleads. "We have nowhere to go."

Clarke isn't surprised to hear this. That's how these sorts of cults operate. They attract you with some harmless ideology at first, giving you time and space to put down roots in the society. And then, the ideas get more and more radical until one day you find yourself trapped.

"I can understand that," Agent Woods says with real compassion. "But by aligning yourself with the organization, you're complicit in their crimes and just as responsible for the harm they cause."

"You're right," the woman agrees quietly. "The gun sales aren't exactly a secret. Most aren't talking about it much, preferring to ignore the obvious. But everyone knows, of course. It's been going on for years."

"Any information that could get you a deal?" Woods repeats.

"I've overheard something. There's a big sale coming up in a couple of days. Is that useful?"

"It could be. Have you heard any details about the location or the buyer?"

"I did. Sydney. They're selling a big shipment to someone with that name and I know the location," she replies. "Would that be enough for a deal?"

"It would. I'll contact DA's office to process the deal." The agent stands up. "And Miss Vie, you really should have your attorney present for that." 

"I don't have one."

"Then a public defender will be appointed to you. The deal will take some time to organize, you'll be in the holding until then."

"I understand," says the woman, resigned. "I'm really sorry."

"I believe that you are," Woods replies and walks to the door she previously entered through.

"Do you imagine she's telling the truth?" Clarke asks when she comes in.

"I think so. Do you?"

"Her shock looked authentic to me."

"I'm going to call the DA and see what they could offer. Could you have someone arrange for the lawyer for her?"

"Sure." Clarke nods in acknowledgment before leaving her room.

On her way back to her office, the blonde is thinking over the whole interview. Surprise is still coloring her thoughts. It's not quite the tone she anticipated Wood would choose for the interaction. Clarke imagined her style to be pushy and aggressive or possibly completely opposite, lacking any emotions at all. Something doesn't sit right with her at the image of sympathy she witnessed.

⠀

The day has left Clarke feeling drained, exhaustion anchoring deep in her bones. She wishes she could bury herself in the blankets and sleep for a week. Opening the door to her apartment, she is welcomed by the soft glow of the setting sun. Her flat isn't very big, but Clarke's proud to have a place of her own in this world. It's kinda clattered, random trinkets lying here and there, but the blonde enjoys living among her memories. There are pictures with her friends and family, tickets and little souvenirs from the first girls' trip they took in college, cards from her birthdays and anniversaries with Finn. The space is full of color and a couple of pieces of her art are hanging on the walls. She used to have some plants too, but after the fifth succulent killed by her grueling schedule, Clarke just doesn't have the heart to condemn another green to death.

The agent shrugs off her jacket, leaving it on an armchair, and flops onto the comfy couch. She's going to change into some home clothes and take off her make-up. In a moment.  As she's sinking deeper into the cushions, her eyes move to a picture on the opposite wall. It's one of her favorite ones, painted during her college days when she had a lot more time and feelings to dedicate to her art. The picture shows a sunrise from a mountaintop, evoking memories every time she looks at it.

It was the summer before she was set to go to college and Clarke felt anxious facing her first semester on the pre-med track. She'd been working so hard to be there, yet even after getting accepted she couldn't help feeling like a fraud. They were supposed to go camping, her parents and her, but her mum had to cancel last minute due to an emergency at the hospital. Her dad insisted they went anyway, taking advantage of the last warm days of August. When on the second day he woke Clarke up at an ungodly hour to show her something she was pissed but still followed him, being grumpy the whole hike up the mountain. As they reached the top, the view of the valley overflowing with the colors of sunrise stole her breath away. She was just standing there, soaking in the brilliant pinks and purples of the waking sky, the peaceful green of the land covered by a thin layer of morning fog. Clarke felt serene and grounded at that moment, all her worries left behind. She was grateful for how well her dad always knew exactly what she needed.

It took her hours to get the colors exactly right when they got home. Clarke still feels the calm wash over her every time she studies the picture. That's probably why it is one of a small number left on her walls right now. After Finn died, she couldn't look at her paintings anymore feeling disconnected from the person who put them up there. Most of her art sits packed in boxes at her parent's house now.

There is a knock at her door when she's still gazing at the painting. "Open up, Griff. We come bearing offerings."

She gets up and walks to the entrance, glancing through the peephole to see her friends. 

"What are you doing here guys?" Clarke asks, letting Octavia and Raven in.

"You haven't thought we would leave you alone after the rollercoaster of a day, have you? Wells was trying to tug along, but I told him it was a girl's night," replies Raven.

"Why are you still in your work clothes?" Octavia frowns.

"Guys, I appreciate the gesture, I do. But I'm so beat that I was going to get into bed right away."

"Well, I brought something to brighten up your evening." Raven shakes a brown paper bag in front of her face.

"Rey, I don't think this day needs any drinking," the blonde retorts.

"Who said anything about alcohol? I've got something better! Gotta feed your addiction. We bought that weird shit you like."

"Maasdam?" Clarke beams now, excited.

"That's the one. So, go change into your PJs or something while we make you the best grilled cheese." Her friend ushers her towards the bedroom.

"Please, don't let Octavia burn down the building. I don't need an insurance increase," Clarke throws as she's walking to her room.

"It happened one time! Not even an actual fire!" Her friend shouts from the kitchen indignantly.

⠀

When the blonde comes out of the room, there is a plate waiting for her on the coffee table. She helps her friends find some cutlery and bring drinks from the kitchen, and they get comfortable on the couch and armchairs.

"Oh god, that's good," Clarke lets out a little moan as she bites into her sandwich.

Her friends are staying silent but closely studying her expression. It feels like she's an animal in the zoo or a fragile vase on display. Not sure which one, but she doesn't like it.

"Guys, I'm fine." Clarke continues to maintain the carefully erected facade she's been holding all day.

"I don't think so," Raven disagrees. "And it's okay if you aren't Clarke. It's a big deal."

"I suppose you're curious as to what's going on, O?" Clarke asks preparing herself to tell the story, then she notices a sheepish expression on her friends' faces.

"Raven kinda already told me the gist of it," Octavia admits. "Sorry."

Clarke is only relieved at the revelation, not having to relive the memory for the second time that day.

"Oh, it's actually good, thank you, I guess. I wasn't keeping a secret from you, O. It's just... you weren't there at the time, and I don't like to go over the details again."

"You don't have to explain, Clarke," the girl says, tapping her thigh to provide comfort.

There is a long pause again filled with chewing sounds, everyone is trying to tread carefully. Clarke doesn't like people walking on the eggshells around her. Yet she can't exactly blame them after the meltdown she had today.

"I'm okay, really," she says. "I mean yes, it sucks. And I hardly can look at her for longer than a minute. But they are on the team now, and I have to accept that. You know, being a professional."

"We can always drive them out of the unit. Let's sic Raven on them, she can annoy Anya into oblivion."

"Why thank you, little Blake." The woman smiles proudly. "That I can."

"I do appreciate your initiative, but it's not a reenactment of Mean Girls," Clarke chuckles. "Plus, Kane was right. They are good agents, and we desperately need this case to move along."

"Heard the Maya girl flipped?" asks Raven taking a bite of her grilled cheese.

"Yeah, she's giving us the location after she gets a deal. Woods is working on that with DA."

"Well, it's time we get some active pursuit on these guys."

⠀

⠀

The next morning, Lexa is sitting in the main briefing room, waiting for agents to fill the amphitheater. Her mind isn't at its best state of alertness with the restless night she had. After tossing and turning for hours, she blinked awake at five and couldn't fall back asleep. The usual routine of a run and a cold shower didn't do much to shake off her slumber, so now she is pumping herself full of caffeine. You simply can't afford not to be at your best in this job. Slow reflexes kill.

Her sister appears in her line of sight, snatching the cup out of her hands. "Ugh." She makes a face after taking a sip. "How can you drink that stuff?"

"You won't need to continue questioning it needlessly if you stop stealing my tea." Lexa gets her cup back.

"It tastes like you're chewing the leaves themselves. Gross. Why can't you drink coffee like normal people?"

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Anya only shakes her head. "Anyway. Have you finalized the deal?"

"Yes, all agreed upon and signed. And we've got the details on the sale." Lexa flip her tablet to show her  the file. "Would you mind presenting? It's Sydney."

Anya scans through the information, studying it. "No problem." She nods and walks to the front of the room, standing near a huge board.

⠀

Ten minutes later, everyone is there, and they are ready to begin.

"Our buyer is Diana Sydney. Agent Green, could you?" Anya waves her hand towards the board, he nods and an image of a middle-aged blond woman appears. "Thanks. She started as the CEO of a car manufacturing company, but I guess dealing guns pays better."

"Does she still work for the company?" asks the older Blake.

"Yes, she uses her legit businesses as a cover. Even organized a workers' union, the hard-working honest law-abiding woman she is."

Lexa catches Agent Reyes snort at that.

"We had a couple of run-ins with her while working arms trafficking cases in TonDC.  She is highly manipulative and arrogant, but she doesn't make any obvious mistakes to ground an arrest."

"Do we think she'll actually come herself? Why not just send one of her crew?"

"According to the source, it's a big deal and she will be there. Remember, she is notorious for evading arrest. I'd pick up an extra plate for your vest if I were you."

"That bad, huh?" asks Octavia.

"Yes. And Diana's very self-serving, so she won't hesitate to sacrifice her people to escape." Everyone looks more vigilant at that, calculating the increased risks of the operation.

"The deal will take place tomorrow at 15:00 at a warehouse." A new image with blueprints is on the screen. "It's a large area with multiple exits, and we don't know where exactly they're going to be, so that complicates things. I suggest we go in multiple teams." Anya looks at Griffin for the confirmation.

"Yes, I believe that's wise. Agent Wilder, I've read your file. Could I ask you to coordinate?" she inquires.

"Of course, Ma'am." Lincoln nods and gets up to join Anya at the front. "Considering the layout, I propose we go in three teams to cover all the exit points. An element of surprise is our best advantage. Especially, with a shipment full of weapons. I'll get you the assignments and tactical gear list in two hours?"

"Great."

"I prefer to go in as well if you don't mind?"

"Fine by me."

"Thank you," he says. "And Agent Woods is right. For all we know about Sydney, she is definitely not giving up easily."

Chapter Text

"Clarke, I know that we're supposed to hate the Commander and all, but damn this family has some good genes," Octavia throws casually while they are getting ready for the operation.

"Octavia!" Clarke exclaims.

"What? Should I pretend that I'm blind now?" She motions towards where Wilder, who turned out to be Woods' cousin, is putting on his vest.

"O, do I need to tell Bellamy you're ogling your fellow agents in broad daylight?" snickers Raven.

"You can tell him anything you want," her friend sounds unaffected. "I'm a grown woman and not his responsibility anymore. Plus, I'm not ogling, I'm appreciating."

"Whatever you say."

"Oh, don't think that I haven't noticed you checking out Anya's ass."

"What can I say, it's a very fine ass." Raven shrugs with zero shame.

"Quit gossiping, you two." Honestly, sometimes Clarke feels like a kindergarten teacher and not a lead agent.

She tucks in a chain with her engagement ring on it secure under her longsleeve and puts on a vest, having taken Woods' advice about extra protection. As the agent is strapping on her backup piece holster to her left ankle, she goes over the plan of operation once again. Not an easy one, that's for sure. But if things don't go south terribly, and they have people in custody later, she'll totally consider it a success. Clarke's the calmest she's been these last couple of days, her mind is laser-focused on the task ahead. It's the familiar mental clarity that comes along with a hit of adrenaline. Weirdly enough, she's always been the least nervous while being in danger. Like there's some kind of switch inside her brain that flips every time she is facing an actual threat.

"The newbie came to my lab yesterday to pick up some gear," Raven complains. "And he spent a whole hour pocking around my stuff."

"How dare he! " Octavia teases, raising a hand to her heart in a mock shock. "He should've known you hate sharing your toys."

"You better be grateful we have those 'toys' when they save your ass, Agent," Raven sounds like she is a moment away from sticking out her tongue. Children. Clarke works with literal children.

"How about we focus on the op, and you do your play fighting later?" she asks.

"You've got it, boss." Raven salutes her, chuckling, and then adds in a more serious tone. "Good luck out there."

⠀

⠀

Lexa exits the SUV with her sister and cousin when they pull over a block away from the location. Everyone is gathering to receive the pre-op check.

"Okay," says Lincoln. "Let's go over the locations once again. Team A, you cover the south entrance, team B is staged at the north entrance, team C - at the east one. As soon as a team spots the targets, the other two move in for cover. Remember, Sydney will most likely try her best to escape, so stay vigilant. Any questions?" 

None come. "Then grab your gear, we move in five."

While everybody is doing their last preparations Lexa finds her sister and grabs her forearm. "Stay safe."

"You too." Anya responds with a grip of her own and a nod before going away. Lexa catches Linc's eyes and bobs her head in acknowledgment. She knows perfectly well that both of them are highly qualified operatives, but the tinge of worry never goes away. The brunette allows herself to feel it for a moment, before closing it off at the back of her mind, pulling all her focus on the operation.

"Ready?" asks Griffin, approaching.

"Yes. We are good to go."

They are moving to their assigned point in a tight formation with Lexa leading the line. She checks the location as they come close to the warehouse. It's quiet and there is nobody on the site. The agent signals the team to keep moving in. They come inside the building and disperse, taking cover.

"Team B is in position," she announces.

"Team A in position," comes over the earpiece.

"Team C in position."

Now all they have to do is wait. Lexa knows that a lot of agents agonize over this part of the job, but she generally doesn't mind. It gives her a chance to survey the location because no blueprints or photos will ever give you as good of a feel as in-person observation does.

It's one of the newer buildings in the neighborhood. They situated themselves in a loading area full of massive containers and crates which provide good shelter. Lexa glances over to take note of her team's positions. She can see Griffin on her right and another agent behind her. No sight of Agent Jordan, but she heard him shift at the back.

There is movement in her periphery on the left.

"A truck is approaching. Stand by for confirmation."

The vehicle stops in front of the entrance. It's a plain white box truck, big enough to easily fit a shipment of weapons. Woods sees only two people inside, probably keeping their numbers low to move around the city undetected with all the arrest warrants issued after the latest attack, but she can't make out their faces from here.

"I see Whitman. It's our guys. Two suspects on site, white males in their forties, armed," says Agent Griffin who's standing the closest to the exit. "No sign of Sydney yet.  Hold until the target is here."

"Copy that."

"Roger."

Five minutes pass by with no development, the unsubs are staying inside. Lexa checks her watch, three minutes till the supposed go-time. Then she sees a black SUV pulling over. The door opens and Diana Sydney comes out followed by another armed man. The Mountain men exit their truck after seeing them.

"We've got contact. I repeat, Sydney is on site," she acknowledges.

They jump into negotiating, but Lexa can't hear the exact words of their exchange. She's carefully watching the scene and the vehicles to check for anyone unaccounted. The small group moves to the back of the truck, one of the men opens the door showing boxes upon boxes. That's enough of a confirmation. There are six of them, counting two agents positioned outside, outnumbering the subjects.

"We've got eyes on the weapons. Four unsubs on our location, we're moving in." Lexa makes a decision and steps away from the crates. "FBI! Put down your weapons," she shouts coming closer.

"Step away from the weapons," yells the blonde.

"Put your hands up."

The subjects are slow in their reactions, caught by surprise while the agents are closing in. Only one of the mountain men, Whitman, moves his hand to the gun hanging on his hip.

"Don't even think about it," Lexa says in a hard voice, pointing her weapon at him.

The suspects quickly look around at the agents surrounding them and finally put their hands up. The agents move in. Lexa comes closer to cuff the blond criminal.

"Hands behind your back, turn around," she says putting the ties on her. "Diana Sydney, you are under arrest."

The woman complies without attempting to run. She doesn't look concerned or angry, her face doesn't show much emotion. In fact, she almost looks content which significantly unnerves Lexa. It all seems too easy. She observes the location, trying to notice something out of order. Because Lexa always trusts her instincts, and right now they're screaming that something is definitely going on here. Her eyes catch Griffin's, a similar suspicious expression on her face. They exchange concerned glances and that's when she hears other vehicles moving closer. Two black cars stop near the gate, and two groups of armed men in tactical vests are darting out of them. That's when the hell breaks loose.

Loud sounds of gunfire ring from multiple sides. Lexa whirls around, sprinting to take cover behind one of the boxes, landing hard on the ground. She sees other agents doing the same.

"Shots fired. I repeat, shots fired. There're multiple new armed unsubs." She hears Griffin's voice over the coms.

The mountain men are hiding behind their car, and Lexa sees Sydney run towards one of her vehicles. Of course, Diana would try to double-cross the sellers.

"Cover the vehicles, don't let them get away. And don't allow anyone to access the weapons," Lexa commands.

The agents are returning fire, and the criminals aren't showing any signs of giving up soon, they've obviously come prepared. She quickly checks on her team, as far as she can see there are no casualties. A shot sounds dangerously close, but Lexa ducks quickly avoiding the contact. She gets up and takes a shot at one of Sydney's closer guards and hits the target, the man falls to the ground. The blond woman doesn't wait for her turn, her hands already free, she takes his gun and aims at her. The next thing Lexa feels is a sharp jolt of pain piercing her body. Her vision goes white.

⠀

⠀

Clarke's breath catches as a bullet hits her vest and she dives down to recover. This operation turned into a fucking nightmare really quickly. Honestly, she should have anticipated Sydney pulling off some tricks because stealing a shipment of guns instead of buying them is definitely her style. As Clarke's trying to restore her breathing, her gaze moves to the woman right in time to catch her pulling the trigger in the direction of Woods. Then she sees the brunette slam into the wood of the crate. Fuck. Just what this op needed. Diana takes her chance and jumps into the closest car, it is rapidly driving away the next seconds.

Clarke looks back towards the injured agent. She doesn't move from where she's fallen. The blonde is trying to assess the situation. Bullets are flying around without stopping, which makes it close to impossible to safely cross the distance. Yet she isn't going to leave Woods lying there motionless. She most surely needs medical attention. It's not a risk Clarke's willing to take. Not much of a decision either.

"Jasper, cover me," she shouts and bolts towards the woman as soon as she gets a verbal confirmation.

The agent is lucky enough not to catch any lead on her way. She glances behind her. There is a silent exchange between her and Jasper, and she knows she's got her six covered. Clarke checks the brunette agent's vitals, happy to find a pulse. She shakes her hard, trying to get the woman out of the daze.

As Woods opens her eyes, Clarke announces over the coms, "Agent down. Repeat, agent down."

"Who is it, Griffin?" Anya's voice comes quickly.

But she doesn't exactly have time to respond as she's unstrapping Woods' vest to examine her left shoulder where the bullet caught her. The woman doesn't help but also doesn't get in her way, looking more alert than before. Her shirt is already drenched in dark blood and Clarke pats down her own vest to locate her knife.

"Griffin. Who the hell is it?" Anya practically shouts in her ear.

"Anya, it's me. But I'm fine," replies the other Woods, her voice sounding hoarse.

Clarke isn't participating in conversation, making quick work of cutting off the sleeve to check the injury. There is a lot of blood which makes her job harder. She pushes and prods at the tissue with her sticky fingers.

"We're coming," Anya says with worried notes obvious in her voice.  

"No," Clarke responds without stopping her check. "I need team A to follow Sydney. Don't let them escape."

"Let Lincoln's team do that."

"You are closest to the cars," the blonde responds, trying to sound as commanding as possible, but she's not sure anything would convince the agent to leave her wounded sister behind.

The brunette perhaps is well aware of the coming objections, and with all the sternness she can muster demands, "Agent Woods, that's an order!" Then she adds more softly. "Anya, really, I'll be alright, I promise."

There is a long pause, then monotone words come over the radio, "Copy that."

"Team C, I want you to come from the gates to surround them. They've got enough ammo to last for a long time and don't look like guys who enjoy giving in. Also, we need an airship stat," Clarke orders.

"Copy, ATA is three minutes tops," says Agent Wilder. 

Clarke does her work in quick efficient movements, allowing her training to take over. She pulls Woods over to check her back. There is an angry red patch of skin surrounding an exit wound there. The verbal exchange seems to have taken a lot of effort because the woman's breathing is growing more labored.

"Okay, the good news is that it looks like a clean through and through," says the blonde. She gets the piece of fabric she's cut off and uses it as a makeshift bandage, applying pressure to the wound. "And I don't think the bullet him any bones or the artery. How are you feeling?"

"Woozy."

"That's normal, the adrenaline is leaving your body. Just don't pass out. You soon will be out of here."

Woods only gives her a small nod. Her movements are slow and strained. Clarke is staring at the woman barely blinking, trying to catch any change in her condition. Not much can be done right now besides keeping her conscious.

The gunfight is still going, no side is surrendering. Shooting in a warehouse bears an uncomfortable resemblance to the situation she's been in before. But Clarke doesn't let herself examine the thought any closer. She can't see much from behind her cover, but she also hasn't heard anything in her earpiece so that's reassuring.

"Watch out!" Jasper shouts and Clarke turns just in time to see an assailant coming on her left. She can't respond quickly enough with both of her hands pressing on Woods' shoulder. As she scrambles to get her backup piece a shot rings so close it hurts her ears. Somehow Woods managed to fire her own weapon.

Clarke is impressed. "Guess we are lucky it wasn't your gun hand."

The agent doesn't reply and the blonde shakes her again. "Don't close your eyes, Woods. Stay with me."

Woods follows the command, but she still looks on the verge of fainting. Beads of sweat on her forehead give away the strain it takes to keep her eyelids from fluttering closed. Clarke can feel her skin getting colder under her touch.

The cacophony of the gunfight is broken by short bursts of fire coming from the gate.

"FBI! Put your weapons down!"

"You are surrounded. And more units are coming. It's over. If you don't want to come out of here in body bags, get on the ground!" Octavia yells. 

That must have done the trick because the shooting ceases and commands are shouted instead.

"How are you doing, guys?" asks Octavia, running closer. Concern overtakes her features as she notices the pool of blood around them. "The ambulance is two minutes away. Hang in there."

"Lexa!" Lincoln jogs up next. "Lex, how are you feeling?" He falls to his knees to examine her closer.

"'m fine," the brunette mutters, looking alarmingly pale.

Lincoln grabs her free hand and squeezes it. "You are going to be okay, Lex," he reassures.

Clarke can hear the sirens getting close and sees two paramedics sprinting toward them minutes later. She quickly gives the rundown and steps back to allow them space to work.

As Woods is strapped to the gurney, Clarke tells them, "Take her to Arkadia General."

"Yes, Ma'am," replies the paramedic, before getting back to their ambulance.

"There is an agent with GSW coming into the ER. Please, take care of her," Clarke shoots her mom a quick text.

"Of course, honey. Are you alright? What happened?" She's surprised to see an almost immediate response.

"I'm not hurt," is all she types in reply.  She has more pressing matters to attend to.

"Team A, what's your status?" the agent asks.

"Sydney and one of her men are in custody," says Woods. "My sister?"

"We are code four. She's alright. Paramedics are taking her to Arkadia General. Hand Diana over to Bellamy and meet them there. You're off duty for today."

"Roger that." Then after a pause, Anya adds, "Thank you, Griffin."

The area is filled with sirens and blinking red and blue lights now. A lot of cars are getting in, many people are moving around, arresting the gunmen and pulling them into the vehicles. Some are being treated by the paramedics. It's loud and hectic and overwhelming. Clarke can feel her initial shock starting to pull away, leaving exhaustion in its wake.  

She walks around, checking on her team, luckily there are no other casualties, besides a couple of flash wounds that will heal quite fast. The blonde snatches some wipes from one of the ambulances and tries to clean the blood off herself as much as possible.

Red splatters are all over her arms and torso. Clarke catches herself rubbing too fiercely at her skin trying to get rid of the stains. How could she have been so stupid? She should have known Diana would do something like that, she should have guessed something was off the moment she saw her relaxed expression. How many times have they discussed Sydney's calculating behavior during the last couple of days, for fuck's sake? Clarke was careless, and one of her agents is in a hospital while she's trying to wipe off her blood. She honestly wants to slap herself for the negligent lack of oversight.

Yet another SUV parks in the front and Kane comes out, his eyes are searching for someone before finding her.

"Agent Griffin, good to see you well. How's ASAC Woods?" he asks.

"She's being taken to the hospital. It was a clean shot, I believe she'll be okay." No thanks to me, she doesn't add.

"That's good news. Get cleaned up, and I'll expect you for debriefing in the office in an hour."

"Understood, Sir," Clarke replies almost robotically.

⠀

No point going home in such a short window of time, and there is this weird notion in her head that her bloody clothes are going to taint her apartment somehow. So Clarke decides to go straight to the office and change her clothes there. The moment the elevator doors open she is making a beeline for her office, but she isn't fast enough because she comes across Raven walking down the corridor. When she sees her, her friend stops dead in her tracks for a second, striding towards her as fast as her bad leg allows the next.

"Clarke, oh my god, are you okay?" Raven catches her face between her hands, her fingers are tapping along her hairline. Clarke must have missed some blood there. "I heard Woods caught a bullet in her shoulder. Were you hurt too?"

"No, no, I'm okay. It's not my blood," she reassures. "I was administering the first aid."

"Clarke?" Wells's distressed voice comes from behind.

"I'm not injured. Not my blood," Clarke repeats. She really should get out of these clothes.

"I need to change. We are having a debriefing in—" The agent glances at her watch. "Thirty minutes. I'll see you guys in the conference room."

Not waiting for anyone to contradict her, Clarke hurries up to her destination. As soon as she's inside, the blinds go down. She is not hiding. Well. It does feel a bit like hiding. Just all the transparent walls leave her feeling exposed right now. Insistent looks burning her skin with judgment. Which is most likely only her mind playing tricks, yet she's exhausted all strength to fight it.

⠀

Half an hour later, the unit leader pulled herself together enough to address the room.  Most of the team is sitting in the room, looking various degrees of worn out. Harper seems particularly stunned and Clarke makes a mental note to check on her later.

"Okay, I know it's been a long day for most of us, so I'm going to stick to the key points," she begins. "All we know for sure so far is that there are thirteen people in custody with two shooters currently in the hospital. Two of the arrested are the Mountain, others are from Sydney's crew who herself tried to escape after the gunfight broke but was later captured by Team A."

"Is she talking?" asks Raven.

"No," replies Bellamy who brought her in. "She lawyered up right away. But the current assumption is that she was trying to double-cross the sellers and steal the shipment herself.  We ceased the truck full of guns, CSI is processing the scene. No exact numbers yet, but it looks like it will be sufficient to lock Diana up for quite a while."

"And the mountain guys? Any chance to get something useful out of them?"

"Highly doubt it. They aren't asking for lawyers but seem determined not to utter a word to us."

"So you're saying that it's basically a bummer on the investigation front?" complains Reyes.

"We've taken a lot of weapons off the street and arrested a dozen dangerous men, so let's count it as a win for today and get back to work tomorrow," Clarke suggests, yet she can't quite manage to make her voice sound very optimistic.

"How is Agent Woods?" asks Wells.

"She's in the hospital, Agents Wilder and Woods are with her. She should be fine."

"Come on guys, it's the Commander we are talking about, she'll pull through quick as ever." Octavia does a much better job of keeping morale up and Clarke is thankful.

"Go home guys and get some rest. We'll reconvene in the morning."

The team exchanges goodbyes and pats on the back, walking out of the room. All the blonde wants is for this day to be over.

"You did well, Clarke. Trust your own words," remarks Raven as if having read of her face all the treacherous thoughts she's trying to keep at bay.

Sadly, she doesn't feel like congratulating herself at all.

Chapter Text

The constant beeping of machines is driving Lexa up the wall. It took her two days to finally convince Anya and Lincoln that there was no need to stand guard by her bedside. She is fine. Or she will be, in a relatively short period of time. The agent was quite lucky that the bullet didn't hit anything important, and she received the required medical attention on time. Right now, all she needs is rest which is hard to get surrounded by her overprotective family constantly throwing looks at her as if she could possibly harm herself lying still in a hospital bed. In all fairness, were the roles reversed, Lexa would probably be smothering them in excessive attention too. Which made it that much harder to persuade them to just let her be.

But her wish for some peace and quiet isn't meant to be granted, it seems. Instead, Lexa is staring at the ceiling and plotting her escape. This place is going to be her doom. The endless hum of the conversations and machines, the fluorescent lights, the constant check-ups. They leave her skin itching with overstimulation. For fuck's sake, how is she expected to recover in these conditions? She wishes for the comfort of her blankets, not the coarse pillow case, for the warm glow of her floor lamp instead of the blinding whites of the hospital lights. And for silence. Lexa is ready to give up her firstborn just for some actual silence. Two days of monitoring is more than enough, she decides, it's not like the bullet will magically reappear and mess up her shoulder any further. As for rest, she can be doing it probably a hundred times more efficiently at home. 

That's why the brunette presses the call button. A familiar nurse appears in the doorway, and Lexa's next five minutes are filled with the woman trying to talk her out of leaving the hospital. She isn't swayed, so next on the agenda for the evening is enduring a longer lecture from a doctor. When she still hasn't changed her mind, she is made to sign paperwork for a discharge against medical advice and promise to abide by a strict physical therapy regimen. And Lexa is ready to do whatever it takes to break free of this torture chamber.

⠀  

An hour later a taxi pulls into her driveway. The woman gets out of the car, carrying a backpack on her uninjured arm. Opening her door is a struggle, as she is trying to get her keys out and not drop the bag at the same time. Lexa lets out a sigh of relief once she is inside. Turns out it's hard to maneuver around ordinary tasks with a sling. Of course, this isn't her first injury since she joined the Bureau, not even her first gunshot wound, but the agent has never been left with only one working arm before. The prospect of wrestling through the most basic things for the time being leaves her aggravated.

She manages to change into some fresh clothes and is walking to the kitchen when the phone rings in her pocket.

"Woods." She picks it up without checking the caller ID. A big mistake.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" comes her sister's voice.

Shit. "Anya, it's been less than half a day," Lexa huffs, electing exasperation as her best cover-up strategy. "I'm fine."

"So what are you doing now?"

"Nothing. Just lying here bored out of my mind as I've been for the last forty-eight hours. How are the things on your end?" She's praying a bit of deflection will do the trick.

The answer doesn't come from her phone but rather in the form of the doorbell ringing. Fuck.

"You've always been such a shit liar," Anya pronounces when Lexa opens the door, ceded.  "I don't know how you ever pulled off undercover work."

"Called the hospital?" she asks stepping away from the doorway.

"Slipped your nurse a couple of bucks to call me when you try to flee. Imagine my surprise," her sister's tone is full of mocked shock.

"Spare me the lecture, will you? I had one only an hour ago."

"Fine." Anya takes off her shoes and walks to the kitchen. Lexa notices a plastic bag filled with takeaway containers in her hand. "No sense in making you stay in a hospital for long anyway. Cider?" she asks, rummaging through her fridge. Lexa wouldn't admit it out loud, but she's always enjoyed how at home her family feel at her place.

"Medication." She shakes her head and Anya picks a ginger ale for her instead. "Plus, they weren't even actively doing anything and the place was driving me nuts. I have no idea how you two were able to fall asleep in there."

"You know Linc could sleep through an alien invasion or something," the blonde laughs. She picks up utensils and their drinks and brings everything to the coffee table in the living room. "Come on, let's at least get some good dinner in you after those gross hospital meals."

⠀

"Oh god, why is this so good?" Lexa exclaims with her mouth full.

"Best Indian in town," Anya confirms munching her extra-spicy curry.

Lexa finally feels actually relaxed for the first time in the last couple of days, her pliable muscles are melting into the softness of the plush couch. The mind free from battling the irrelevant stimuli, her curiosity takes over.

"You didn't answer my question, and I was actually wondering," she says.

"What question?"

"How are the things in the office?" Lexa asks, taking another bite of her naan. "Any new leads?"

"Nothing so far. Blake had some interviews with the mountain guys, but as predicted they aren't saying anything. I had a go with Sydney, nothing there either. Griffin is getting more agitated to find anything by the day. But must say, it looks like she's breathing easier not seeing our faces all the time."

"I'm not surprised."

Anya doesn't respond and keeps scraping the leftover rice off her plate, but Lexa wouldn't be her sister if she couldn't read her silences just as well as her words.

"What is it? I don't have it in me to play the guessing game now."

"How it all ended, it wasn't right," Anya begins. "You very well know that I think the Bureau has gone soft. But that shit was cruel even by my standards."

"And you know that it wasn't my decision to leave him there, and on the contrary, I was very much against it," Lexa sighs.

"You have to tell her the truth, Lex."

"It's not like it is open information."

"Yeah, that's bullshit. You've told me," Anya retorts, taking a sip of her cider.

"A decision I am really regretting right now," Lexa groans lightly.

"You're always so hell-bent on protecting your people. Do you really think not knowing is protecting her?"

"She lost her fiancé. Nothing is going to change that," the brunette states. "I just don't see what good telling her can do now."

"A lot, if you ask me."

"She already hates me." Lexa reclines back on the cushions, closing her eyes, tired. "You've heard her talking to Wells the other day, they were basically raised as siblings. Telling her that Jaha, the man she practically sees as her second father, not only knew about the decision but was the one who actually made it. Learning that he is a big part of the reason, she had to go through all of that," she pauses and then adds. "It will only destroy her, she won't be able to trust her people ever again. And you know how important trust is in our job."

"How about the fact that she doesn't trust you?" Her sister doesn't look convinced.

"I'll manage."

"Of course, you will." The blonde rolls her eyes. "Wanna know what I think?"

"I have a feeling you'll tell me regardless of my answer," Lexa replies with her eyes still closed.

"I think that you hated yourself so much for what happened to Costia, that it was really easy to let Griffin hate you as well."

Lexa doesn't have a comeback to that. As much as she hates to admit it, Anya is probably right. At that time, the agonizing mix of grief and self-loathing was consuming her for days on end. She couldn't look anybody in the eye, not her friends, not her family, especially not Costia's parents, convinced that everybody detested her. It wasn't a conscious choice. What's one more person who can't stand the sight of you? But there is hardly anything to be done about it now.

"Maybe," Lexa utters in admission. Her mind is starting to feel hazy, and sounds are growing louder as it happens right before you doze off.

They are quiet for some time before Anya says, sensing her exhaustion, "Okay, let's get you into bed before you fall asleep in here."

"Okay," she yawns.

Her sister walks her to the bedroom, throwing covers over her, once she's in bed.

"Not a child, no need to tuck me in."

"Yeah, yeah." But that's exactly what Anya does like she used to do when they were much younger. "And no work until you're off the medical leave, or I will tell on you to Lincoln!"

"Fine, I promise, no work." It's the last thing Lexa remembers, she doesn't hear Anya leaving the room and cleaning up after their meal or closing the front door behind her, already deep in her slumber.

⠀

When Lexa blinks awake, she doesn't need to look at the clock to know the time. Her body is programmed to wake up at 5:30 regardless of whether she's working or not. It craves the routines she cannot currently provide. Not in full, at least.

After taking a cold shower, Lexa changes her bandage and puts on her training pants and a T-shirt in slow mindful movements, trying her best not to hurt her shoulder. No way she is going to compromise the recovery time. Because she might love the quiet, but her mind doesn't like to stay idle. And if she wants to pass her medical with flying colors and not give boredom a chance to drive her mad, she must allow her body to heal properly. So running is out of the question, but a nice slow walk should be fine.

It's a truly nice day outside. The sun is low, not yet having warmed up the street. The air is crisp and cool, and there is no one around. One of the perks of an early rising is a feeling like the world belongs only to you even if it's for a short while. Lexa is enjoying little sounds playing around, the ones that easily go unnoticed every day if you aren't paying attention. The light swoosh of the wind, a bird whistling, and the rustling of leaves as it moves around the tree, gravel crunching under her feet. Joined together, they create a melody of tranquility.

However, with time and steps, the walk is gradually turning brisk. It also has acquired a direction. Which Lexa is kinda trying to pretend doesn't exist. A tall building comes into view a couple of minutes later, its countless glass panels bouncing back the glow of the morning sun. Lexa loves to sit on a nearby bench sometimes and observe the way light reflects on the scenery. It could be any office building in town if not for the big stone sign giving it away as an FBI field office. She enters the structure and heads for the elevators, pressing her right palm to the scanner and nodding to the security guard.

Lexa isn't actually breaking the promise. She'll only get some files and be on her way home in no time. Like, come on, Anya can't really expect her to fill her days with leisure time while everybody is working their asses off to find a new clue, right? No one has to know she's been here. It's too early for anybody from the team to be inside, the agent will just quickly sneak in and out, easy. She marches to her desk as the elevator doors open with a ping.

The painkillers she's taking must be slowing her reaction, because she notices a figure behind a neighboring computer only when the man glances her way.

Lexa one hundred percent blames the pills for the thing that happens next because she doesn't know what otherwise could have possessed her to blurt out, "Please, don't tell my sister."

Agent Jaha is shocked for a second, but then his laugh booms in the silent space. It's a full belly laugh and Lexa can't keep the corners of her mouth from tugging upward.

"I'm strictly banned from the premises for the time being," she elaborates.

"I promise to keep you secret." The agent raises a hand to his heart and nods with a smile.

Lexa is once again astonished by the friendliness he's been showing her. She is quite sure he knows what role she played in Griffin's past, at least to some extent. The brunette was waiting for some sort of bitter remarks thrown in passing or even downright animosity. But none came. All he's been is polite, respectful, and generally relaxed around their trio of newcomers. Lexa wishes to repay his kindness in some way.

Maybe that's why she confesses to him seemingly out of nowhere, "I'm sorry. For what happened before."

The agent's expression immediately sobers but he doesn't look confused. "I know."

Lexa, however, is bewildered by his reaction, not having expected anything like that.

"I can see the way you glance at Clarke sometimes, it's really easy to read the regret on your face."

"I do regret it," she says honestly.

"And I somehow have a feeling it may not have been entirely your call to make." Jaha is looking directly into her eyes, probably trying to gauge her reaction. 

She doesn't know how to respond to that statement. He is really observant, Lexa will give him that, though she isn't sure what kind of facial expression could have given that particular bit away.

So she tells him the same thing she told her sister, "I don't believe it matters much now."

"I don't wish to interfere, but you might be right, though not for the reasons you think."

Okay, that's cryptic as hell. Lexa arches an eyebrow, but the man doesn't say anything else, deciding to change the topic.

"Are you in for the files?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Should hurry up then. Raven is an early bird, and she's been working on this new idea for a field invention. And Kane officially forbade her from testing any stuff in the building after her last trial ended in a small explosion. So, my guess is she'll be here any minute to work before he comes in."

"That's good to know," the woman replies, smiling. "Thank you."

The agent returns her smile and goes back to work, as Lexa picks up her paper copies and rushes out of the building before she's seen.

⠀

Later in the afternoon, Lexa is walking home after her first physical therapy appointment. The heat is incomparable to the morning chill. Despite the light outfit of linen pants and a plain white cotton tee, she is melting, sweat is gathering at the nape of her neck. The heat mixed with exhaustion after her session leaves her slightly sluggish, for the first time in years Lexa is wishing for a nap. She decides to pick up lunch from her favorite place around the corner, not wishing to stand around a hot stove for even a second.

When she's back, the brunette relaxes on the couch cushions in the sunlit living room. It takes a couple of tries to find a position that will allow her to eat her salad and look through the files lying on the table at the same time. The plate ends up balancing on her left thigh while she's hunching over the glass surface. As she's scanning page after page, a strange feeling appears at the back of her mind. Like some detail is eluding her, yet Lexa can't exactly put her finger on it. It feels like she is trying to see through impenetrably thick fog, her mind not able to crack the code. Not a pleasant feeling, to say the least. Lexa is struggling to locate the missing piece when the doorbell rings for the second time in two days. Which is twice as much as it has for perhaps the whole previous year.

She rapidly tosses the files off the coffee table and puts them in a bookcase drawer before she comes to open the door. Lexa checks the camera to see that it's her cousin standing on the other side.

"Drew a short straw for babysitting duties for the day?" she asks, letting him in.

Lincoln chuckles and walks to one of the armchairs, "Aren't you happy to hang out with your favorite cousin?"

"You are my only cousin."

"So what I'm hearing is that I'm destined to be forever the best."

"Whatever you say, baby bro," Lexa laughs using his childhood nickname.

In all truth, she's always treated Lincoln like her real brother despite different last names. The three of them were inseparable growing up, he and Anya are the best siblings she could have ever asked for. Lexa would give up her life to protect him in a heartbeat, and she suspects he would do exactly the same for her.

"Care for a drink?" Lexa asks walking towards the kitchen.

"A soda if you have it."

"Any particular reason for the visit?" she asks, throwing him a can and returning to her spot on the couch.

"Nah, just wanted to see how you are doing."

"Perfectly fine, exactly as I was yesterday morning when you last saw me," Lexa huffs.

"How is your arm?"

"Hurts," she replies honestly. "And how are you doing?"

"Great." He smiles again, always so chipper.

"How is the investigation? Found anything new?"

"Lexa," Lincoln scolds. "You know the rules. No work talk while on medical."

Ah, yes, the rules. When they first came working to the FBI, Lincoln was determined that they should fight for every opportunity to maintain the work-life balance to the best of their abilities. So they made a kind of a pact. No work at home if not urgent, no work during weekends or vacations or any sort of leave. The pact that was broken countless times and hangs in existence only by the sheer power of Lincoln's will. The pact, which if Lexa thinks about it hard, has been broken by Lincoln himself as well. So fine if he can't answer a simple question, insisting on annoying her. Two can play this game.

"Have you asked Blake out yet?"

When he averts his gaze, Lexa knows she hit the right spot.

After a long pause he asks, "Do you really think I should?"

"I do. You're the most loveable person I know, and you two seem to hit it off."

"That obvious, huh?"

"Only for those who have eyes," she teases. "But I'm serious. You deserve all the love you can get."

"Speaking of love," Lincoln pauses.

And the brunette knows his exact words long before he continues. She walked straight into it, damn it.

"Not that again," Lexa groans, raising her hand for dramatic effect.

"Lexa—"

"No. We've talked about it like a million times. No, I haven't closed myself off. I've dated people since Costia."

"That you did," Linc mumbles.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You haven't had anything serious. I think you need to have your heart open for love, really." The concern is his voice is genuine.

"My heart is open, I promise. I'm just not actively seeking anything. It takes as long as it takes."

And she means it. Getting back into dating pool was so weird. At first, Lexa simply couldn't imagine sharing her life with another person. How could she, after all her edges had been sanded down to perfectly fit with Costia's and no one else's? It took time to accept that while she would forever remain in Lexa's heart, she couldn't be in her life anymore. That Lexa can't ever move on from their love, but she certainly must move forward. And maybe she'll find another person she fits with. One day.

"Now, where are you taking her?" Lexa is back to her original interrogation.

"I won't be able to avoid this line of questioning, will I?" Lincoln laughs

"Not. A. Chance." She punctuates her reply by poking her finger into his arm. "How do you feel about a little bit of danger?"

Chapter Text

Five days and zero advancements in the case later, Clarke is slowly losing her mind. The amount of phone calls from the higher-ups has been rising exponentially, but she has nothing new to report. It's not like they are idly lounging in the office. The team has dissected the case over and over again, there is just nothing to latch on. They are strapped for new developments, but admittedly, waiting for a disaster to strike seems like a poor strategy.

Clarke has gone over the files multiple times, searching for a detail that slipped their attention. Nothing. And it annoys her to no end. She can almost hear the clock ticking in her head even in her sleep. Time sits as a heavy weight on her shoulders.

Yet again, Clarke started her day with the maddening examination. The agent is staring at the case file begging her mind to conjure some possible lead when a knock sounds at her door.

"Come in," she replies, flipping the cursed thing closed.

"I brought you the finalized account of the seized weapons."

"Thank you, Agent McIntyre," says Clarke taking the file from a young agent. "I wanted to ask how you are doing these days."

"I'm fine, Ma'am, thank you," the woman rushes to respond.

"Harper," Clarke repeats, raising her eyebrows a bit.

"I mean, yes, it's felt a bit tense lately," she pauses. "It's stupid. Of course, danger is a big part of our jobs, I'm well aware that I should be used to it by now."

"It's not stupid. It was the first time you saw one of your colleagues being injured in the line of duty. You're a probationary officer, no one expects you to be unaffected."

"I wasn't expecting it, that is all. I'm not scared of gunfights."

"It's normal if you were," Clarke counters. "We all are from time to time. Means we are human like everyone else. What matters is how you use this fear. Have it as a reminder to stay vigilant and keep yourself safe. And Agent, it's okay to ask for help, nobody here is going to hold it against you. As your training agent, Blake is there to support you. But please know that my door is always open as well."

"Thank you, Ma'am." McIntyre nods. "It's really my mum who I mostly worry about. She's all I have, and well... Me, having a dangerous job, it doesn't always sit well with her. Mum checks on me after almost every shift."

"Believe me, Agent. I can relate to that," Clarke gives a small bitter chuckle. "Let's say my mother wasn't the biggest fan of my career choice either."

"Really?" Harper sounds surprised.

"Yes. The thing is, you have to decide if it's worth it for you, you have to know that this place, this job is where you belong. Remember, that you have an out and there is no shame in taking it."

"I do think I'm in the right place."

"That's good because you have the potential to become a great agent."

"Thank you, Ma'am." A slight blush creeps up McIntyre's cheeks. 

Clarke adds after a pause, "And please, remind Agent Blake that I'm still waiting for his reports on the interviews he conducted."

"Absolutely," the probie replies with a nod and walks out of the office.

Clarke's gaze falls down to the file again, and there is almost a taunting quality to the silence in the room. Probably better to get out of here for a while before she launches the vexing folder into the glass wall. 

⠀

Hours later, when the sun was starting to set, Clarke truly couldn't take it anymore. She set her paperwork aside and decided to switch gears a bit. Now she is in a dimly lit sparing area, standing in front of a boxing bag. There is no one else in the room, so Clarke hasn't bothered with her appearance much. She's wearing her black sweats and a sports bra, her hair is a wild mess, flipping around every time she makes a move. The agent isn't striving for accuracy or precision, trying to punch away her frustrations instead. So far, all she's achieved is a dull ache radiating over her bruised ribs.

Clarke just can't escape the image of her blood-stained hands. It's there every time she closes her eyes, burned on her retina. Guilt is oozing out of her pores mixed with sweat, as she continues to strike blows over and over again. But it's not what is actually bothering her. Clarke called the hospital, knows that Woods is expected to make a full recovery. It is about the other images being dragged to her mind, like a miniature chain reaction. She keeps picturing other wounds, different blood. His blood.

Her imagination is running wild with possible scenarios, because the thing is, Clarke doesn't know exactly how Finn died. Back when it happened, she just wasn't brave to look at the photos or read the report. Knowing he was dead was already hard enough. Hurt enough. The mere idea of seeing his last moment pulled Clarke into a dark place that she couldn't find a way out from for days. It felt fatal, that crushing feeling in her chest. She expected to crumble under it at any given moment, but instead, she would wake up day after day only to find the world empty without him.

Pieces of Finn were scattered around her apartment. His favorite cup in the kitchen cabinet, his toothbrush in the bathroom, his soccer T-shirt left drying over the rack. Clarke couldn't touch a thing, move even the smallest item. But she couldn't bear looking at them either. She felt trapped in her own home, not being able to endure existing in the space where he wasn't. Each time her gaze landed on any of Finn's possessions, Clarke was hit by a tidal wave of grief. Her chest constricted, leaving her greedily gasping for air. So a month after his death, she finally managed to get out of the house. A short walk to her local supermarket later, she returned home with a bunch of boxes. She carefully packed his things, all the while packing slivers of her soul with them. Later Clarke called her dad, asking to store the boxes at her parents' house until she was strong to look at them again.

Clearing the apartment didn't allow her to flee the ghosts, though. Finn was so entwined into the fabric of her daily life that she expected to see him on every corner. In the kitchen making dinner after work, next to her when she woke up, in the headquarters walking down the hall with a tablet in hand. Time passed, but the pain didn't subside. It changed the form instead. From a sharp stab between her ribs, it morphed into a feeling of someone struggling to carve out her heart with a very dull knife.

Was it a month or maybe a year later, but Clarke learned to smile again without feeling like she was being pulled deep underwater. Now she could remember the happy moments that filled their life together. And so much good it was.

They met in Quantico. She first caught a glance of him standing nearby during orientation, dark eyes, messy hair, endlessly chatting with another boy. The next day he sat near her during lunch, and Clarke felt unable to resist the pull of his presence. All charm and smiles, he immediately lightened her life. Ever since, they were spending their time with each other. Training, sparring, getting ready for exams, crashing after ruthless hours at the academy. Always together.

Finn was motivated and driven, and she liked that about him. He was eager to excel even while struggling with some of the subjects. Meanwhile, Clarke was at the top of her class, thriving in the new environment despite occasional anxieties. And she was glad he didn't resent her for it. They just worked together more, the blonde helping Finn until he got things right, regardless if it left her as exhausted as ever.

As they graduated and got their first assignments, they'd been officially dating for four months. Finn started talking about the future from time to time. We're going places, Clarke, I'm sure of it. And she liked his determination as well. Clarke wasn't particularly focused on climbing the ladder so fresh out of Quantico, but his ambition inspired her. They still were spending as much time as their unpredictable schedules allowed, going out with friends, having dates, meeting parents for the first time.

During the first dinner, Finn, ever the charmer, was telling her parents about their plans in the Bureau and somehow miraculously even managed to make her mum forget that she hated her daughter's new dangerous job. They were going to be ASACs in less than ten years, he was certain, have their own unit, maybe even a task force. The power couple of the FBI. Her dad only smiled and said, "As long as you're happy, kiddo." And she was. Happy. Elated even. Basking in the glow of new love.

Finn proposed during their first year anniversary dinner and Clarke was so surprised she almost fell off her chair to the cold tile floor of the restaurant. The realization came to her at once, why he was so insistent they celebrate in a restaurant rather than stay at home, just the two of them, like Clarke initially suggested. She emerged from her daze late enough to only catch the end of his speech, "Will you be my wife, Princess?" Of course, she would. Even if she hadn't expected his question that day, there was simply no other answer. She loved him, and he loved her. They were good together, their lives fit with each other's. Clarke didn't need to explain to him how hard her days could be, and she always found comfort in his arms. Of course, she would marry him.

Clarke was dreaming of a summer wedding, imagining glimpses of her future in moments between working cases. Finn in a perfectly tailored tux, waiting for her at the end of an aisle. Clarke in a lacy dress with a puffy skirt, slowly gliding between rows of their family and friends. Them, dancing together for the first time as a married couple, surrounded by flowers and fairy lights. She was thinking of the life after that too, of course. Of always coming home to her husband and spending time together no matter how tired their work left them. Of traveling on the rare matching vacations. Of starting a family later down the line. Their life together was just starting, they were supposed to have years by each other's side. She never got her dream wedding, getting hit by the heartbreak of a lifetime instead.

The thing that Clarke hates the most is randomly remembering that she would never talk to him again, would not hear his laugh or see him smile. It's always felt like a sucker punch to the gut. Her grief used to get triggered by the most mundane things. Once, during the first year after her fiancé's death, Clarke found herself wailing in a cereal aisle after she spotted a box of this favorite one on the shelf. It's better now, but tears still may come out of nowhere sometimes. The pain never fully went away. It saturates every aspect of her being, every conversation she has, every laugh she lets free. Clarke wished for it to simply disappear at first, she isn't sure it ever will, doesn't know if she wants it to. She grew to accept it as a new inescapable part of her being.

But Clarke likes to keep it contained, encounter it in measured doses. It still feels too boundless to face it at once. And that's it. The thing that makes her gutted and fretful and angry in one instant. Woods appearing again in her life threatens to undo all her careful work of shoving torment into tight boxes. Seeing her face every day puts a spotlight on it, sharpening the edges of her loss again.

And Clarke seems to be unable to ignore or run away from it this time. She can continue trying though. The agent is landing punch over punch, ignoring her body's desperate calls for a break.

The blonde is pulled away from her thoughts by a voice. "What has the bag ever done to you?"

She turns around to see Raven taking a seat on a bench. Her eyes move along Clarke's body stopping at her side where her skin is colored in dark shades of blue and purple. Clarke takes a discarded T-shirt from the floor and puts it on without a reply.

"Slow day at the office?" Raven asks.

"More like a slow week."

"And that's why you are trying to make a hole in this thing?"

Clarke stays silent again, wiping sweat off her forehead with a hem of her shirt.

"Out with it, Griff." Raven waves her hand impatiently. "Before you explode. What's that angry face about?"

"Not angry," Clarke gives in. "More like frustrated?"

"Oh, come on. Must I pull every word out of you?"

"This case. No new leads. Woods. My mind is going haywire, and I can't get all the thoughts out of my head."

Clarke doesn't need to say it out loud, she can see the understanding reflected on her friend's face. "Makes you think about him, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Clarke sighs and sits down on the mat. "It's like it's all new and raw again. Acute."

And maybe it's stupid. Maybe it's a very childish thought. But it's not fucking fair that she was pushed into all of that without her consent.

"What exactly?"

"The loss, I guess," the blonde elaborates. "I can't stop thinking about it, Finn, our life, the rescue mission, everything. I just hate she had to come here and be a constant reminder of what I lost."

"Well, Woods might be having a similar problem."

"What do you mean?" Clarke is confused. Does she remind Woods of her big fuck-up? Tough. That's nothing compared to what Clarke had to go through.

Raven's reply is not what she expected. "I mean being around you is probably reminding her of what happened to the girl. Costia."

"Who?" the blonde furrows her brows.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot that you weren't exactly present at that time, sorry. It happened almost right after Finn," says Raven. "Do you remember that high-profile case Woods closed? One of her famous ones?"

"That organized crime thing five years ago?"

"Exactly. Azgeda. The OC unit has been investigating them for years, with pretty shitty results honestly. They were nowhere near catching Nia Queen, the ringleader. And the Woods junior entered the case."

"Okay, I vaguely remember that part," Clarke confirms.

"So with the Commander on board, they started making headway so quickly that she got promoted to the unit leader in like a month. They made some quite big arrests and Nia must have got pissed."

"What happened?" Unease is gathering in the pit of her stomach.

"Woods' girlfriend, Costia, disappeared one day."

Clarke's only response is breath catching in her throat.

"It soon got obvious that she was kidnapped. Woods was frantic. People say she was working the whole week without stopping to as much as take a sip of water, throwing at it all she'd got to find her."

"And did she?" Clarke's been on the job for far too long to not predict where the story is headed. But a part of her is harboring a tiny hope that she's wrong.

"Yeah," Raven sighs with a dark expression on her face. "She did. Opened her front door one day to find her lying on the porch. Dead."

"Oh my god," Clarke utters, the next moment stunned into silence by the sheer brutality of it. Phantom echoes of dread are traveling through her body at the revelation. She can't imagine how Woods must have felt, finding the lifeless body of a person she loved on the front steps of her home.

"Woods continued working non-stop after that," her friend goes on. "I've heard she almost ran herself into the ground with determination bearing on the edge of madness. Anya and Lincoln pulled her out of it if the rumors are true. And they closed the case together. Caught Nia and her whole crew. She's serving her life sentence without parole right now."

"That's horrific," is all the blonde can say.

"It is," Raven agrees. "So I think Woods can understand loss well."

She surely can, Clarke thinks. That kind of atrocity stays imprinted on you forever. 

"As to the case," Raven says. "Give it some time, we'll find a lead, I'm sure. I know the brass is pushing hard, but even they know these things take time."

"I hope you're right. It's clear how much Kane is expecting results."

"Go home, Clarke." Raven stands up and walks up to her. "Nothing is going to come up today, and you need to relax," she adds after squeezing Clarke's shoulder. "You're tense as stone, and don't think I haven't noticed that giant bruise on your ribs."

"Okay, okay." The blonde raises her hands in defeat. "I'm going."

"And no taking files home!" her friend commands.

"Fine. No working at home," Clarke promises.

Together they walk towards the changing room. "Have plans for tonight?" she asks.

"Nah, I was going to check Octavia's bike, but she blew me off for something more interesting."

"Like what?"

"Like a hot date with a hot newbie."

"Shut up!" Clarke exclaims. "For real?"

"Yeah," Reyes laughs. "Those two don't waste any time, that's for sure."

"Well, at least some of us are getting some action," Clarke chuckles.

"Hey! Speak for yourself," protests Raven, indignantly. "I've got plenty of action, thank you."

Clarke laughs again and shoves her friend towards the exit lightly. "Whatever you say, Rey. Now please busy yourself with someone else as I'm taking a shower."  

⠀

An hour later, the blonde is walking along a busy street to her apartment. The shower helped her to loosen some tension, but she still can't get rid of the images Raven's story evoked. She gets home to her flat filled with the residual heat of a sunny day. Clarke throws her things on the couch and opens a balcony door. As she steps outside, she relishes the coolness of the evening air. Mere minutes later, the peacefulness of the moment is shattered by a loud explosion behind her, and Clarke feels heat, that is coming from spurts of flame, licking her back.

Chapter Text

The wailing of the sirens can be heard for miles away. The dark evening sky is colored in blue and red of flashing lights. People are scampering everywhere, a mix of civilians and first responders, commands are yelled from different directions. The scene is barely managed chaos. Firefighters and uniform cops are working on evacuating the building. Paramedics are doing triage. There are a couple of people in FBI jackets on site and a CSI unit just arrived. A huge crowd has already gathered behind the perimeter, including several journalist crews with cameras who seem to be minutes away from breaching the police tape. The commotion is growing louder by the minute.

The fire has already been put out. But the smoke is still lingering in the air, making her nose itchy. Lexa is looking around, trying to get rid of the feeling that the picture in front of her is a product of her imagination. When the melody of her ringtone woke her up from an accidental nap, for a few seconds her mind struggled to process the words on the other end. Her heart dropped when she finally got what her sister was saying. A bomb at Griffin's apartment. It couldn't be.

Yet she saw it with her own eyes ten minutes later when Anya drove them to the place. Reyes was the only agent from the team who had arrived before them, though Lexa could spot a couple of people she knew from the field office. She had already started examining the remains of the initial blast area. They joined the woman, and now three of them are standing in what used to be Griffin's flat. The place is all charred furniture and blackened walls. Barely anything inside survived the explosion, but the structure of the building remains sound.

"Okay, tell me everything you've learned so far," Lexa tells Reyes.

"My best guess, it's the Mountain."

"No shit, Sherlock," Anya snaps. "How many people bold enough to blow off a federal agent's apartment do you know? It practically has 'Cage' written all over it."

"Gosh, I so wish I could punch you right now," Reyes growls back.

"Weird. Because that's exactly what I was just thinking."

"Focus!" Lexa commands. "We must get the details here right. Bicker all you want later."

To their credit, the women look remorseful at her comment.

"As I was saying," Reyes continues. "Judging by what I can see at the moment, and it is very little, the device most likely was triggered manually. It was designed to create isolated damage though, not to take the whole building down."

"A clear message," Anya chimes in.

"Yes."

"What kind of trigger was it?" Lexa asks, trying to decipher if she's imagining the heat dancing along her skin or if it's emanating from the surroundings.

"Honestly, hard to say. The bomb squad's preliminary sweep didn't locate any secondary devices. So I'm leaning towards radio activation, probably a phone to allow the unsub to turn it on from a bigger distance."

"Could they have been surveilling the location from up close? Waiting for her to enter the building?" Anya asks.

"Possible," Reyes replies. "But if they were, they left before the uniforms arrived because they canvassed everybody on-site at that time. Anyway, we are super lucky Clarke decided to have a stroll on her balcony at the precise moment the bomb went off because the blast radius was definitely aimed to be fatal for anyone inside."

"How is she?" Anya asks.

Lexa glances towards an ambulance where two paramedics are treating the blond woman. She hasn't gone there to check on her yet, only learning from Reyes that she didn't have any critical injuries. From where Lexa's standing she can see that Griffin is conscious and talking which seems like a good sign.

"As banged up as you can imagine. She took a pretty nasty fall, paramedics are going to get her to the hospital to have a CT to check for internal injuries and head trauma."

A familiar car pulls over and a dark-haired woman jumps out of it, followed by a man. Agent Blake is sprinting towards the ambulance without stopping to acknowledge them as Lincoln joins their small circle. Lexa sees the woman give Griffin a tentative hug trying not to cause any further damage in her vulnerable state.

"We came as soon as we heard," says Lincoln. "The Mountain?"

"That's the current take," Lexa responds. "Though I wouldn't put it past Sydney to retaliate either. We won't know anything for sure at least until everything is processed. There isn't much to do for us here now."

"What are the casualties?"

"Several people were injured during the partial building collapse, but nothing critical."

"That's great," her cousin nods in relief.

"Very fortunate and all," Reyes adds. "But let's talk about the obvious here. Are they done? How are we going to ensure Clarke's safety?"

"Should we have her situated in the office after the checks at the hospital?" comes a voice from behind her and Lexa turns to find Blake slowly walking towards them while carefully supporting Griffin on her shoulder. The look on the blonde's face tells that she isn't pleased about being excluded from a conversation concerning her.

"I mean, it's definitely a safe location, but where is she going to stay? I don't think lying on a hard Bureau sofa is going to be on a list of doctor's recommendations," Reyes retorts.

"I'll be fine in a hotel," Griffin disagrees, but nobody pays any mind to the idea.

"Or," Anya interjects. "She can stay at Lexa's."

Lexa doesn't have time to express her surprise at the suggestion because three voices blurt out at the same time. "What?"

Blake raises her eyebrows like she's not sure if she heard the woman right. Reyes is looking between her friend and Lexa almost amused. And Griffin, well, for whatever reason looks pissed.

"Griffin should stay at Lexa's," her sister repeats absolutely unfazed. "She has a spare guestroom and a Fort Knox kind of security."

"Yeah, thanks, but no," the blonde says without missing a beat.

"Okay, I know we're all on edge right now," says Reyes. "But that might actually be a good idea. Plus, no one would ever look for you there, Clarke."

The woman seems ready to jump right into arguing despite her obvious tiredness, but before she can say anything Blake cuts in. "Just for one night, Griff. I'll take you there myself and tomorrow we'll decide on a more permanent arrangement?"

Griffins considers it for several moments and then sighs, all fight leaving her. "Fine. Only for today."

It's kinda funny, Lexa thinks, that nobody even bothered to ask for her opinion on the matter. 

⠀

⠀

As Clarke is standing in front of a two-story house, her whole body is pulsing with pain only partially dulled by a dose of meds. But her mind is busy thinking about what Raven revealed earlier today. She keeps wondering if it's the same porch where Woods found her girlfriend's body.

After an hour of poking and prodding, she was finally allowed to leave the hospital. Clarke supposes she was lucky her mother wasn't on shift, otherwise getting out would have required a full rescue mission. She is a patchwork of bandages, nothing broken though, only a couple of cracked ribs and a ton of bruises and cuts. Exhaustion sits deep in her bones, and the blonde can't wait for this day to be over at last.

The code Woods is entering on the control panel near the door is 16 digits long, and Clarke has noticed several cameras on the house. Guess her sister wasn't joking about the level of security which again gives her a small pang in her heart when she thinks about the probable reason behind it. The door opens, they come in, and the brunette deposits Clarke's bag she insisted on carrying onto the armchair nearest to the entrance. Clarke takes off her sneakers and walks towards the couch. She winces at the ache shooting in her sides when she tries to slowly sit down.

Even in her worn-out state, she can't stop her eyes from roaming around the space. It's clean and organized but at the same time, it feels lived-in. Despite the low light, the room is full of color and texture. There are plants around the living room, photos on the walls, and personal things lying around. A massive bookcase, overflowing with various titles, takes up two walls. Clarke would love to covertly run her finger along the spines, but her body seems too heavy to stand up any time soon. Her gaze moves around though, catching a couple of familiar names. Then Clarke notices a whole shelf dedicated to an assortment of candles.

"I'd never have pegged you for a candle person," she muses, breaking the silence.

The sound of Woods' laugh jolts her out of exploration. The blonde turns around to see her walking closer, the sight of always the put-together agent wearing home clothes makes her eyes linger for a beat longer. Her brain simply can't compute seeing Woods in a domestic environment.

The woman smiles as she picks up matches and lights one of the candles, "Costia, my girlfriend at the time, bought me one for my birthday many years ago, then for Christmas, then one for pretty much every holiday, including the made-up ones that nobody celebrates. I got used to them along the way, I guess. So now it's a full-blown collection."

Clarke marvels at the ease with which Woods says the name. She can't detect any anguish in her tone, just plain tenderness at a fond memory. A tinge of jealousy sparks in her heart.

"It smells nice," Clarke states.

"Rosemary. Supposed to be calming. Thought it fits the occasion."

Clarke hums in agreement, her eyelids feeling heavy. But then a movement in her periphery surprises her.

"Oh my god, what is that thing?" She bolts off the couch and gasps in pain a moment later.

"Are you okay?" Woods quickly steps closer.

"Yeah." Clarke is breathing slowly, waiting for the pain to abate. "I'm fine."

The brunette nods and crouches down, easily picking up the animal with one arm. Clarke has always found bald cats to be hideous and this one is certainly not going to change her mind. Also, it looks pretty angry.

"It's Titus." The cat hisses hearing his name. "He is a complete asshole to everybody, me included. Costia rescued him from the street and was the only one the monster ever liked. And now we are stuck with each other until one of us dies." 

Clarke had no idea cats could glare, but this one is looking at her as if threatening to claw her eyes out if she even appeared in his vicinity. "No friendly pats, got it."

Woods chuckles again and walks towards the kitchen corner with a cat bowl, the animal jumps out of her arm the second it sees freshly laid out food.

"Are you hungry?" the woman asks nearing the fridge.

"I could eat, whatever you have is fine."

"A sandwich?"

"Yeah, great. Do you have any cheese?"

"I think so," Woods says and starts to take out the ingredients.

While she is working on that, Clarke steps closer to the bookshelf. There is a photo on one of the shelves. A much younger Woods is hugging a woman, both of them beaming at the camera. The woman is beautiful, fair skin, dark curly hair, and brown eyes. They both look very happy.

"She was very beautiful," Clarke says when she hears steps from behind.

"She was," Woods agrees and holds out a plate. "Here you are."

"I'm sorry," she doesn't continue it with typical 'for your loss'. Clarke's always hated the saying, having no idea how to respond to it. Instead, she says, "about what happened to her."

"Thank you," is the simple reply Woods gives and Clarke gets the feeling that the woman doesn't avoid the topic of loss as much as she does.

"What was she like?" Clarke asks unexpectedly to herself, probably prompted by the reaction.

"Happy, very kind, had a huge heart. She was a vet, so I guess I'm lucky we only had one cat and not a whole zoo," the brunette laughs. "She always tried to find the best in people. It's hard to see the world with the same eyes without her sometimes."

Clarke hasn't expected the sincerity and candor coming here, maybe that's the reason why she feels compelled to share herself. The words are out of her mouth before she can even think it over properly.

"After Finn's death, I used to get those dreams every night," she begins. "I would see that all was well and we both made it out of there, that he was at home, alive and happy. And then, you know, when you wake up, you have these couple of seconds when you can't remember what day it is or what's going on?"

Woods nods in acknowledgment.

"For those couple of seconds, I would feel at peace again. And then memories would come crashing down, and I got my heart broken over and over again." Clarke blinks away the moisture gathering in her eyes. "I was kinda glad when they stopped, even if it meant I don't get to see him that often now."

The silence hangs heavy in the air. Woods is looking at her with her eyebrows knitted. Before she can say anything Clarke clears her throat and says, "Anyway, this day was too taxing, I'd like to go to bed if you don't mind."

"Oh." Woods slightly jolts at the abrupt change of topic but doesn't react otherwise. "Of course, do you want to eat first or have it in your room?"

Clarke has completely forgotten that she's still holding an untouched plate. "In the room if that's okay."

"Sure." The brunette goes towards the area near the kitchen and stops at the corridor near the stairs. "I think you should take the guestroom on this floor, so you don't have to go up the steps."

Clarke nods appreciatively.

"Bathroom is on the left." Woods motions to the room right by the staircase. "Take whatever you need in there. A fresh set of towels is in the cabinet. My room is on the second floor, don't hesitate to ask if you need anything. I mean it."

"Thank you," Clarke says and at the same time, she realizes that in the earlier discussion, nobody asked Woods if she was okay with sharing her space. "You didn't have to do this."

"You're welcome," she replies and adds after a pause. "There are sensors on all doors and windows, multiple cameras around the house, and an alarm at the front door. You're safe in here."

Clarke swallows a lump in her throat. She hasn't even begun to unpack everything that occurred today, ignoring the feelings seeking to break through to the surface. A lot of things happened at her job before, but nobody has ever tried to get her in her home. She's been avoiding a hole that the loss of security left in her. Her life didn't need yet another thing to mourn. Clarke knows she'll start weeping the moment she thinks for longer than a second about her home being gone. And she really doesn't want to break down now in front of Woods.

So she repeats, "Thank you." And walks to the designated room.

⠀

Clarke is woken up by the sun shining directly at her because she didn't think about closing the curtains the previous night. It takes her several moments to remember where she is. When she tugs on the cord of her phone, which she doesn't remember putting on charge, she is surprised to discover that she slept until 1 p.m. Clarke can't exactly picture Woods barging in to wake her up, still, she rarely sleeps through her alarm. But when she checks the app, it says that it rang and was turned off, she must have been totally out of it and swiped the screen without registering it.

Clarke turns away from the sunrays and closes her eyes again. She doesn't entirely remember what she dreamt about, but it left her with aftershocks of anxiety coursing through her. Every inch of her body is sore. Clarke wants to go home and cry there in peace, then she remembers she doesn't have a home anymore. So maybe she doesn't have much of a choice. Clarke just can't take it in that the place she spent years building was destroyed by a fucking terrorist. What has her life come to? For the first time, she feels grateful for her inability to face the pain head-on because, at least, it left her with boxes of Finn's things and most of her art pieces safely kept at her parent's house.

The thought stops Clarke in her tracks. Has anyone told her parents what happened? She reaches for her phone again, only one missed call from Raven. The lack of countless calls from her mother clues her in that they likely don't know anything yet. But surely a bombing in an apartment complex should have made news? One more matter in a growing list of tasks for the day. There is so much to do.

Clarke wipes off her tears, not feeling relieved in the slightest, and decides to allow herself one more minute to relax in bed. Or maybe like five minutes. Tops. Her eyes are surveying the space she didn't pay any mind to yesterday, having fallen asleep the moment her head touched the pillow without even taking her clothes off. The room is tastefully decorated in different shades of green. It has a desk and a big dresser. A soft-looking chair and a ficus are tucked in the corner by the window. There are several frames decorating the walls, showing stunning forest views, and they don't look like generic stock photos. Clarke wonders where they've been taken, the place seems truly magnificent. The bed she is lying in is incredibly comfortable, luring her to never get up. Tragically, she must.

The blonde throws a glance at herself in a full-body mirror, cringing at her disheveled appearance. She combs through the wildness of her waves with her fingers and straightens up her T-shirt the best she can. Not much of an improvement, but it will suffice.

When Clarke opens the door she's welcomed by the aroma of food, her stomach instantly growls, no surprise after the small amount she had the previous day. She finds Woods doing something in front of the stove, once again startled by her plain sporty clothes. Her hair is free from the typical professional bun she wears in the office, tamed in a low pony with a visible wave in her long brown locks. She must have heard Clarke approaching because she speaks before the blonde reaches the kitchen.

"Hey," Woods says. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been thrown off a balcony by a bomb built by some maniacs we are hunting." Clarke's attempt at humor falls flat as her tone threatens to betray her upset.

"Yeah," the brunette only sighs.

Clarke fails at her measured try to sit down in a chair and earns herself a stab of pain between her ribs. If Woods notices her hurt expression, she doesn't comment on it.

"Hungry?" she asks instead.

Clarke is actually starving, but she's also biding her time to flee. "Oh, don't bother."

"I'm not. My lunch should be fine for your breakfast. I'm making baked mac and cheese." There is a strange expression on her face Clarke can't quite interpret.

"Okay, sure."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks." 

Clarke observes that the woman goes on her tippy toes to reach the grounds at the very back of the top cupboard. She works around the kitchen in quick sure movements, surprisingly capable for a person in a sling.

When they're seated at the table five minutes later steaming plates of cheesy goodness in front of them, Woods says in between bites, "Reyes called. The current assumption is that devices has been triggered manually, but not by a phone as she initially thought, rather by some kind of remote with a shorter range."

"So someone was waiting for me to come home, lucking in the shadows near my building," Clark groans. "Fucking great."

"Probably." Woods doesn't seem affected by the fury poorly disguised in her tone. "And swiftly left before the patrol arrived."

"Has she said if they finished processing the scene yet?"

"They have. Why?"

"I want to go there and see if any of my stuff is salvageable."

"Do you think it's wise in your condition?"

Clarke throws her a pointed glare at that.

"Right. Forget that I asked," Woods utters.

The rest of their shared meal is spent without speaking. Clarke feels half bad about her quick temper, but only because the food was amazing. She's waiting for a reply from Raven checking if she can pick her up, drinking her coffee. Woods stands up and snatches her empty plate, raising a hand to prevent any objections. Without saying a word, she moves to the sink and starts doing the dishes. For some reason Clarke registers growing annoyance at her quiet demeanor. Must be too many shocks in one day to think properly. The phone in her hand vibrates with her friend's reply.

"Raven is picking me up in fifteen," she announces.

"Okay."

They keep existing in silence until then. Later, as Clarke's getting into Raven's car it strikes her, that while staying at Woods', she hasn't felt a hint of the usual sorrow that surfaces every time she sees her face. Not even once.

Chapter Text

Clarke's eyes are moving between rows of pictures, searching for the best fit. She takes a forkful of her pasta and clicks on one of the options. Usually, she goes out for lunch with somebody from the team, but today she wanted to look through some listings. So now she's sitting behind her desk with a takeaway container, pretty much praying to the gods of rental property to grant her a decent apartment. 

Clarke submitted all the paperwork regarding the incident at her old one and the insurance is working on it, but those things can take a long time, and she really needs a new place to live. No way she's taking her parents on their offer. They were horrified when Clarke called them that morning with the news. Her mum went straight into interrogation mode asking millions of questions about the explosion, the investigation, and her medical evaluation. Clarke was only listening with half an ear and gave concise responses in between pauses of her tirade, watching the city pass by from a car window. Her father's concerned tone was what made her heart ache though. He wasn't trying to criticize her or tell her what to do, only asked questions to make sure she was okay. Clarke hated to make him worry and gave all the possible reassurances back, even if she was laying it on a bit thick. After listening to her mum's lecture for almost forty minutes, Clarke had to fake an emergency to cut it short. Baby, you should come home and stay with us for a while. A part of her was ready to agree, eager to simplify her life at least a tiny bit. But that part was living in illusion, looking the other way to ignore the ever-present rift that's been growing in their relationship. Living at home again would have been no candy land, that's for sure. So she declined her parents' offer, opting to stay with Rey instead. And fortunately, since to bombing no new attempts on anybody's lives were made.

But, turns out, living with a certifiable genius presents its own unique set of challenges. Yes, her place is big enough to fit maybe five Clarke's old apartments, equipped with anything imaginable. But no matter how much she enjoyed the 24/7 access to a personal gym or luxurious late evenings spent relaxing in a gigantic bath in her own master bathroom, all the comforts can't excuse the hectic environment of Raven's home. In the past two weeks, the fire alarm has gone off three times. Once Clarke even had to reassure the fire brigade at their door that they weren't about to go off in flames because Reyes was so engrossed in her experiment that she didn't notice the alarm blaring at the ear-piercing volume. Also, Clarke isn't a light sleeper, but she has been woken up by her friend stomping around to get coffee or snacks at wee hours so often, that she started wearing earplugs. The lack of uninterrupted sleep started to show off in the dark circles under her eyes. And all the stuff scattered around. It seems like Raven's place had an explosion, not Clarke's. No wonder she is in a constant search for a new housekeeper. So despite all the love she has for her friend, Clarke's ready to bolt at the first opportune moment.

A knock sounds at her door, and she clicks her tablet off before answering, "Come in."

The blonde tries to conceal her displeasure as much as possible when her eyes lock on the man stepping into her office.

"Can I help you, Agent Pike?".

"That's a good question," he mutters without even trying hard not to be heard.

"Excuse me?" Clarke is fighting for her tone to remain neutral.

"I'd like to know the status of the investigation into the Mountain." He comes up closer to her desk and stands with his chest open, towering over her sitting form and half obscuring the light.

"We are pursuing several avenues, you can read about all the details in my reports."

"The problem here, Agent, is that we are getting quite concerned with the lack of results on the case."

Who are those 'we' exactly? Clarke wonders. Because the last time she checked, the fraud squad had zero interest in the investigation. She knows for a fact that any of his involvement here is entirely self-appointed.

"As I said, the unit is developing several leads at the moment, including the work of forensic accountants and looking into the most recent bombing."

"Was it the one in your own apartment?" Pike scoffs, leaning on her desk.

That condescending prick! Clarke's been thrown off the second floor, yet he is treating her as if she's the one to blame here.

"That's the one," the agent says, standing up. She can't believe he is attempting to use the impending presence trick on her. Clarke isn't some naive probie to fall for that. "I assure you, Sir, everyone is doing their best to advance the case."

"You must understand how it looks, Agent." His constant avoidance of her name makes her skin crawl with irritation. "You've spent months trying to catch some idiots running around with bombs. However, they aren't behind bars, and on the contrary, managed to cause damage right under your nose. There are questions circling regarding your capability to lead the task force."

Clarke wonders if Pike really believes she's going to buckle under his cheap intimidation tactics. Does he think she isn't in constant communication with the brass? If you're trying to domineer somebody, can't you at least have the decency to be good at it? Must people do everything half-assed, she groans internally. All he's achieved so far is to annoy the heck out of her. And she can't wait for this useless conversation to be over.

"You'll be the first one to know as soon as we have something, Sir." Clarke pulls off her fakest smile, pouring all her resentment into mustering a sweet sweet tone. He won't be. Won't even make the cut to the long list.

"I'm glad that we've reached an understanding." Pike's smile seems genuine and Clarke really doesn't know how this person investigates fraud for a living. Don't you need to get people at least a little bit for that?   

"Of course, Sir." She nods, counting seconds before her pretense cracks and she won't be able to bite her tongue anymore. Clarke generally has a very small reserve of false pliability, and she's just wasted it all on this asshole. Hopefully, she won't need to play diplomat for next month, half a year if she's incredibly lucky. One can dream. At the very least, nothing that required being actually believable. "If you excuse me, I need to attend a meeting."

Pike nods without replying and follows her to the exit. As Clarke's walking towards the break room to get some fresh coffee, a thought really frustrates her. No matter how much she doesn't like Pike, he's right about one thing. They still have no real idea of what the Mountain is planning or at least what their next move is going to be. And her team is stuck playing defense while they're growing bolder.

⠀

⠀

It's been a long time since Lexa was excited to leave a doctor's office. Cleared for active duty sounds like fantastic news to her. It was light duty, technically. But Lexa would have agreed even to ride her desk just not to be stuck at home anymore. Lincoln was watching her like a hawk the whole time. She doesn't think he could have noticed the file copies missing from her desk, and it's hard to imagine that Jaha would tell on her. Still, he was relentless in enforcing his 'no work' policy.  So, in the past three weeks, Lexa did a deep clean of her whole house, was reading so much that she completed sixty percent of her year's TBR, and was out on so many walks that her skin is slightly darker than usual. Rest is good and all, but enough is enough. She's set to return tomorrow, but her hands are inching for some action. So Lexa decides to settle for the next best thing.

She's always enjoyed her time at a gun range. Shooting a firearm has never been about power for her. It's about precision, becoming one with her weapon, getting control of her body. Every time she squarely hits the target a pleasant sensation radiates in the body. It feels like matching two puzzle pieces together. Lexa enjoys the solitude of the act as well, but today, as she's walking into the FBI range putting on her headphones she notices the Blakes on the other side of the dark room. Judging by flying arms and voices loud enough to hear with covered ears, they're having a fight. And if Lexa knows one universal thing about siblings, it is to never ever get between them in an argument unless you want to meet your death earlier than expected.

The agent fires five shots, each of them hitting the bullseye perfectly. Static targets haven't been a challenge to her ever since Lexa picked up a gun and figured she was freakishly good at shooting. Before she decides to upgrade towards the moving targets, a voice comes from her side. The brunette doesn't catch the exact words, so she pulls her headphones off to her neck and steps out of the divider to see the younger Blake looking in her direction.

"Sorry," Lexa says. "Come again?"

"I was asking if the Commander cares for a little friendly competition."

Lexa is a bit surprised by the offer. Then her gaze moves to other Blake noticing his less eager expression.

"Not so on board with your sister's idea, Agent Blake?"

"Didn't think the Commander would like to join us." He isn't sneering per se, but his lips are constricted in a weird half-smile. The tone with which he says Commander is also different from his sister's, seeping with poorly hidden distaste.

The name has been following her from one random day in Quantico. It started as a joke, somebody from her class calling her that for her stern demeanor. Lexa only laughed that time, never imagining that the name would stick. Over the years though, it acquired new layers which she didn't particularly enjoy. It hasn't been about her demanding work ethic for a long time. So often now, they say Commander when really they want to call her a bitch. It's almost laughable how much it hurt during the first years in the Bureau, how much she needed Costia to offer her some comfort and reassurance. But with time, Lexa learned to use it as an armor. If you can't change it, embrace it was always her mother's motto. So she reclaimed the word, giving it a different meaning in her head, and loosened her attitude significantly. Honestly, these days they could call her a bitch to her face and she wouldn't even flinch.

"Of course," she chuckles. "The heartless bitch doesn't play well with others."

Blake's face betrays his shock at her bluntness, and he's stunned into silence.

"What's the current story these days? Have I moved on to eating babies for breakfast?" Lexa asks.

Younger Blake loudly snorts at her question. "Nah, just the usual. Terrorizing a new team with that stone heart of yours."

"Ah, the classics." Lexa exchanges a smile with the woman before turning back to her brother. "Have you ever questioned why people use that name?"

"Ma'am, I didn't mean any disrespect, I just—" At least Blake has a good judgment to look sheepish when addressing his superior.

"Is it because I don't have a warm and fuzzy exterior?" She cuts him off. "Or because I'm tough during the investigations and expect my subordinates to follow the orders I give exactly like every other man in the building when I should be nice and smile more instead?"

Blake doesn't say anything at that, his expression turning regretful.

"I wonder if you are going to share the same sentiment when it's your sister they're talking about," Lexa comments before turning her gaze to the woman. "Sure, Agent Blake, I'll join. But how about we make it a bit more interesting and go for the moving targets?"

"Of course," Blake agrees and coming closer to go with her to the dynamic section of the range. But before she walks away, the woman looks at her brother and mouths something which strongly resembles you are screwed, much to Lexa's amusement. 

⠀

⠀

This is the best morning Clarke had all week. It doesn't matter that she was once again woken up incredibly early by the noise loud enough to penetrate her earplugs coming out of Raven's home lab. Neither does the blonde care about how hard she was wheezing after her attempt at a morning run that ended up with her clutching her aching ribs. Stupid cardio. While Clarke was hunching over a park bench she received a text from Bellamy about a potential lead from one of his CIs and that immediately brought a big smile to her face, erasing all today's nuisances from her memory.

Despite her unswerving defensive stance when confronted by the higher-ups, a lack of substantial development has been plaguing her these past three weeks, and she's so ready to get some action.  So when two hours later the agent received a call confirming that they indeed have actionable information it took all her reserve to keep inside the gleeful shout trying to claw its way out of her throat in the middle of a busy coffee shop.

Now Clarke's sitting in the big briefing room, waiting for her team to arrive and taking bites of the cheese croissant washing it down with her triple-espresso-shot latte. The need for a peaceful place to sleep is getting dire.

Raven plops in the chair next to her, followed by a couple of other agents. "It's better be good, I was going to sneak in a lab nap into my morning schedule."

Clarke glances at her friend whose dark circles can envy her own. "Or, maybe you should sleep during the night instead of deafening the whole neighborhood."

"Shit," Raven says. "Did I wake you up again? I'm sorry."

"You did. But seriously Rey. Your sleep schedule is going to kill you."

"Yeah, yeah," sighs Raven. "But you know how hard it is for me to fall asleep with the ideas swirling around. My brain just never can shut the fuck up."

Clarke only shrugs, not having any useful responses to offer. She looks around to find the whole unit having found their seats, ready to begin. Bellamy is standing in the front of the room, and the blonde gestures for him to proceed.

"Alright," he starts. "This morning one of my CIs came through with information regarding Wallace's possible whereabouts. According to my source, Cage is having a meeting today at this location."

Blake doesn't need to signal to Monty seated in the front row before a satellite image pops up on the big screen. The area in the photo seems fairly deserted, having only a few buildings located far between.

"Any blueprints?"

"None, it wasn't even properly sanctioned, so more things pointing out to the Mountain guys."

It's hard to judge the nature of the structure from the available view, but it looks spacious to house another warehouse or a compound of some sort.

"Do we know who he's meeting there?" asks Wilder.

"Not exactly, but based on the information we have, most likely it's some kind of internal Mountain business."

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke notices Pike coming into the room and standing near the wall. Ugh, fucking fantastic.

"And how big are the chances that he'll be there?" A question comes from older Woods.

"It's a creditable source who runs in the same militia crowd, so pretty big," replies Agent McIntyre.

"Based on the openness of the locations, I think we need to take precautions to make sure we aren't running into an ambush." Younger Woods looks towards her cousin, and he nods in agreement.

"Wouldn't you know about that," Pike mumbles under his breath, barely audible but loud enough for Clarke to catch it as she's sitting the closest to the door.

If Woods hears him, she chooses to ignore him. But the blonde sees Anya shooting daggers in Pike's direction.

"Might be a good case for a surveillance drone, don't you think Agent Reyes?" the brunette continues. 

Before Raven can give her reply Pike steps away from the wall and chimes in loudly. "What we actually need is a dynamic entry." That fucking 'we' again. "They are just a bunch of fools playing military. You are overestimating them by a mile! A group of highly motivated agents and an element of surprise is all it would take." He turns to look at Raven and says with contempt obvious in his tone. "Are you even authorized for field work?"

Clarke promptly puts a hand on her friend's forearm before she can combust. She really doesn't feel like spending her evening scrubbing blood off the floor. Honestly, it must be a talent to piss people off so quickly and spectacularly.

Raven doesn't dignify his jab with a response though she's seething with resentment, clenching her fists.

It's Woods who continues the conversation. "With all due respect, Sir," she says much more undisturbedly than Clarke ever could in a similar situation. But at the same time, she somehow manages to make the address sound like an insult. The blond agent isn't the only one clearly hearing it, right? "This is not your operation."

It's Clarke's time to speak. "I believe the drone is the best strategy, taking into account all we know about their group. We can stake out the building before making any moves. When is the meeting scheduled?" she asks Bellamy.

"In three hours."

"Should be enough to get everything ready?" Clarke asks and Rey nods in confirmation. "Okay, first we examine the area, then we decide on the strategy."

"I'll be joining you, Agent Blake," says Pike addressing Bellamy.

Everyone hurries to exchange glances, confusion mixed with surprise.

"Um," Bellamy shoots her a look full of discomfort, clearly unsure of the appropriate response.

"You may join us, Agent Pike," Clarke says sternly yet not openly confronting her superior. Whatever his rank is, it's her unit and her decision, and he is well aware of that.

He only gives a brief nod in return, striding out of the room like a monarch not deigning his subjects with his presence.

"Can you believe the fucking nerve of the guy?" Raven spits.

Yes, unfortunately, Clarke very much can.

 ⠀

 ⠀

"Pike is going to be a problem," says her sister.

Three of them are traveling to the location together. Lexa has been watching the scenery change the whole ride, allowing her mind to run free. She would prefer to come more prepared, but it is what it is.

"He might," Lexa replies, without taking her eyes off the passing buildings.

"What is he even doing in this investigation? Isn't he in the fraud division?" asks Lincoln from the driver's seat.

"He is a leech," Anya hisses. "Likes to join big cases last minute and take the credit for doing nothing. It seems to be working wonders though, getting him a SAC position. I can't fucking stand the guy."

"Not really much to do about it besides going directly to Kane. Just keep an eye on him for now."

"How is your shoulder?"

"And here I was wondering how I got so lucky not needing to fight you off with a stick at my appointment,"  Lexa laughs at Anya's sour expression before continuing. "It's fine, sis. All is in a fighting shape, I promise." She pats her sister's thigh for reassurance.

When they get out of the car fifteen minutes later, two groups are already there. Pike, who to no one's surprise chose to drive alone, hasn't arrived yet, but Lexa has exactly zero desire to wait for him.

"Okay, let's see what we've got in here," she says, walking towards Griffin and Reyes.

Reyes gives her a jerky nod, taking the device out of its case. Lexa knows that the woman doesn't go out in the field that often which probably explains why she's practically vibrating with excitement.

"Here you go, birdie," she whispers to the metal thing. "It's a trial run for the new model," she explains.

While the drone is flying in the sky, Lexa is studying the scene. They're standing pretty much in the middle of a desert, vast expanses of land spreading in every direction. The buildings are few and sparse, looking old and mostly dilapidated. The meeting point is far enough from their target, but she's sure it's not that hard to spot them, considering the open ground. They'll have to move fast.

The dry heat glides along Lexa's uncovered skin, and she swipes a hand over her forehead getting rid of gathering sweat. The atmosphere is quiet, only wind is heard besides the team getting ready.

"So," says Raven, looking at the control screen. "We have two cars parked in the back, no movement outside. I'll keep monitoring and let you know if anything changes."

Pike's car is finally pulling over, Griffin waits for him to step out and come closer. "Okay, we have a possible confirmation for Cage's car. Assume that he is inside the building. We are a go for two teams surrounding the structure. Team A is me, Blakes, and McIntyre, on Bellamy. Team B, Jordan, Woods, and Wilder on ASAC Woods. Agent Pike, you're with team B as well. Reyes is our eyes, listen closely for any developments from her."

"There isn't any cover to take, so stay vigilant," Lexa adds. "And remember, we have a no-knock warrant, so use that element of surprise." The teams exchange nods and get into formation.

They only start briskly walking, barely making 500 feet, when Lexa hears Agent Jordan, who is closest to her, muttering quietly, "Something isn't right." She turns to see his features tense, eyes darting around.

There is one thing that any agent worth their salt needs, yet it can't be taught in the academy. It gets drilled into you by bullet wounds and broken bones. Good instincts. They keep you alive, allowing to make split-second decisions. Lexa learned long ago to trust her gut feeling without question.

That's why, hardly a second later, the agent yells loud enough that she be heard without coms. "Abort the mission. I repeat, abort. Stay exactly where you are."

"What is it?" Griffin replies immediately.

"Jordan senses something isn't right." Lexa can see every agent standing still in their positions except but one.

"This is ridiculous," Pike manages to sound vile even over the radio. "We are not going to stop the operation over some wishy-washy feelings bullshit."

Lexa turns to look at Reyes, standing behind, and is going to ask her if there is any change in the picture when Pike continues stepping towards the building.

"Agent Pike, stop," she repeats, but he is completely deaf to her command.

Before she can yell again, a loud explosion slices the air. When the sand clears, she can only see blackened soil where he stood only a second ago.

"Nobody moves," Lexa commands, keeping her voice calm. She looks around to find most of the team stunned, rooted into place.

"Okay, retrieve slowly, following your steps precisely."

She carefully steps her foot into the print on the sand, moving with extra patience and care. Jordan and her are first to make it to the meet point, as they were last in the group, by her siblings closely behind.

"That's gonna be a hell lot of paperwork," Reyes blurts out, catching the agents' startled expressions, she continues. "What? You warned him, multiple times. He disregarded an order, that's on him. Can't say I feel sorry for the guy."

More agents make it to the safe zone, keeping watch for those coming in front.

Griffin is the next one who walks toward them. "What the fuck happened?"

There are no definitive answers being offered. Shock is still evident in the prolonged silence. Lexa is going to make a suggestion, but she is stopped by a trembling voice, coming over the radio.

"Guys, I think I'm in trouble."

She glances back to the field where only agents Blake and McIntyre remain. The youngest agent is pressing a hand to her stomach, not making any steps. The next moment, she collapses to the ground.

Chapter Text

"Harper!" Five voices yell at once.

Luckily, Clarke is quick to react. "Don't make any moves towards her!" She commands before anyone can lose their heads and do something stupid.

"Octavia, Bellamy, keep returning to safety," she adds.

"Harper?" Nothing. "Do you copy?"

No replies from the woman still lying immobile on the field. Clarke strains to see anything from the distance when the blond Woods has a better idea. She walks towards the car and pulls out a pair of specs out of the warbag.

"Why the fuck is she so far off left?" she asks, after studying the scene.

"Probably got confused after the explosion," Clarke replies. "Do you see any footprints leading to her directly from our location?"

"Nothing visible. May have got swiped in the blast." Then the agent notices Bellamy approaching them. "How the hell did she end up there? Why didn't you keep a closer eye on her?" She almost shouts.

Emotions are clearly riding high. Bellamy doesn't say anything, looking stricken. Octavia constantly throws tense glances between Harper and the group, Wilder comes closer to her to offer a supportive presence. Raven is on the phone standing away, while Jasper looks deep in thought, his calculating gaze traveling along the field.

"I called 911, the ambulance's ETA is twenty minutes," informs Raven, returning to the gathered agents.

"They aren't going to do anything until she's removed from there. We need to contact the bomb squad."

Clarke's mind is in overdrive struggling to come up with a solution. They don't know where the landmine area ends and there are no safe ways to check it without a risk of being blown up. Some kind of remote access like a drone? But the best it can do is to provide the image. Maybe they should ask for a fire station engine with a ladder to lift her up? Though are they even long enough to access her from a safe distance? They need a better plan.

Then Clarke's hit by a strange realization. She hasn't heard Woods' voice for a couple of minutes, and she has to look around to find her standing at the edge of a known safe zone. As if feeling eyes on her, she turns around and strides towards Clarke's car, then pops up the hood and takes out her medical bag.

"What the hell are you doing?" Clarke asks when she comes back to the group. She isn't even that protective of her stuff, just why?

"We need to get to her before the paramedics and bomb squad arrive," Woods states calmly.

Clarke genuinely doesn't get the implication behind her words. Get to her how? Because she can't be suggesting walking thought the active minefield. That would be completely insane.

"What?" Anya obviously doesn't share the same confusion as her shout hurts Clarke's still ringing ears. "Are you out of your mind, Lexa?"

"You can't go there," says Wilder. "This is madness."

"I'm the highest-ranking agent here now, it's my call."

"Do you really think I give a shit about your rank?" Anya snaps.

"She's my probie," interjects Bellamy. "I should go."

Octavia is frantically looking around the group. "Nobody is going! Come on guys, this is crazy. You can't walk around a freaking minefield! Can't we disable it first?"

Clarke's glad to hear at least one clear-headed person. She looks toward Jasper and asks, "How much time do you need to deactivate that thing?"

"I've grabbed the tools, but I have no idea what I'm working with here. Half an hour at least, maybe forty minutes."

"And how long do you think she's got?" The younger Woods addresses Clarke.

"Raven, can you get me a good view?"

The woman nods and gets back to work on the drone. A few moments later she hands the screen to Clarke. "It's going to hover there, don't push any buttons."

She takes the device and looks at the image of McIntyre. She still hasn't moved from her position or said anything over the coms. Her lower stomach is colored red and there is a pool of blood gathering beneath. Honestly, Clarke isn't even completely sure the agent is alive, it's hard to see the movement of her chest under the vest. But she tries to keep the thought out of her mind. Whatever state Harper's in, she requires help urgently.

"I can't really evaluate her injuries from here, but she's losing a lot of blood." It pains her to admit the next part, "I'd say a lot less than forty minutes."

"Then it's decided," the brunette simply nods, calm as ever.

"Lexa, no!" Her sister grabs her forearm. "This is a suicide mission."

"Yeah, write something nice on my tombstone," she jokes in response.

"I'm serious," Anya yells. 

"So am I. I'm not going to stand here and watch her bleed out to death," Woods counters, but doesn't try to get out of her sister's grip, only turns around to face Jasper. "How much weight would trigger the plate?"

"Somewhere between ten and twenty-five pounds should do it."

"Blake, get my gym bag from the trunk and fill it with whatever soft stuff you can find."

"On it," Octavia replies to the order immediately sprinting away.

Clarke is confused for a beat about the purpose of it, then it hits her. Woods is really doing it. She is going to what, hop around the bombs like a freaking kamikaze bunny? Is she actually mental? Clarke can't sanction this, right? It's still her unit, after all, rank be damned. She should put a stop to it right this very second, but for some reason, the agent can't make her brain and mouth cooperate enough to say the words out loud.

"Oh my God, tell me it's not happening," Anya groans, throwing her head back to the sky.

And Clarke can relate. Her brain is fumbling to grasp the reality of the situation. The whole idea is fucking nuts.

"Lex." Wilder catches the woman's eye with a troubled expression on his face.

"I know," she whispers back. "But I have to."

Octavia is running back with a duffel bag. "All done."

Woods turns to Clarke and the blonde has to shake her head to get her mind straight. "I'm not that good at the medical stuff, so I'll need you to walk me through."

"Yeah." Clarke feels dumb as hell that it's all she manages to squeeze out of herself.

The brunette doesn't seem to mind, she nods and comes up to her siblings, exchanging two bone-crashing hugs. Anya looks extremely furious, but Clarke can see the bottomless fear behind that facade. Her heart constricts at the image.

Woods gets free of the embrace, puts the medical bag across her shoulder, and grabs the second one in her hand. "If something happens, nobody is coming after us. Wait until the bomb squad," she commands.

Clarke bobs her head in agreement and watches the woman walk towards the border of the confirmed safe zone. Everybody is gathering as close to it as possible, looking dumbfounded. Half of the team is holding hands, seeking whatever support is available. Momentarily, Clarke is crashed by an overpowering feeling, a sudden urge to run towards the brunette and drag her back to safety before she steps beyond the point of no return, but she fights it down, locking her eyes on the woman instead.

Woods throws the bag in front of her and Clarke exhales when no explosion comes. The brunette jumps to the spot, picks up the bag, and repeats the thing. Clarke finds herself unable to breathe between the moments, the air rushing in and out of her lungs only when the bag hits the ground. It's not that far. Not that far, the mantra is circulating on repeat in her brain. It seems a slow torture, like watching two asteroids rushing towards their imminent collision, yet she can't avert her gaze. Clarke feels like she's been plunged underwater, the surrounding sounds are coming muffled, and everything just doesn't feel real. Meanwhile, Woods's already made four stops, steadily getting closer to the fallen agent.

"Guys," Bellamy's voice breaks her out of her trance. "They're escaping."

Clarke's eyes travel to the building where in the far two cars are driving away to the back road. She's surprised it has taken them so long because they for sure must have heard the explosion and seen their backyard full of agents.

"Let them," she replies. "We don't know what kind of booby traps they installed in here. Nobody is leaving the safe distance until everything has been checked."

Her gaze returns to Woods. The woman moved another hop. Clarke's clenching her fists so hard that red half-moons break her skin, but she barely feels the sting. Five more stops, maybe six. Her brain, typically calm in the face of danger, is erratic right now. Clarke is minutes away from having an anxiety-induced heart attack, trying to breathe evenly despite a boulder sitting on her chest.  

Woods throws the bag again, and Clarke's heart completely stops when an explosion rings in the air. Anya yelps beside her, only prevented from running forward by the strong arms of her cousin encircling her. Clarke is frozen in place unable to react at all, a wave of adrenaline rushes throw her. They can't see anything clearly because of the sand thrown in the air.

"That's not me!" A voice comes over the coms before the dust settles. "Not me, I'm completely fine."

"I'm fucking going to kill you when you get back," Anya threatens despite her wet eyes.

"I'm almost there."

She is. But everybody seems to realize at once a huge gaping problem. Woods doesn't have her safety system anymore, because she can't exactly throw the medical supplies.

"Fuck," Raven mumbles on Clarke's right. And Clarke can't believe she was stupid enough to allow Woods to run with this maddening idea. An image of two dead agents lying motionless under the scorching sun flashes in her mind. Has her hasty call doomed two people in her command to death?

Nobody is breathing now. Woods takes a step. No explosion. A synchronized whoosh of air comes out. Another step. Clarke lost all sensation in her hands white as marble. Nothing. A collective exhale. One more stride. Anya is squeezing Lincoln's forearm so hard Clarke is afraid she'll break a bone. Still silence. The blonde is praying for this excruciation to be over. Another movement. Her stiff muscles are burning with acid. No blast. Three more steps in rapid succession and Woods falls down to her knees in front of Harper.

Clarke feels like a puppet whose strings have just been cut. Impossibly heavy. The gravity calling to her. It's a miracle she doesn't topple to the ground as well. It takes her several long breaths to calm down her greedy lungs and realize that a voice is calling for her attention over the radio.

"Griffin! Can you hear me?"

She bites her cheek hard, tasting blood, but it manages to pull her attention back to the present.

"Yes, yes, sorry. I'm here," she quickly replies. "Is she alive?"

"Yes, she's out cold but breathing. What should I do?" 

The fog out of her head clears so fast, that it's almost a physical sensation.

"First, where is she bleeding from? What color is the blood?"

"Lower abdomen on the right side, below her vest. I think she was hit by a fragment. And the blood is kinda cherry red."

"Anything sticking out? Other fragments or any organs?"

"No, nothing like that." At least some good news.

"Okay, I need you to take off her vest and her shirt," Clarke says forming a plan in her mind. "Check for the exit wound or any other injuries."

"Got it," Woods replies in an even voice.

The blonde is looking at her fast confident movements through the surveillance screen, and it provides a better control of her emotions. She checks her watch to see how long till the paramedics arrive and is shocked to find out it's only been ten minutes. Feels like a whole eternity was left on the field.

"No other wounds or an exit one either."

"Pour some saline over the laceration to clean it. Then get some sterile gauze to cover it and stick it with some medical tape."

She watches Woods take the things out of the bag and dress the injury. Clarke really hopes Harper hasn't lost too much blood and tries to will the ambulance into existence right now.

"Okay, I'm done," says Woods.

"How is her pulse? Is it thready?"

"Not very strong, but steady," says the brunette pressing her fingers to the woman's neck.

"Good," Clarke exhales slightly relieved. "Bring her back swiftly, don't apply any pressure on her abdomen for now. And please don't drop her."

There's a pause which makes Clarke cringe internally. Why on earth is she joking in this kind of situation?

But then Woods hoists Harper up in her arms and replies with a tiny laugh in her voice, "I'll try my best."

"Do you think she'll make it?" asks Bellamy and Clarke startles, genuinely having forgotten that she's surrounded by other agents.

"I don't know, Bell." She pats his shoulder consolingly. "I hope so."

She turns around to watch Woods starting her journey back. And Clarke is again filled to the brim with similar anguish. Yes, there are clear footprints now, besides the place of the second explosion. But Woods is carrying the extra weight and the chances of tripping have increased.

A part of her wishes to cover her eyes and only open them when they both have arrived at safety. But once again, there is this magnetic pull gluing her gaze to the woman slowly threading her way back. Clarke's breathing grows shallow, and she observes in her periphery that she isn't the one sick with nerves. For the second time today, the agent can imagine the hearts of the team beating in unison in an intermittent rhythm.

Then Clarke watches in horror as Woods stumbles so close to the edge of her walk. Somebody gasps. Time hangs suspended. She sees, almost in slow motion, the agent wobble, but then she steps one foot out and catches her balance. No explosion comes as she straightens up and continues walking. Clarke is drenched in sweat at this point, but she's barely paying attention to any of the bodily sensations. At this rate, she'll require a second ride to the hospital and a prescription for some Xanax. When Woods makes the last steps to safety, Clarke finally feels like she can breathe again. She races toward the women and crunches down.

"Put her down here," she commands, returning to her wits fast.

Woods does as she told and slightly winces on her way down. Fuck, Clarke thinks belatedly, her shoulder.

The team surrounds them in a tight circle and the blonde sees Woods sisters coming together in another unyielding embrace. "Give me some room, everybody. What is the ETA for the ambulance?"

"Four minutes."

The agent uses the time to examine Harper. She's pale and clammy, hair sticking to her face with cold sweat. The pulse remains fine, all things considered, but she doesn't respond to the pain stimuli still unconscious. The bandage is already completely soaked in blood and Clarke hastily changes it for a new one, applying pressure to the wound. She keeps an eye on the woman's breathing while waiting for the medics to arrive. She lets out a relieved sigh when the sound of sirens is finally coming closer. Three EMTs are rushing to her side.

"What do we have here?" One asks quickly examining the patient, motioning for Clarke to lift up her hands.

"She was hit by a fragment after an explosion. One entry, no exit wound. Lost consciousness after a couple of minutes and haven't regained it since," she says while wiping her bloody hands on her dark jeans.

They check the agent in a fast fashion and get her up on a stretcher, running back to the car.

"Where are you taking her?"

"Trikru Memorial is the closest. Is one of you coming with us?"

Clarke opens her mouth to volunteer but then remembers that she was going to check on Woods. Bellamy notices her hesitation and instantly offers, "I'll go." She nods in appreciation.

A few moments later, the ambulance is speeding away and Clarke looks around at her team.

"I know everybody is incredibly stressed right now, trust me, I get it. But we still have work to do here. Jasper, I'd like you to assist the bomb squad when they come. Rey, please keep monitoring the scene, I really don't want any other surprises. The rest of you, let's wait until the ground is cleared, and then we're going to inspect the building."

After a chorus of committal sounds, Clarke catches Woods' eyes and tilts her head to the side telling the woman to follow her.

"How is your shoulder?" She asks, in a low tone, mindful of the older Woods' eyes on her.

"It's okay."

That only earns the brunette an eye roll. "I'm too fucking exhausted to pull the words out of you right now, so you're going to tell me straight."

After a pause, the Woods says sighing, "Hurts after carrying her back. But I'll be fine."

"You will be because I'm going to check it out and probably send you back to the hospital."

"No," she objects, not relenting even after meeting Clarke's narrowed eyes. "Anya will literally have a stroke or kill me, or kill me and have a stroke after."

The blonde is surprised to catch the humor in her voice again. A slightly nervous laughter escapes her lips in response.

"Okay, I'm going to check it discretely." When Woods opens her mouth to say something, Clarke raises her hand and continues before she has a chance to speak. "I don't want to hear it. We are going to sit in the car, and you'll let me check it, or I will announce that you injured yourself. Loudly. Your choice."

"Fine," the senior agent huffs and starts walking towards her car, taking off her vest on the way. 

Clarke snatches the medical bag left on the ground and trails behind her. She exhales in solace when the coolness of the air-conditioned car hits her skin. Some of the adrenaline, she's still buzzing with, leaves her body.

"Unbutton your shirt," she orders.

The other woman follows her direction without a pause, moving the item off her shoulder. Clarke gently palpates the skin around her latest injury.

"How bad is the pain?"

"Fine."

"Gosh, cut the crap, will you?" Clarke moans, irritated.

"It hurts, but not that bad. Honestly." Woods moves up her gaze to meet Clarke's eyes in a silent form of affirmation.

"Turn around," Clarke says, her fingers dancing around the pink skin. She examines the area of her exit wound. "Okay, back. And now raise your arm."

The woman does and Clarke is carefully studying her face for any signs of pain or discomfort. When none show, she notes, pleased, "The good news is that I don't see any cause for alarm. You seem to heal nicely. There isn't any visible damage and your mobility looks okay to me. But I need you to give your GP a call and please, for the love of gods, don't hide today's events from your PT specialist."

"I won't," the woman replies, putting her shirt back in place. "Thank you."

For some reason, Clarke is inclined to believe her. There is a pregnant pause hanging in the air. Then the blonde says, "Thank you for what you did out there. It was completely crazy, but if it hadn't been for you, I doubt Harper would have survived. I didn't—" She bites the words back before they're out.

But Woods doesn't let it slide. "You didn't think I'd allow anybody to get her."

"Yeah," Clarke admits, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks. She's trying to read the woman's face for some signs of disappointment or upset, but she can't find any.

Woods moves her hand to the door handle, opening her mouth but then thinking better of it. Clarke can see a struggle happening in her mind in her tightly pressed lips and a subtle frown. Then the brunette changes her mind again and finally speaks, "I don't leave people behind, Griffin."

Before the blonde can say something back, she opens the door and hops out of the car, returning to the group of waiting agents. Something in her tone makes her words repeat again and again in Clarke's head.

Chapter Text

Clarke's eyeing a beautiful two-story house from the front seat of her car. It's a cream-colored structure adorned with blooming flowerbeds on both sides of the porch. There is a backyard hidden behind with more flowers and trees, it even has a small pond with koi fish. Clarke knows that, because the house she's been parked in front of for fifteen minutes already, is the family home she grew up in. The place that right now is holding a big celebration.

Both sides of the street are busy with parked cars. The lights are on in almost every window, showing groups of people gathered. She can hear the music from outside, which is slightly louder than the regulations allow, but the woman doubts there will be any complaints, especially because at least half of the neighborhood will probably visit the festivities at some point.

Clarke is going to join the party any moment now, she just needs a tiny breather first. Or maybe like a pep talk. Parties at her house are a whole affair. And despite usually thriving in that kind of environment, today she'd swap it for some peaceful time in a heartbeat. Plus, only the prospect of being on the whole evening and swirling away from a looming argument with her mother is already enough to push her deeper into the state of exhaustion.

She hasn't been sleeping much these past two days, waking up filled with anxiety before she even opens her eyes. When Clarke checks herself in the interior mirror, there are pronounced shadows on her face visible despite a layer of makeup. Her mind has been overflowing with worries, but the worst part of it is the words it doesn't want to let go of. I don't leave people behind, Griffin. The familiar voice has been inhabiting her thoughts lately, constantly in the background, popping at the most random times. Clarke's brain is literally aching from all that thinking she's been doing. She hopes for some respite, for the music and chatter to push the thoughts out at least for a while.

The blonde opens the door and steps out of the car, straightening her peach dress. She's always enjoyed the feel of its fabric hugging her torso. She changes into a pair of white heels that she's taken from the backseat and picks up a sparkling blue box with a bow on top. When Clarke reaches the porch, she takes an inhale followed by a long exhale before opening the door.

Bright light and loud chatter of the conversations welcome Clarke back into her home. The place is already packed with people, even if the party has barely started yet. That's what happens when you have a famous scientist and a chief of cardiothoracic surgery in one of the top hospitals in the country for parents. Clarke doesn't see her dad, pretty sure that he's mingling somewhere in the crowd. But her eyes quickly land on her mother talking to Raven in the dining room. Before Clarke can switch directions to find her other parent, the woman notices her daughter first. No sense in hiding now. Off to a promising start.

Coming to her side, the blonde gives her mum a quick hug.

"Glad you made it, honey." The woman smiles.

"Of course." Her return smile is hopefully convincing enough. Like come on, she isn't even that late. "Where is Dad?"

"Oh," Abby laughs. "You know your father, probably talking the mayor's ear off about his latest breakthrough."

That brings a genuine smile to Clarke's face. Jake Griffin has always been the public's favorite. She doesn't know anybody else in his sphere who would be so often invited to give talks at a variety of events ranging from science conferences to kindergarten career days. He always manages to attract people who never even heard about his area of research and convert them into science geeks by the end of his speech.

"How have you been, honey?" Her mother asks. "Raven tells me you found yourself in the midst of an explosion yet again." 

Clarke throws her friend a pointed look, which she returns with an apologetic expression mouthing, "Sorry, Griff." 

"Oh, don't give her that glare. An injured FBI agent in this city would never escape my notice."

Which is certainly true. Clarke has once had to bribe a nurse to keep her arrival at the hospital quiet so it wouldn't reach her mother's network of spies.

"Then you know that I'm totally unharmed."

"What can't be said about that young agent of yours."

The mention of Harper brings back a pang in her heart. So much for drowning out her thoughts. Clarke catches a sympathetic look Raven is sending her.

"Her poor parents," Abby doesn't relent. "I can't imagine how distraught they are."

Clarke can though. She actually can imagine very well Harper's mother's shaking voice when Clarke had to make the call to notify her of what had happened. She remembers well the pale older woman she met in the waiting room, so devastated by the news she didn't even ask any questions. A bundle of nerves who spent hours staring at the bleak hospital walls and fumbling with a handkerchief. Clarke and Bellamy spent the whole time waiting by her side, ready to help in whatever way possible. The blonde understood she had to talk with the man, make sure he didn't think it was his fault. But she didn't exactly know how to push the words out when she was struggling with guilt and sense of responsibility just the same way. Both of them didn't leave the hospital until after Harper was out of surgery, and it was clear she would pull through. Clarke hasn't been able to see her yet, as the woman has only recently been transferred from the ICU. However, she is in constant contact with her physician, and the current prognosis is that she will make a full recovery. Though there is certainly a long road ahead of her.

"Don't know what you want me to say, mum." Clarke is modulating her tone as best as she can, not to sound cross so early into the party. "I am not going to do that, and you are well aware." Her mother clicks her tongue in response. "How is it that I've never heard you pestering Raven about quitting her job?"

"Because Raven is not my child," she retorts. "No offense, baby." Abby pats Raven's shoulder affectionately, and Clarke wonders when she last felt any fondness from her mum not spoiled by a tinge of scolding.

"None taken, Mrs. G." Her friend's laughter has a nervous quality to it. Clarke knows she doesn't enjoy being in the eye of someone else's confrontation.

The blonde is making up a good reason to abandon this conversation when she hears the front door open once again and catches sight of her friend in the periphery.

Octavia is dressed in all black, rocking her typical warrior queen style of metal and leather, even her dark hair is pulled into intricate braids today. She is holding hands with none other than Agent Wilder. Clarke spent enough time with him this past month to be able to read off his face the discomfort he is actively trying to suppress.

Octavia is much more successful in finding the man of the hour, exchanging a big embrace with Clarke's father. Lincoln then says something she can't hear, shaking the man's hand. The evident distress in his features intensifies and Clarke realizes that for him, it's basically 'meet your girlfriend's parent' day. The Blakes moved into the house a couple of buildings down the street when Clarke was only a baby. She quickly found herself on play dates with a dark-haired boy and his sister. They spent so much time together since then that when their dad left, Jake essentially took on the role of the father figure. Even if Clarke doesn't have any blood siblings, she basically grew up with three.

Octavia pulls her companion through the mass of people deeper into the house, snatching two flutes of champagne on her way. Clarke understands it's her chance to escape. And she isn't about to miss the perfect opportunity.

"Sorry," she says, giving her mum a perfunctory smile. "Gonna go say hi to dad."

Clarke catches the man before he dives into another conversation, greeting him with a tight embrace which he returns eagerly. "Sorry, kiddo, I didn't see you come in."

"That's okay." The blonde beams. "Happy birthday!" She gives him the wrapped present. 

"Thank you, honey. How have you been? How is your job treating you?"

"Not the work talk," Clarke groans. "Please."

"Mum got to you first?" Jake laughs at his daughter's pained expression. "You know she just worries about you."

Clarke does know that. And can even sympathize with it. She remembers the restless evenings when Finn was late from work or sparks of fear she got being woken up by a phone call while he was on shift. Having a loved one with a risky job sucks. But Clarke can't give up on doing what she loves and allows herself to drown in fear. Many people don't get to do that, simply walk away from danger. What if it was a different woman having her apartment blown up? What does the change in the equation mean? How is Clarke's life more valuable than somebody else's? If putting vicious criminals behind bars means she may not come from work one day, then she made peace with that bargain a long time ago.

"I know," the woman sighs. "And she knows I won't leave my job. Let's not talk about it today during your celebration."

Her dad only gives her a small nod, having been in the middle of this conversation millions of times. "Have you seen Wells yet? He's been looking for you, I think."

"No, I haven't." Clarke shakes her head. Before she can say something else, a colleague of her father pulls him in a quick hug and a friendly conversation.

"Sorry, kiddo. See you in a bit?"

"Of course," Clarke laughs, knowing her father rarely can escape being the center of attention.

The blonde gets a mini quiche from one of the circulating trays, surprised to discover that she's ravenous. She moves through the sea of people, trying to locate her friend when she finds him talking to his dad by the window of the living room.

"Clarke!" She is greeted by a bright smile and a hug. "I was going to catch you in the office today."

"Oh yeah, it's been crazy," Clarke says hugging him back.

Turns out the amount of paperwork when your superior, well only technically, officer gets killed in the action is a beast. No matter he was the only one to blame for it. Even after splitting the task with Woods, Clarke is surprised she wasn't crushed by the pile. The only sunlight she saw the last two days was flowing through the glass walls of her office.

"Nice to see you, Mr. Jaha," she says. When they were kids Clarke just wasn't able to pronounce 'Thelonious', coming up with the wildest variations that left adults' stomachs ache with giggles. So 'Mr. Jaha' it's been ever since.

"You too, Clarke. Not to spoil the conversation with shop talk, but I heard you're making great progress on the Mountain front."

It takes a lot of effort to tame a grin threatening to break out on Clarke's face. After all the complaints, groans and threats, genuine praise warms her heart with the power of a thousand suns.

"Thank you, we're doing our best."

"Let me know if you need any assistance from me. Anything for my brilliant god-daughter."

"Thanks." She mostly tries not to mention their connection at work. It's not so much of a secret, and obviously, most of her team is aware, but she doesn't exactly want to hear the talks about nepotism thrown in her direction. Because she's never used his name to advance in the Bureau, and she never will.

"I will let you kids chat without an old-timer hanging over you," Jaha laughs and walks away toward a familiar face waving at him in the crowd.

"Are you okay, Clarke?" Wells asks in a concerned tone after his father is gone.

"Yeah, kinda. Worried about Harper mostly."

"She'll be okay. You and Woods did the best you could for her and the doctors say she'll recover fully."

"I know. Just wish she didn't have to." Despite her best efforts a bit of her anger seeps into her voice. Honestly, looks like it's time to admit that this party isn't doing shit for improving her disposition.

"From what Raven told me, Pike was a misogynistic dick who wouldn't listen to anybody's orders."

That startles a loud laugh out of Clarke. It's incredibly rare to hear her ever-polite friend bad mouth someone, let alone curse surrounded by people.

"What?" Wells chuckles. "It's pretty much the direct quote from the genius herself."

"Well, who am I to argue with greatness?" Clarke laughs as well and then adds after a pause. "Could you excuse me for a bit?" Though she's enjoying her friend's company, the stuffy air and endless hum of the conversations are getting a bit much for her. "I'll find you later?"

"Sure."

Clarke walks towards the stairs, not surprised the second floor is occupied as well. She maneuvers around the crowd finding a mostly hidden corridor leading to her target. The sounds fade away when she steps outside closing the door behind her. The blonde kicks off her shoes, walking barefoot on the wooden deck of the balcony towards its edge. She puts her weight on her forearms leaning on the railing, relaxing into the dark peace of the night. The air is a pleasant cool after the warmness of the house. She lets herself close her eyes and savor its freshness. Clarke doesn't get to revel in the moment for long, because a couple of minutes later, the door opens again, and a familiar voice comes from behind.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know somebody was in here, I can go." She turns to see Wilder moving back to the door.

"It's okay," Clarke says. "It was inevitable for somebody to find my hiding place one of those days. Stay." She gestures for him to join her near the banister.

"It's a great spot," Lincoln says.

Clarke agrees. It's one of her favorite places in the house. A beautiful view overlooking the garden, it has fantastic sunsets. She spent countless hours here covered in paints and later in textbooks while she was in college, sunbathing with friends, having a lot of meals during the summer with her family, and sometimes watching the fireworks her dad managed to sneak out of the house under her mother's watchful eye. She even had a romantic dinner with Finn here once when her parents were out of town.

"And who are you hiding from? Hope it's not my father."

"Nah, me and Jake are good." Wilder grins.

"Jake, huh?" Clarke can't fight a giggle.

The man nods. "Just wanted some calmness, not a big fan of loud sounds."

"A perfect place for you then."

They don't speak for a while, enjoying the absence of noise. Clarke watches the fish swim around in the illuminated water of the pond.

"I wasn't sure O was right that you'd be okay with me coming," the man says several minutes later. "Thank you for letting me join your family's celebration."

"Of course." Clarke got a text from her friend yesterday, checking that she didn't mind her plus one.

"I didn't want to disturb the evening around your people."

"You are my people now, Lincoln," the blonde responds simply, and she actually means it. However it came to be, he and his cousins are a part of the team thus they are hers.

"But, if you ever hurt Octavia, I'll kill you. Raven will kill you. Bellamy will certainly kill you. Basically, you'll be on the hit list of the whole unit. And don't forget we all are skilled professionals and can easily hide a body."

"Well that's not menacing at all," the man barks out a laugh, raising his hands in mock defense. Then his tone turns serious. "I will never do that if I can help it."

"Good." The blonde bobs her head approvingly at his response. "Wanna stay here with me for a while?"

"Sure."

Clarke motions towards the comfy sofas by the house wall. "Give me a moment."

She walks towards the corner where the control panel is hidden. A flip of a switch and the balcony is cast in a soft yellow glow of fairy lights the next moment. Clarke comes back to the couch and relaxes onto the cushions.

"This is nice," Lincoln hums in appreciation. "The view of the garden in this light is stunning. Makes my fingers itch for my pencils."

"You draw?" The blonde somehow isn't surprised to find a fellow artist in him.

"Ever since I was little."

"Maybe you can show me your work one day?" She is actually really curious.

"Of course."

The pair don't talk after that, relishing their time away from the party.

⠀

Hours later, when the crowd disperses, Clarke finds herself amongst the waiting staff gathering the plates and glasses left lying around. The monotone physical labor allows her a chance to sort through her racing thoughts. It came with vengeance after the talk with Lincoln. The voice. I don't leave people behind, Griffin. Clarke is struggling to understand why her mind is so insistent on repeating the phrase over and over. However, if the woman sheds her stubbornness for a moment, she will be able to admit that there is a pretty solid guess she's been shoving to the back of her mind.

Over the years she's been constructing this image in her head, meticulously adding new details. Woods who made her a promise she later broke. The woman who failed to rescue her fellow agent. The Commander with a heart of ice not caring about anything besides solving cases. The puzzle was full. And now Clarke has all these new pieces. The person whose lover was killed in the worst way imaginable. The woman who takes care of a cat that hates her and collects candles as a hobby. Lexa who without batting an eye risked her life and went across a fucking minefield to save a woman she barely knew for a couple of weeks. Try as she might, Clarke just can't match all these things in a coherent picture.

Her father's voice pulls her out of the reflection. "Sorry that we didn't spend much time together today."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Clarke assures. "I know how the celebrations in this house get."

She continues to go around the room cleaning up while her father comes to relax on one of the couches. Clarke can feel his eyes on her, tracking the movement.

"What's up, kiddo?" The man asks with a focused expression, patting the place next to him.

"Nothing special, you know, work, trying to find a new apartment, the usual." Clarke puts the dishes down on the coffee table and joins him.

He doesn't say anything but keeps observing his daughter's features and Clarke knows he isn't buying it. Since she was a kid, she hardly ever could successfully lie to her dad. After her little shenanigans with the kids on the street, Jake was typically the one sent to investigate and Clarke always cracked under his studious gaze. Luckily for her, half of the time they made a 'don't tell mum' deal and Clarke was let off with a promise not to do that again. Until the next time.

"Just a lot in my head," the woman admits. Her fingers are playing with the chain around her neck.

"About?" He doesn't push so much as gives her space to share if she's so inclined instead. 

"I thought I had a pretty good idea about somebody. But lately, I've been questioning if I was right at all."

"Is this about that woman? Agent Woods?"

Seriously. It's kinda scary how well her dad can read her. She isn't that obvious to everybody, right?

"Yeah," Clarke sighs. "I've been thinking about some stuff from a different perspective, and it makes me feel, I don't know—"

"Guilty?" Jake offers.

And that's it. The missing piece Clarke has been avoiding. If she's honest with herself, even the mere idea of changing her mind about Lexa feels like a betrayal to Finn's memory. Because no matter the emotions she has, the fact is Woods did play a role in his death. Clarke can't decipher how exactly to treat it. 

She only nods in response, having a hard time putting her feelings into words.

"I don't know that woman, honey. But there is a thing I can tell you for sure. Whatever happens between you two can never change how much you loved that boy. The dead are gone. Moving forward is never a disloyalty. Forgiving her is not a disloyalty. Especially if it brings you peace. I think he would want that for you."

Clarke swipes away the tears filling up her eyes and sniffs a bit. "Sorry, didn't mean to cry on your birthday."

"Never apologize for needing me, baby." Jake gives her a firm hug and a kiss at the top of her head. "Come on, leave the plates be. Let's set off some fireworks in the garden before your mother catches us. I think I'm allowed today with the birthday business and all."

"Sure Dad," Clarke lets out a wet laugh. "Don't know how well this excuse will work for you though."

Later, when Clarke watches the night sky burst with sparks of color, she imagines some of her sorrow flying away with the exploding gunpowder. When she falls into her bed exhausted she hears that phrase again.  I don't leave people behind, Griffin. And it strikes Clarke that she isn't so sure what exactly Lexa meant to say by that.

Chapter Text

She should not have said that. Something in the worn-out face and pink-tinted cheeks pleaded with her and Lexa wasn't able to bite back the words. The only time she decided to just go with it, and see what happens. Griffin has been throwing not-so-inconspicuous glances her way through the glass wall for the past three days. 

And the whole time the brunette has been bracing herself for the conversation that she knows in her gut is coming soon one way or another. Yet despite the anticipation building layers, Lexa still has no clue what she'll say when it happens. Should she stir the talk in the other direction, skillfully maneuvering around the hidden? Or should she be honest and answer whatever questions the blonde has? Can she even? The repercussions be damn, the thing that really worries her is whether the truth can build something or if it's cursed only to wreak havoc. All this thinking leaves an unsettling aftertaste on her tongue. 

A whoosh of a sent email marks the last file of the mountain of paperwork she's been plowing through after the incident, and Lexa finally can take a breath and maybe treat her growling stomach with some food. She stands up from the chair, which must have molded to her exact shape with all the hours she's been pulling, and stretches out her stiff muscles. 

Stepping into the elevator, Lexa opens up a text app to find herself some company for lunch but then thinks better of it. Her sister is still angry with her, which is evident in her bad temper and short replies. She needs some time to cool down and then they'll talk. However long it will take, the brunette believes rescuing the young agent was worth it a thousand times. Lexa received word that McIntyre has been taken out of the ICU, so that seems like good progress. She could text Lincoln, but Lexa is willing to bet her house that her cousin is spending his meal time with Octavia, bestowing her with a million of his dopey smiles. And she is absolutely not going to get him away from that, even if she's barely containing her curiosity about the events of the previous night's party. 

Lexa gets herself some takeaway from the food truck parked near the Bureau building and decides to enjoy her meal in the neighboring park. She sits down on a bench overlooking a small artificial lake and allows the sunlight to seep into her skin. It's a beautiful cloudless afternoon with the temperatures not being so torturing. A respite from the recent heat must be calling upon the city because the area is busier than usual. There are people biking and skating along the asphalt paths. Somebody is sunbathing. A bunch of children are running around the shore and splashing in the water. As Lexa's biting into her burrito a loud shriek of laughter attracts her attention. Her eyes are moving around until she spots what looks like a kids' birthday party. A colorfully dressed clown is performing some magic, rewarded with shocked gasps and enthusiastic clapping.

The image transports her way back to when they were kids. When she and Anya were little, their dad loved to do some magic tricks for them. The girls watched everything in confused awe, bursting into a fit of giggles looking forward to the next one when a trick was over. They begged their father to do more of them, each time trying to see how the magic was done. He did whatever he could to keep up the mystery, not giving up the tiniest detail under the most intensive pleas of his daughters. Lexa always smiles when she thinks of that, it's one of the fondest memories of her childhood. Of course, they were too young to understand they weren't watching a miracle but a sleight of hand. A simple misdirection to distract the view from what's actually happening... 

A sudden sensation hits her at that thought, the feeling she was experiencing weeks ago while going through the case files comes back. Like something important fell through the cracks. Lexa bolts from the bench, throwing her half-eaten burrito into the bin. She's taking big strides towards the office, her mind buzzing like an active beehive. While she's going up in the elevator, the idea is taking shape in her head. Lexa doesn't even need to get the files a second glance, having learned them pretty much by heart. The doors ping open and the brunette is walking straight to her target.

The den looks exactly as it did the last time she visited. Close to falling into pitch darkness, quiet besides the hum of computers and pleasantly cool. She comes closer to the person in headphones sitting in front of the lit computer screen.

"Agent Green?" 

No response, the man only keeps typing a million keys a moment without noticing her. 

"Agent Green?" Lexa tries again louder, but her voice is seemingly drowned by the music coming out of the headphones in a faint melody. 

"Agent Green." This time she lightly taps the man on his shoulder. 

Even the smallest gesture is enough for the man to practically jump out of his chair. He whirls around, one hand going to his heart, while another one is pulling down the headphones. Lexa hears the distinct sound of rock before the man clicks something on the computer. Nice.

"Sorry for startling you, Agent, but I couldn't get through to you," she says waving her hand in the vague direction of the device.

"No, I am sorry, Ma'am. I swear, I was working." 

"Of course." 

The man keeps silently staring at her as if she's some kind of threatening presence.  

"Are you sure you are okay, Agent Green?" Lexa asks because he certainly doesn't look it. Pale skin, widened eyes, uneven breathing. She couldn't have scared him that much, right?

"No, I mean yes, I'm totally fine, Ma'am. Just usually nobody is able to sneak up on me," he lets out a short laugh. Then he adds after a pause, "I wanted to see you, actually. To thank you for what you did for Harper, um, I mean Agent McIntyre." 

"Oh, of course," Lexa says. "Have you been to see her in the hospital? I heard she's allowed visitors now."

"Um, no, no I haven't." The color is returning to the agent's face with a pinkish tint to his cheeks. "Do you think I should?"

Huh, interesting. Lexa had no idea there was something going on between those two. But then she hasn't exactly spent a lot of time around Agent Green. 

"I think she'll be glad to have some company."

"Maybe I should," Green mumbles mostly to himself. 

Having the new discovery, Lexa for a moment forgot why she strode into the lab. "Actually, I came to ask you a question."

"Sure, what can I do for you, Ma'am?" The agent immediately switches into professional mode. 

"Have you analyzed the GPS tracking from the jeeps we took from the compound?"

"Yeah, I pulled everything that was there. But it's a huge pile of raw data, can't exactly make much sense of it when you aren't looking for something specific."

"But you can cross-reference it with say a list of locations in the city?" Lexa inquires.

"Oh, absolutely. But what list?"

"Well, we need to compile it first." 

They get to work and only fifteen minutes later Lexa once again has a lot of information to sort through. This time, however, she is excited about it.

 ⠀

 ⠀

Clarke can't quite manage to stifle a groan when she finds a file fallen from her desk. Just as she is happy to finally be officially done with the incident reports, she learns that gravity betrayed her. She picks up the folder from the floor and falls back into her chair. No matter how much Raven has been teasing her for being 'technologically challenged', which she isn't, the blonde is not switching to the computer files until a superior gives her a direct order. Paper is so much better for her thought process. The downside, though, is that her left hand spent so much time curled around the pen during the last three days, that Clarke is genuinely afraid to crack a bone while slowly wiggling her fingers. 

The blonde is looking at the file with unblinking eyes dry as sandpaper. She has to reread the form twice to make any sense of it. Fuck it. This isn't exactly an urgent matter. The man whom it concerns is already dead anyway. Is Clarke a horrible person for thinking that? Who cares if it means she can finish this last bit tomorrow. She glances up to discover the office almost deserted. Most of the lights are off and nobody is around. Clarke believes she deserves a break from the non-stop reports of the recent days.

When she gets her things and steps out of the room, however, there is a person working in the bullpen she didn't notice on the first inspection. Woods is studying her computer screen with intense attention. She must have been behind her desk for a while because the normally organized piece of furniture is littered with paper cups. Even though it's late, and she's been working for hours, Woods isn't slouched in her chair like any normal person would but is sitting perfectly vertical, her posture almost regal. For some reason, Clarke sees it as very amusing, the corners of her lips shooting up. 

"What are you still doing here?" She asks. 

"I think I have a lead." The woman doesn't flinch interrupted by a sudden voice. 

"What is it?" The word 'lead' instantly piques the blonde's curiosity. 

"Remember the bombing in a medical research facility?" Woods asks turning in her chair to face Clarke.  

She gives her a slow blink in agreement.

"I've been looking into that again. We assumed that it was some kind of trial run. But suppose if it actually was their target?"

"But there were no victims." Clarke is confused. "Even the property damage wasn't that severe."

"That's what I was thinking about," says Woods. "What if they took something from there and the bombing was just a cover-up?" 

"Biomaterials!" The idea flashes in Clarke's mind. Why hasn't she thought about it before? 

"Exactly," the brunette confirms. "So if whatever you're planning involves a bunch of medical stuff, you probably need a place to work on that, some kind of lab."

"And as far as we know there don't have anything like that."

"If you don't suppose they're doing that in the actual mountain," Woods adds.

"And you don't think so?"

"I don't," the woman agrees. "People don't generally run dangerous experiments at their homes."

"Right." Because no matter how crazy the mountain guys are, Clarke knows they aren't really idiots. With all the children and the general population in the compound, she doubts they even store their precious bombs at the place. On the contrary, it's been a point of growing concern for her, the amount of possible secondary locations they haven't revealed yet.   

"So I had Agent Green pull the GPS data from the jeeps we got from the compound to see if they have been near any locations which would suit that purpose."

"How many did you get?"

"Three. I've been researching them since the afternoon. Looks promising," Woods comments. "I'm going to check one out now."

"Alone?" Well isn't that a hell of a stupid idea. 

"Everybody else is off for the day." The brunette gestures around the empty floor. "Plus, it's on my way home anyway."

Clarke glances at her watch. She still has two hours before her evening plans. She isn't going to allow Woods to put herself in a dangerous situation right under her supervision again if she can help it. "I'll go with you."

"Alright then," the brunette agrees. 

Clarke arches a brow at her swift compliance. Then she remembers that Raven gave her a lift in the morning because Clarke's tank was almost empty. "But I don't have a car." 

"We will take mine. I can drive you to wherever you need to be later." 

"Thanks." The blonde looks at the address on the computer screen. It turns out to be very conveniently located for her later meeting. "But it looks like I can walk from there."

"Okay," Woods says and grabs her bag. "Shall we?" 

Clarke follows her to the elevator. They don't speak on the ride down, she trails behind the brunette when the doors open. The car is parked nearby, a black SUV looks very on-brand for the Commander. It's also very clean, as Clarke would expect, not a speck of dust out of place. The interior smells pleasantly of pine, but not in a chemical way like an air freshener. The blonde tries to figure out where the scent is coming from.

Neither of the women is saying anything, but the silence doesn't feel foreign. Woods doesn't put on some music or turn on the radio, and Clarke is wondering whether it's done for her benefit or whether the woman enjoys driving in quiet. The evening city is flashing by, and the blonde feels relaxed watching it from the comfort of the leather seat. It takes about twenty minutes to get to the place. The last couple of intersections brought them to a more industrial part of town. 

Woods checks the satnav and says pointing towards a nearby structure, "That's the one." 

She parks on the opposite side of the street, and they get out of the car. The building looks fairly shabby from the outside. The brick is damaged in a lot of places and the roof has some parts hanging dangerously over the sidewalk. It's two-story, and the windows on the second floor are partially broken, some of them are covered with wooden panels. There are no other cars on the street, and no one is walking around. 

"Let's see what we've got," Clarke says before getting out of the car and crossing the street. When they come closer the view only confirms her suspicions. "Looks abandoned."

Woods hums in agreement, "There is a door on the left side."

But when they are in front of it, there appears a problem. The door, even though it looks like it has seen many years, is solid metal with a keypad attached to the wall.

"Maybe it doesn't work without electricity?" Woods asks hopefully, yet when she pulls the handle the door doesn't budge. 

Well, that's a bummer. But then Clarke's face lights up with an idea. She holds up her index finger. "Wait, I have this thingy Raven gave me somewhere." The blonde walks back to the car and digs through her bag. She returns holding a device no bigger than a matchbox. "She said it could hack a digital lock. It's a new invention though, so we haven't tested it in the wild."

"Worth a try." Woods shrugs.

Clarke attaches the device without much optimism, but then only a minute or so later the little light on the lock goes green and she can hear a faint click from the mechanism. 

"Guess we better give Reyes our thanks," the brunette notes. 

She tries the door again and this time it opens without any problem. "You take point, I provide cover?"

Clarke finds this choice of positions rather interesting but doesn't comment on it. "Sure." 

She steps inside and finds herself in some kind of corridor, lit by a dim fluorescent lamp. It appears to be a long passageway with multiple doors on both sides. Some of the rooms have windows and Clarke can see various medical equipment inside.

"Looks like a suitable place for an underground lab," she says.

As they move deeper inside the building, the light suddenly comes to full brightness. From the inside, the lab doesn't look as dilapidated. The walls and floors are white and clean. Most of the side rooms have similar digital locks on them, but they look like the ones used with key cards. Clarke stops when they come to the place where the corridor turns. 

"What was it on paper?" she asks. 

"A cosmetics lab. But it was shut down more than two years ago and the previous owners just turned it to the city because of debts." 

"Doesn't seem abandoned, does it?" Clarke glances around taking note of the absence of dust or mess lying around. The building has been definitely used recently. She can see stacks of boxes in one of the rooms. There are machines running in others. Some equipment is lying on the desks as if it was left in the middle of an experiment. 

"No, it doesn't," Woods agrees. 

"Should we check out some of the rooms to see if we can get into them? Maybe there is some evidence of who's been working here." 

"Yeah, we can test the device on these locks." 

Clarke observes the scene trying to decide which room to open first. The whole place is giving her goosebumps. The eerie silence combined with a weird medical setting is playing on her nerves. The agent has to actively fight back her anxious brain, attempting to calm down. 

"Maybe that one first?" She asks, gesturing to the room with multiple fridges filled up with different contents.

Woods doesn't answer though. In fact, when Clarke turns to check on her, she sees that the woman has gone completely still. The blonde doesn't notice anything unusual following her line of sight. She comes closer to the agent to see what got her attention.

"What is it?" She asks, her tone reflecting her growing worry. 

The brunette doesn't say anything, but her eyes dart to the ceiling. Clarke does the same, confused. She can't see anything out of place there. Only some light and ventilation panels. Then she hears it, barely able to catch it at first. A faint hissing sound coming from above. 

"What is that noise?" The blonde questions. 

Woods' gaze rapidly snaps left, to the part of the corridor they came from. "Griffin, run!"

"What's—" She is cut off by a repeated shout. 

"Run!" 

Clarke only manages to catch a glimpse of yellowish-hued air coming from the entrance before she follows the command and charges in the opposite direction.  

Both women are sprinting along the passage with a rapidly spreading gas a few paces away. Clarke is unsuccessfully trying to hold her breath, but her lungs start burning almost immediately. She starts feeling slightly dizzy, her heart is thrumming in her ears. Then she sees an opened door at the end of the hall and rushes towards it, not questioning where it leads. Lexa shoves her inside so hard, that Clarke almost stumbles to the ground. The brunette slams the door behind them and a clicking sound rings in the room. 

"Plea—" Clarke hunches over greedily gulping the air. "Please, tell me that we are not trapped in here."

Chapter Text

Anya is walking around a porch with a phone pressed to her ear. She's been trying to get a hold of her sister for at least an hour, all her attempts going straight to the voicemail. Which is why she decided to simply show up on Lexa's doorstep and lure her out of the hiding place. Has Anya been extra snappy these past few days? Yes. But her wrath seems pretty justifiable if you think about it. She has far more to be upset about than Lexa. Still, it isn't like her sister to ignore her. Nobody comes to the door when she rings the bell, which only deepens her irritation. It's literally pointless. The blonde steps to the control panel and types in the code. Opening the door, she finds the house silent and dark. Anya turns the light on and walks into the living room.

"Lexa?" she calls out.

No response. Only Titus jumps to her legs mewing in his loud squeaky way.

"Go away, you monster," the woman says, moving around the insatiable creature. She listens for a moment for any noises coming from other parts of the house, but it quickly becomes clear that no one is home.

"Have you seen Lexa?" Anya sends a text to his cousin.

The reply comes a minute or two later when she's closing the door on her way out. "She was in the office when I left."

Of course, that's the first place she should have checked for her workaholic sister despite the late hour. Her mistake.

⠀

 ⠀

Lexa is walking around the room, four phones in hand, trying to find any place with a signal. No luck. She tried every corner of the room hunching down and going up on her tippy-toes. Nothing. Pulling the door was useless as well, the device did exactly nothing, proving that they are stuck here for the foreseeable future. At least it's not some kind of closet. The room is fairly spacious, housing multiple fridges and other types of equipment Lexa can't identify. There is a steel table in the middle of the room and cupboards with supplies covering the whole wall. The place looks sterile, the faint scent of antiseptic is perceptible in the air. Overhead lights are off, all the available illumination is coming through the glass walls of the lab fridges, full of contents Lexa tries her best not to think about. All in all, not the worst place she's been locked in. If only she could locate a spot allowing her to call for help, but alas.

"No bars anywhere," she declares, turning around, expecting the blonde to be studying the room. Instead, she finds her huddled on the floor by one of the cupboards, panting.

Lexa is at her side in an instant. "Griffin, what's wrong?" She examines her head to toe, searching for the reason for her visible distress. "Have you inhaled the gas?"

The woman shakes her head and pushes out with effort between her ragged breaths. "No, it's—" Her voice is cut off by an abrupt inhale, she speaks again a moment later. "It's the closed space."

"But we just drove in the car?" Lexa muses, confused. Over the month she's seen the agent behind closed doors in multiple places and never once she looked so troubled.

Griffin is fighting to get her breathing under control. "It's fine when the doors aren't locked. Elevators or cars are okay. I only panic when I can't go away."

"I'm sure we will be out of here in no time." Lexa is lying through her teeth and must not be doing a very good job as the woman looks at her through narrowed eyes. "Somebody will notice we are gone eventually, we work with federal agents, they'll find us."

"Yeah," Griffin's voice trembles. "I had plans with Raven later." She tugs her knees into her chest in a powerful thrust.

"See," Lexa says in what she hopes is a soothing tone. "We'll be fine."

"Not—" A sharp inhale. "Helping."

"How can I?"

"Distract me? Tell me something. Whatever."

"That I can do." The brunette sits down beside her, stretching out her legs in front of her. 

 ⠀

⠀

The elevator doors slide open to reveal an unoccupied floor. Not surprisingly. The only sound is coming from the engineering lab. Anya walks towards it and, though she is ninety-nine percent sure that it is a useless endeavor, gives it a hard knock. Predictably there is no response, so the blonde just pushes the door open. Inside, a woman is standing in front of a desk littered with different objects, slightly swaying her hips to the beat in her earphones. Anya knows that shouting will be completely pointless considering the volume of the music, that's why she comes up to the switch and flicks the lights off and on once to get the agent's attention.

"Hey," the woman says, turning around and pulling out her earphone.

"Have you seen my sister?"

"Um, she was working on her computer the last time I walked by. Oh, shoot! What time is it? Clarke was supposed to get me once she's done with the paperwork to go check her new flat." Reyes rushes to pull her phone out of her jeans pocket.  

"Griffin isn't there, neither is Lexa. I tried calling both of her phones, but it's straight to the voicemail."

Raven taps on her cell and puts it up to her ear, a short moment later she says, "Weird. Griff's phone is out of service. Do you think something came up?"

"Maybe," Anya agrees, though she can't shake off the growing feeling that something isn't right. "Could you see what they were working on last?"

"Yeah, no problem." The agent nods. "Let's check their computers."

⠀

⠀

"... so he showed up there dressed in a full prince costume."

"Oh, no!" The blonde laughs.

Lexa's been telling Griffin stories about her siblings from their school years. The more ridiculous, the better distraction, she figured. The blonde still looks overly pale and a bit shaky, but at least she's engaging in conversation and not falling deeper into the pit of panic. Lexa gives her watch a covert look. Only half an hour passed, but it feels much longer. The agent starts to question how long they're going to realistically be stuck in here. She'll soon have to resort to her own embarrassing stories and the brunette doesn't feel too enthusiastic at the prospect. But what's going to happen when the silly chatter is no longer effective? She isn't all that well-versed in the calming down techniques. Lexa is browsing through her memories of the psych semester but unfortunately comes up mostly empty. 

"Yeah, then Lincoln came back home fuming and accused me of sabotaging his date."

"And did you?"

"I know you hate me, Griffin," Lexa jokes in a light tone.  "But I would never—"

"I don't hate you, Lexa."

"What?" Lexa's brain short circuits for a second. She has to literally shake her head to make sure she isn't hearing things.

"Don't hate you. I think I haven't for quite some time now," Griffin throws it out in the most casual of tones, the one you would use when talking about your grocery shopping. Like it's nothing. A little meaningless comment. But Lexa isn't able to just brush it off. Opposite to that, the words seem like something big and monumental. The woman feels a sliver of the weight she's carrying slowly dissolving into the air. The pause stretches and Lexa doesn't know what to say.

Griffin is the one to interrupt the silence. "I've been thinking about it for a while and if I'm honest with myself I think I understood it when I became the unit leader. The constant need to make tough choices. To bear it so they don't have to," the blonde sighs and doesn't speak for a bit. "I was told forgiveness will bring me peace. But I'm just a fucking hypocrite, aren't I?" she gives a wet laugh.

Lexa is afraid to move, to even breathe loudly, not fracture the scene unfolding in front of her. Honestly, she isn't completely sure it's really happening and not a gas-induced hallucination.

"It's not like I've never lost people on the job or given promises I knew I couldn't keep," Griffin continues. "I guess, I was going through the motions of anger because it is so much easier to have somebody to blame for this unfair terrible thing. For the pain." She wipes away the tears falling down. "And recently I kinda confused the hatred for how it all came rushing back with loathing you."

Lexa is sitting motionless, staring at the dark tear stain on Griffin's cream trousers. Her heart is sinking, sinking, sinking. Regardless of the woman's words, Lexa doesn't believe she has a right to absolve herself of the guilt. Not while she isn't fully honest.

⠀

 ⠀

"That's the address," Anya says stopping the car.

They exit the vehicle and look around the quiet street. There is no movement around and only one SUV is parked in front of them.

"And this is Lexa's car."

"So they've been here, at least. Let's check the building," says Reyes.

They cross the street and examine the old structure. The agent doesn't know why but her sister was researching lab locations. And this one was the closest to the headquarters. There is nothing notable about the place, only abandoned deteriorating walls and a dangerously hanging roof.

"It has a pin code lock," Reyes observes coming closer to the door.

"So they couldn't get in?"

"Not necessarily. I gave Clarke a digital lock breaker to test a while ago. She could have used that."

For the first time, Anya is ready to curse the woman's inventions. Also, her sister. Because the agent's intuition is screaming that Lexa definitely would have gone inside given the chance. This isn't good.

"Call the team," Anya orders, tightly pressing her lips.

 ⠀

 ⠀

"How did you two meet?"

The mood in the room is swinging like a pendulum. And Lexa feels powerless to control the ebbs and flows of the conversation. Right now, Griffin is smiling, and the brunette is happy to indulge her, reminiscing the old times.

"In college. I kept seeing this pretty girl everywhere I went."

It was the mane of unruly curls that caught her eye first. Lexa can easily picture the scene as if it happened yesterday. She was having lunch with her sister, enjoying the uncharacteristically warm and sunny day for the middle of October. Most of the school must have had the same brilliant idea because the lawns of campus were a sea of students that day. She was listening to some story Anya was telling, her eyes lazily traveling around the space, when she noticed a girl sitting not far from them. Lexa's never been particularly artsy, but the way sunrays danced along the strands of the girl's inky-black hair captivated her gaze. She mourned the loss when the girl stood up a while later, joining a group of her friends and moving towards one of the buildings.

Since that day, Lexa continued to catch glimpses of her all around the campus. In the dining hall, in the library, sitting outside during a break, even at one of her lectures. When it happened once again during a party, Lexa finally took the universe's hint and went to introduce herself. And as the story goes, they'd been together ever since. Anya was teasing her relentlessly for being whipped, and Lexa didn't really have anything to counter. Because she so was. Riding high on the first love she experienced, it truly felt like she cracked the code for life.

"So once I came up to her at the party," Lexa continues. "She beamed at me and the rest is history," the brunette adds with a chuckle. "I'd never seen anybody smile that much before. Costia genuinely was the most positive person I ever met. I miss her laugh a lot."

"She sounds great," Griffin says with a soft smile, then frowns after a beat. "How do you—" But she doesn't continue her question.

Lexa waits for a moment and when the pause drags asks, "How do I what?"

The blonde stays silent for a while, perhaps debating whether she should voice the question. Then she makes up her mind. "How do you talk about her so freely?" Hurt radiates off her words in almost palpable waves.

"I couldn't for some time," Lexa admits. "I was drowning in grief and guilt, every time I thought of her face, it felt like a stab of a dagger straight to my heart."

Griffin nods and the brunette can see the complete understanding splashing around in her irises. 

"And then I realized that while I was trying to avoid my pain, the smallest details started fading away. The exact way she smiled when talking about her precious patients. The tone of her off-key singing in the kitchen." Lexa is looking in front of her, relaxing her sight on the blinking light of the fridge on the opposite wall. "And I got furious with myself for that. Whatever happened to her, I couldn't allow it to steal away the memories of her. It got easier with time. To focus on the good stuff."

"Yeah," Griffin sighs and tugs on some kind of chain around her neck. Then she speaks, scarcely perceptible, "I wish I could do the same."

Lexa keeps her words in, steering clear of invading the blonde's space with questions of her own.

 ⠀

 ⠀

Anya is standing outside the door they first discovered, surrounded by younger Blake, Jordan, and two other agents she doesn't know. Seeing as a third of the unit is out of commission one way or another, they had to call in reinforcements. Kane was very much not happy to receive her informing call.

"Okay, we've been through this," she instructs her half of the team. "Be extra cautious about any traps we may encounter."

Lincoln is leading another half, preparing to breach the building from the second entry point they located. In terms of strategy, the structure is a tactical nightmare. Anya is half ready to pray for not finding any explosives while they are inside.

"Team A is ready," the blonde announces.

"Team B ready."

"Okay, we are green and go."

Jordan uses another copy of Raven's decryption device and pulls the door open when the light flickers.

She is coming in, followed by Blake and another agent. The man walks five steps ahead of them and turns around.

"Guys, I—" is all he has time to say before crashing down to the ground.

In an instant, Anya holds her breath and swiftly moves to grab a hold of his legs. Blake reacts immediately, doing the same. And with joint efforts, the women pull him outside in one long yank. Before Anya bangs the door close, she notices a strange color of the air inside.

"All units, stand down!" She yells over the coms. "I repeat. Stand down. We have a possible toxic exposure."

Jordan and Blake are trying to get the man conscious again without any visible results. 

"Reyes, call the RA," the agent commands to the woman trailing nearby.

"Got it."

"Lincoln, are you okay?"

"Yes, we are all fine," the man confirms. "What the hell is in there?"

⠀

 ⠀

Another hour passed and Lexa's party trick has shifted to telling stories that would cost her greatly if they ever came out.

"Back then Anya was obsessed with Mulan. And I mean obsessed. Also, keep in mind that you can never tell her that you know, otherwise, I'll meet my untimely death."

"My lips are sealed," says the blonde, miming it for emphasis.

"So she begged our parents to have Mulan come to her birthday. After a month or so, they finally caved and found some theater kid to perform. The problem was that Anya full-on believed the girl was a real deal. She was terrorizing the poor actress with questions for the whole party, so when it ended she couldn't escape faster. I'm pretty sure she still gets nightmares about it," Lexa chuckles. 

Griffin joins her, "Oh my god, poor Mulan!"

"Yeah, Anya was intense even as a kid," the brunette jokes.  

"Children are weird," the blond agent states, her fingers drumming a rhythmic beat on the floor. Then after a pause, the laughter is dying down, and she mutters quietly. "I had a baby, once."

Lexa feels her smile fall right off her face and shatter on the concrete floor, her facial muscles instantly going slack. She doesn't need to hear anything else to know that the uttered words don't have a happy story behind them. When her eyes meet the blues, she finds Griffin stunned by her own confession. Lexa doesn't know how to react. It seems like she's walking the tightrope, one careless step, and she'll plunge into free fall to her death. She's doing her best to read the other woman's expression, ready to follow along. If Griffin asks her to pretend she never said that, Lexa will, without a tinge of hesitation.

The blonde closes her eyes for a while, the drumming breaking its rhythm. When she opens them again, there is a certain rawness in her gaze. She breaks the fragile silence by continuing, "They told me that I was pregnant when I first woke up in the hospital while I was hardly paying attention. I'd had no idea. We were trying very much not to have a baby with everything going on, you know," the dark laugh Griffin lets out resembles choking more than anything else. "After all the stress after Finn's death, I lost it. And it was so bizarre, to add more heartbreak for something I only knew I had for such a short time, didn't even actually consciously wanted."

And right this moment, Lexa's heart fucking breaks, and she wonders if this time it really may be beyond fixing. The room is filled with torment, and they're barely keeping afloat.

"I'm so sorry," Lexa rasps out. For all of it. She's trying to compress so many things in such a short word.

"Thank you," Griffin whispers, rubbing her eyes. She sounds depleted by the revelation. By the weight of pain pressing her closer to the ground. By Lexa's mistake.

⠀  

⠀  

Anya is pacing on the road. Why the fuck is she pacing? She hates it when people are pacing.

Her mind is a jumble of thoughts screaming one over another, fighting for her attention. In her rounds, she observes paramedics treating the nameless agent, who came back to it a few minutes after he was outside. Lincoln is at his side, talking to the EMTs about something. Other agents are scattered around the street, but Anya can't be bothered to pay them any mind.

"You are going to trample down a hole in the asphalt," Reyes says coming into the view.

"I'm going in."

"No, you are not."

"I'd like to see you try and stop me," Anya retorts. "We have no clear idea what sort of gas it is. If they don't have cover, they can be dead by now."

"We don't even know for sure if they're inside. Plus, what exactly is your plan? To storm in and die there yourself?" The brunette narrows her eyes.

"I will do anything for my family. You wouldn't understand." The statement lands like a slap. Anya sighs regretful, "Raven—"

"Don't," the woman interrupts, holding up a hand. "I'll let it slide because you're clearly not thinking straight." Her hands go to both of the blonde's arms, and she gives her a strong shake. "Anya, you are an agent. Think like one!"

Right. What the hell is wrong with her? She won't help anybody if she faints ten steps in. That's absurd. Not a way to save her sister. The noise in her head transforms into a low hum.

"Lincoln, how is your hazmat training?" The agent asks.

He looks in her direction and they exchange nods. "In order."

"I'm sorry," she tells Raven.

"I know." The woman squeezes her arm gently.

⠀

⠀

The room is totally silent, save for their breathing and the sound of working equipment. Gone is the talking. Lexa keeps looking at Griffin from time to time, checking on her panic level. The woman is just sitting there, her glossy eyes tracing invisible patterns on the floor. Lexa's mind is fluctuating from say something right now to whatever your words, will be worthless. Back and forth. Forth and back. Helplessness is strangling the air out of her lungs.

I just don't see what good telling her can do now. A lot, if you ask me. Was Anya right? Should she really simply tell her about Jaha's decision? She doubts if it's the right call. She doubts if it's the wrong one. She's been doubting pretty much everything for the past two hours. Is she just being selfish, trying to get rid of the blame digging its sticky fingers into her body?

The entrapment is starting to drive her mad. Lexa wants to stand up and walk around, but she worries it may trigger Griffin's anxiety. So she thinks of reading a book on her phone, only to discard the idea as really insensitive. Maybe she needs to strike up another conversation. Then she hears it. Footsteps coming close. Multiple people. Both women jump upright, ready for a fight.

⠀

⠀

"Okay, here is the current situation," Anya is telling the group she gathered after Agent Miller was sent to the hospital and their suits arrived. "We do not know the nature of the toxin, and we can't for certain predict the way hazmat suits will behave. That's why nobody is going to risk their lives. Only Agent Wilder and I are going inside."

"I'm coming too." Agent Blake raises her hand.

"Absolutely not!" Her brother shouts. "You are not going!"

"Yes, I am," the woman retorts. "Clarke needs our help. And no, it won't be you. You have asthma. I don't. So I'm going and you can't forbid me. End of discussion." Her tone is hard and final.

"He can't forbid you. But I can," Anya interjects.

"Yes, Ma'am. But I'm trained and have experience. I'd like to join you."

Anya turns towards her cousin who gives her an affirmative blink. "Fine. The three of us are moving inside, the rest of you stay here until the safety confirmation. Under no circumstances does anyone enter the building without it. Even you, Agent Blake. Is it clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he says without a break from glaring at his sister.

Five minutes later, three agents are geared up in the PPE and standing in front of the door Anya's team exited an hour ago. As they're utilizing a small group, there is no sense in splitting up.

"Yellow is really not my color," Blake complains and then adds after receiving the senior agent's look. "Sorry, Ma'am. Nerves."

Anya would roll her eyes if she wasn't trying to squash hers since the moment she arrived at this street. "That's alright. Ready?"

"Yes," both agents say in unison.

Blake pulls the handle and they go inside. The air is still tinted transparent yellow, though now it would be hard to see if you weren't looking for it. The team makes a few steps along the corridor without anybody passing out.

"The suits seem to hold," notes Lincoln.

"Yes, so far," Anya agrees. "Let's not test their durability."

"I hate the medical stuff," whines Blake, looking around. "Why do I always get the creepy stuff?"

This time the blonde can't resist an eye roll.

They are moving towards the center of the building, no sign of the agents yet. Anya takes it as good news that nobody is lying on the floor unconscious. She keeps eyeing the rooms they are passing in the periphery of her vision. Each one with a window appears empty. Soon the passage turns right.

"It's clear," Blake announces. "Should we start checking the rooms?"

"Let's try calling out first."

"Clarke! Are you there?"

"Lexa?"

"Agent Griffin, Agent Woods, call out!"

That quickly elicits a reply from the room down the hall. "We're here!"

And Anya is overwhelmed with relief after hearing her sister's voice.

Three agents stride to the door.

"Are you alright in there?" Lincoln asks.

"Yes, we're unharmed," Griffin replies, but she sounds rather hoarse. "We hid here before the gas got to us."

"I tried opening the door with Reye's device from inside, but it didn't work," Lexa adds.

"You're staying there for a while longer," Anya cautions. "The gas is still here, and it knocks people out pretty hard."

"What happened?"

"Agent Miller went down on the initial breach, but he's okay."

"Octavia, is that you? Is the whole team in there?"

"No," replies Blake. "Only three of us, didn't want to risk it. Griff, are you breathing alright?"

"Yeah," the agent confirms Anya has no idea what. 

"They're safe," she announces over the radio. "Call in the hazmat unit. Also, Raven, your thing doesn't work on the internal doors, so we need to figure it out."

"On it," the woman says enthusiastically.

"Okay guys, hang on in there. We'll get you out in no time." Then Anya addresses the other two agents. "Come on, we shouldn't stay here for too long."

⠀  

 ⠀

"I hate the decontamination showers," Lexa says half an hour later, pulling her wet hair in a loose bun. At least she can appreciate the comfort of her hoodie and sweatpants retrieved from her new car gym bag.

Her sister opens her mouth to say something, but Lexa stops her before she gets a chance. "Can you yell at me tomorrow, please? I need my strength back for the double-feature."

"Fine," Anya grumbles. "I'll tell you all about the stupidity of going inside a strange building without notifying anybody first after you get your beauty sleep."

Lexa's fighting hard the desire to stick her tongue out.

"Glad that you're okay."

"Thank you for coming for us."

"Don't be stupid." Anya smacks her on the back of her head.

"Ouch."

"Why did Griffin look like she'd seen a ghost?"

Lexa's eyes move to find the blonde standing surrounded by her friends a bit further. It's a strange sight, Griffin in Lexa's T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, another exhibit of her sportswear. She looks better than she did for the last hour inside. Her eyes aren't red or puffy, and she's laughing about something younger Blake said. Lexa is still unsure how to feel about everything that went down in their conversation. But she also feels her crashing worry retreating for now. There is another feeling thrown into the mix, but she's not ready to interpret it just yet.

"Had a bit of a talk. That's all," Lexa admits.

"About what happened?" Anya's eyes go wide.

"Sort of, but not exactly like that." She waves her hand to indicate her sister's expression. Lexa decides to change the topic before Anya attacks her with questions. "I was right though? Does the lab belong to the Mountain?"

"Hard to say for sure right now," her sister doesn't protest the shift, but Lexa knows she won't get off so easily eventually. "Raven said the network she had accessed had a ton of encrypted stuff in there. So if it's them we're in for a treat. Supposing she can sort it through."

"But it feels like them for some reason."

"It does," Anya agrees. "And I don't like it. Why the fuck do they need this kind of lab for?"

And isn't that a million-dollar question?

Chapter Text

"This is...spacious," says Octavia, stepping through the door frame into Clarke's new flat.

"Oh, shut up," responds Clarke, nudging her forward. "It's temporary."

Yes, the place is small and downsizing from her previous apartment, and also doesn't have any furniture besides the built-ins. But there are cream-colored walls and big windows, allowing a ton of natural light to get in. It's a studio plan with an alcove for a bed and a decent kitchen area. And the most important thing, if the landlady is to be believed, the neighbors are nice and don't have any kids which means Clarke may finally get through a full night of sleep without being woken up. 

"No, I mean, it looks nice."

"Could you please continue with your chatting when we all are inside?" grunts Bellamy. "This box is freaking heavy! What's even in it?"

"No clue," Clarke says, walking deeper into the room.

The good thing when a maniac blows off your apartment is that you don't exactly have to spend a lot of time packing. The bad thing? Considering that you have very few possessions, unless you want to sleep on the bare floor and eat from paper plates all the time, the receipt from the home decor department is bound to be a mile long. Luckily, Clarke has a lot of willing friends to help. Bellamy took her and the girls to the store in his truck to buy everything while the rest of the group met them near her new building to move everything up and help with the assembly. It warms Clarke's heart that she didn't even have to ask anybody for help, just mentioned in passing that she found a place. And next thing she knew, the group chat was buzzing with an endless string of messages, everybody deciding on the day of her relocation.

"Where do you want this, Clarke?" asks Wells, slightly shaking the box he's holding.

"Anywhere in the main area is fine. Let's bring all the stuff in and then sort through it."

It takes them three trips to get everything up, the small space full of stacks of boxes. Her parents insisted on paying for the furniture, and honestly, Clarke is very grateful. Without an insurance payment, even with using her savings, completely equipping a flat on zero notice would put her on a tight budget. She fully intends to reimburse them of course, once she gets her money. 

"Wells, Jasper and I can start with assembling the bathroom cabinet so that you can fill it up later?" suggests Monty.

"That would be great, thank you."

"And I can work on the bed," says Bellamy, carrying his tool kit.

"I'll help you," offers his sister.

"Then you and I can start unpacking?" Clarke asks Raven.

"Sure."

They're methodically working box over box, finding the best places for items. The process is slow, even considering they only bought the absolute essentials. Clarke had no idea she needed that much stuff for everyday life. It squeezes her heart for a moment, the sadness when she pictures all the things she lost in the explosion.

With so many people working inside the cramped space, the temperature is steadily going up. The blond notices Raven swiping off some sweat from her forehead with her "Women Rule STEM" T-shirt. So Clarke walks to the windows and opens them to let some fresh air in. Then she returns to the boxes she's been going through in the kitchen to find her friend typing something on her computer.

"Raven," she grunts. "We agreed, no work over the weekends!"

"I can multitask," the woman retorts. "It's very passive, I'm not even the one who's working. Only type in some commands and the computer does its thing without any other input."

"Still, you've been on it nonstop for the whole week, you need some rest," Clarke argues while putting the plates on a shelf.

"Monty and I have been running the data through various decryption software. Whoever created the cipher, they put a lot of effort in it. I'm honestly kinda impressed."

"Who is Raven impressed by?" asks Jasper walking out of the bathroom.

"By the terrorists," yells Octavia from her place on the floor, holding the side of the bed Bellamy is screwing on.

"Oh. Okay," says the man and continues walking to the pile of unopened boxes. 

Clarke laughs at how he just casually accepts it without any further questions.

"I mean, yeah, they tried to kill Clarke and Agent Scary which is rude."

"Multiple times," Clarke interjects.

"But this stuff they have is rather cool. Purely from a scientific perspective," Raven notes.

"Well, when we put them in handcuffs be sure to let them know you admire them. From a scientific perspective." Octavia doesn't back down.

"Why are you so annoying?" Raven complains.

"It's in her nature," Bellamy answers, which earns him a jab into the ribs strong enough for him to drop his screwdriver.

"Octavia, don't maim your brother," Clarke requests.

"Not until he's finished with Clarke's bed," Raven adds.

"Don't encourage her," Bell sighs, exasperated.   

They continue with their tasks, when Clarke is done with the kitchen cupboard, she moves to the main area, deciding to unpack the few things she bought while living at Raven's. Her three outfits look utterly comical in the empty built-in wardrobe. She probably has to set aside her reluctance and go shopping sometime soon. 

When they finish three hours later, Clarke is famished. Fortunately, she had the foresight to order some takeaway, so now the whole team is sitting on the various surfaces of her 'living room' munching on an assortment of pizzas. Clarke is surprised to find her cheap new couch that was delivered an hour ago quite comfortable.

"Has anyone checked on Harper lately?" asks Wells between bites of his Pepperoni.

Bellamy opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Monty says, "I talked to her in the morning. They are going to discharge her next week if everything is alright."

"That's great."

"Yeah, they're saying the timely rescue was quite crucial, without Woods she could have bled out before getting to the hospital." Monty slightly pales while saying that.

"Another proof that the newbies aren't that bad if you ask me," says Octavia. 

"I think you're rather partial Little Blake, with all that sexy time you've been having," chuckles Raven.

"Oh my god, I don't want to hear anything like that about my sister," Bellamy groans.

"I mean," interrupts Octavia wiggling her eyebrows. "It is rather good sexy time."

"Ugh. Do you have to?" hisses out her brother.

"What? Make you uncomfortable? I think of it as my mission in life." The woman grins.

"O, don't upset his delicate disposition. He still hasn't even acquired the guts to ask out Gina from the kidnapping and missing persons division."

"I will when have a chance. No need for the commentary." He kicks Rey in the shin.

"At least he isn't sexting with a criminal like Jasper," throws in Monty before pushing a whole slice of pizza in his mouth.

Clarke spins in her seat so fast that she gets dizzy the next moment. "Jasper is doing what?"

"Oh god, shut up, you idiot." Jasper shoves the other man so hard that he starts coughing, and then Jasper has to pat him on his back. "I'm not doing that! Just sent some lawyer's information. No sexting involved. And it was an email."

"To whom?" Clarke is still trying to battle through the world spinning around her.

"To Maya Vie," Monty supplies helpfully, being able to breathe properly again.

"To the Mountain girl?" asks Raven indignantly.

"Yeah, you know she isn't really with the cause. But there is nothing inappropriate there, Clarke, I swear. Only some legal advice."

"I hope not," the blonde says.

"Dude," Raven snickers. "If you need sex, there are much easier ways to get it."

"It's not about that!" The man yells, covering his face with his hands, while Raven's looking for another victim.

"Don't look at me, Rey," Wells warns. "I have nothing to add to your gossip mill."

Clarke is quietly eating her cheese pizza, avoiding the conversation turning to her non-existent sex life. She's not a prude and doesn't mind talking about this sort of thing among her friends. But she'd rather not dive into a discussion about her five-year dry spell.  She hasn't felt comfortable with anybody since Finn and truly, she's fine. Clarke absolutely doesn't need her meddling friends playing matchmakers. One blind date with creepy Josh in college was enough to revoke their dating advice card. It still gives her flashbacks whenever her eyes meet a basketball player in the crowd. 

While Clarke was distracted by her thoughts, the group decided to engage in a rather lame pillow fight. Seeing as there are only three cushions and two pillows in the whole apartment, Raven had to resort to swinging Clarke's empty bag. The blonde stands up, but before she has a chance to break up the fight, a pillow hits her on the side so hard she loses her balance and drops to the floor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Bellamy?" Octavia kicks her brother. "Are you okay, Griff?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to." The man towers over, studying her with a concerned look.

Clarke blinks owlishly at air knocked out of her lungs for a moment before breaking out in a booming laugh. "You are dead, Blake," she says pushing herself upright and snatching O's pillow. "So dead," Clarke declares before crushing the pillow into his front with a giggle before he can react. 

⠀

 ⠀

A strong gust of wind rattles Lexa's unbound hair as she's bending down to the bright green grass. It's a beautiful day and the woman's enjoying the warmth of the sun on her exposed skin. Though the weather is clearly starting to turn, bringing the promised weekend storm. A rustle of leaves is flowing through the summer air.

"Hey, Cos," Lexa says, placing down a bouquet of pink carnations. "Sorry it's been a while."

The last time she visited the cemetery was before the new assignment. She's fairly regular with her comings, but it's not that rare for work to get the best of her.

"Have a new case, won't bore you with details much." Lexa swipes the dust off the tombstone. "To be honest, it's been somewhat crazy. And yeah, you'd hate all the run-ins we've had lately and would scold me for putting myself in danger, but it's totally not my fault this time. I didn't even want to join, for you know, the obvious reasons." Her hand waves around in a vague gesture.

Lexa opens her bag and takes out a blanket to put on the nearby ground. Then she places the rest of the items on it. There is a bottle of ginger ale, a mix of berries, and a few sandwiches. Costia adored picnics, and they had a fair share of them in lots of different locations. Once even managed to pull off one in the middle of an actual ocean with the help of some floaties. Which Lexa found impressive, but also very difficult to enjoy as her food kept sliding down on the wet surface right into the water. Cos was always an outdoors creature. Never did she pass an occasion to spend some time in nature, rain or shine. Literally.

The first few times Lexa went to her grave and only stood in front of it, immobile and stoic, punishing herself with cruel thoughts. It was hard to see anything through the waterfall of tears on those visits. A thought came to her during one of those days. You need to stop torturing yourself, love. Each word as clear as the crunch of leaves behind her feet. Said in a patient gentle voice she so longed to hear again. With the ache slightly dulling day by day, came the more peaceful meetings. Lexa started speaking to her, about silly little things, about big heavy feelings. She didn't need to see Costia to imagine their conversations in full. The talks brought Lexa a sense of unity she lost with her death. The chats later turned into small meals from time to time, Anya and Lincoln joined her for a couple of those, honoring their friend. Lexa learned to appreciate the tranquility of the place, blending into the scene, surrounded by majestic willows. There are rarely many people here, and she loves the drastic change of sounds from the busy city streets.

Lexa bites into her sandwich and watches a flock of birds fly away towards the field where she gathered some wildflowers once or twice. "Speaking of," she adds looking far into the distance. "I kinda got trapped in an underground lab with Griffin a few days ago. Before you start, nobody got hurt." A technicality but still.

"Were there for a while, so we talked. Griffin told me she didn't hate me anymore if you can believe it."  No need for dramatic pauses or loud exclamations. Costia would understand the significance the moment held for her. The brunette hasn't fully accepted the fact yet, the words seem foreign when she replays them in her head. But she's getting there. Trying at least. What do you do when something you thought was pointless seeking is nevertheless granted to you after all?

"Though you perhaps wouldn't be so surprised by it."

Lexa's eyes wander to the fast-traveling clouds, and she lies down on the comfy knitted blanket. The wind is strong, changing the picture of the sky ever so slightly by each second. And Lexa feels grounded in the moment, relaxed to her very bones.

"I think you would like her, Cos," her voice is a soft murmur. "I think... I think I like her too." The confession disappears with another breeze, getting lost between the blades of grass and tree branches.

It's an easy admission, really. Now that she's no longer overwhelmed by the rollercoaster of feelings evoked by their conversation, Lexa is ready to dig out the thought she kept stuffed in a dark corner of her mind for a few days. Not much of a revelation, to think about it. There is a chance, relatively substantial, that she's been fascinated by Clarke since the very first day she returned. It was simply overpowered by her self-reproach. But now the fog is clearing, and the picture is gaining definition. The talk has clearly unlocked something within her. Lexa can sense it now, a familiar tug in her chest. She doesn't resist, instead allowing it space, wondering what this seed is going to grow into.

Her phone buzzes abruptly cutting off her thinking. Lexa sits up and checks the screen to see a message from Griffin.

"Raven has some discoveries to discuss. Could you come to the office today?"

The woman types in a reply, starting to gather her things. When she's done, she brushes the grass squashed by her weight, presses her fingers to her lips, and touches the warmed stone with them. "Till later, love."

If Lexa listens closely, she can hear Costia's smile in the blow of wind.

⠀

 ⠀

Clarke opens the door to the conference room to find the number of people exceeding her expectations. She only texted senior agents, having decided not to spoil the weekend for others, but to no surprise, the whole team is here. Not necessary, considering the specks of information to share, but mostly unavoidable with these busy bodies.

Clarke walks to take a seat, noting the eyes following her. But when she sends a responding glance to Lexa, the woman quickly averts her gaze. The blonde looks at Raven, catching her attention, and signals for her to start.

"Alright. What are you all doing here? Because we have little to show," the agent starts.

"Then let's get down to it, Rey. I have a lot more exciting plans than this," Octavia interrupts, placing her hand on Lincoln's forearm. Clarke hears a small grunt, no doubt Bellamy's, coming from behind.  

"Yeah, yeah, we are all aware," Raven chuckles, and Wilder shifts in his seat uncomfortably. "Okay, so whoever encrypted the data wasn't slacking, that's for sure. We haven't worked it out yet. But we were able to pull out the title of the project for whatever they are doing."

"Ichor," says Monty.

"Ichor? What's with the pretentious name?" asks Anya.

"It's basically blood of the gods toxic to humans." Lots of bemused looks are shot at Raven. "What? I read a lot of Greek mythology in school."

"Well that does not sound ominous at all," Octavia's voice is full of sarcasm.

"Nice, right?" Rey agrees. "We don't know how it may relate to their plans for now. But, I decided to set up a search on the dark web to see if anything pops out on this name."

"Any luck?"

"You can say that. I found a few mentions of an upcoming deal. Seems that somebody is trying to sell information related to the project."

"Not the usual Mountain MO," muses Woods.

"I was confused as well. Then we talked to Maya, and she said that apparently, some people aren't particularly happy with the direction the organization is going. There's been a talk of a deal of trading the research from their scientist."

"Leaving the cause isn't cheap," adds Bellamy.

"What do we know about the deal?" asks Wilder.

"No information on the buyer yet. Possible sellers are Mr. and Mrs. Peters, though I'll need more time to confirm. What is known for sure, is that the deal is arranged to take place during a charity gala this Wednesday."

"Who has galas on Wednesdays?"

"Rich people," Raven huffs. "This event is quite exclusive and provides a lot of witnesses, a good place to sell some secrets in plain sight."

"And what about the scientist?" Clarke asks.

"No luck on that front yet. Monty and I are continuing to work with the data, but it will take some time. That's all we've got so far."

"Okay. Let's see if you manage to find out something else, meanwhile, we will need to decide how to approach this deal," says Clarke. "Everybody, go home, please. We will reconvene tomorrow."

"Okay, boss." The agents are picking their bags from the seats and starting to leave the room.

"That includes you two." The agent gestures to Raven and Monty who don't look like they're going anywhere. "No more decrypting until the work hours." 

Monty nods his agreement while Raven doesn't respond. Clarke shoots her a stern look and she moans irritated, "Fine. Boss."

Honestly, this woman. It's as if Clarke is asking her to do more work, not the other way around. "Go live that exciting life you claim to have, Rey. And no fire alarms for today please." 

Raven rolls her eyes but closes her laptop nonetheless.

Clarke's gaze travels to Lexa who has been discreetly studying her during the whole briefing. Something shifted between them since the lab, Clarke can tell. No regrets about what was said. But all these pitying stares and holding up a cautious guard in her presence? Clarke is not putting up with that shit.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" she asks the agent.

"Sure." Woods' voice is softer than usual, modulated to sound friendly, approachable, non-threatening even. Clarke hates that as well. She can't stand the idea of Lexa not knowing how to act around her.

"Could you please stop it? Whatever it is that you're doing with all these sad glances," the blonde says waving her hand in Woods' direction. It comes out a bit more aggressive than she intended, but anyway. "Feeling sorry for me. I won't go to pieces if you talk to me."

Woods slowly blinks before replying. "It's—" Whatever she was going to say, she changes her mind. "I didn't realize I was doing that. I'm sorry. I'll stop."

Well isn't that an instant balm to Clarke's irritation. How is she supposed to vent after that? "Just don't treat me differently," she sighs.

"Okay."

A part of Clarke stubbornly wants to stay pissed with the woman at least a little longer, looking for a fight. For instance, could Woods be any more polite and agreeable? What would it take to rile Lexa up enough that she'd tell her to fuck off with her requests? A shock wave of thrill is born in Clarke's chest at the thought. Hmm, not the anticipated reaction. Curiosity, Clarke tells herself. That's all it is. Simply a genuine question. For like, research purposes. Isn't it her job to learn what makes her team tick?

"What's your take on the deal situation?" Woods asks, changing the topic.

"Probably legit. Gonna be hard to get a warrant though with only a name from the server."

"Yeah, I expect it is."

"You have an idea, don't you?" the blonde questions.

"I do. I think we are going undercover."

Clarke isn't sure whether it's a trick of light, but there is a glimmer dancing in Lexa's eyes.

Chapter Text

Clarke hasn't exactly anticipated that 'we' would mean her and Lexa. But here she is, a garment bag in hand, a duffle bag in another, stepping out of her car and walking towards the woman's porch. Raven insisted on giving them a briefing before they go, and while Clarke is fine with her new place, the apartment is definitely too much of a shoebox to comfortably fit three people getting ready, and she absolutely refuses to get glammed up in the HQ's changing rooms. So when Woods offered her house, Clarke had no objections whatsoever.

She comes up to the entrance and presses the doorbell, looking straight into the camera. To her surprise, a shout comes from inside, "Come in, it's unlocked."

Clarke opens the door to see Lexa sitting with her long legs stretched on the couch, facing the door. She closes the book she's reading when their eyes meet.

"Hi," the woman says.

"Hey," Clarke replies, studying Woods for a second. It's still slightly unusual to see her so domestic, in a T-shirt and an unzipped hoodie, hair pulled in a loose low ponytail. But what's more intriguing is a barely perceptible change in her demeanor. It is in the tone of voice, in her posture, a relaxed comfort. Like some knot within her came undone.

"Sorry, I'm so early. Has Raven arrived yet?" the blonde checks. She might have gone overboard with the time gaps she fit into her mental schedule. They have at least two hours before they need to leave. Much more than needed in her opinion.

"She did actually, she is somewhere in the house." Woods doesn't look bothered by her coming before the agreed time. "You can take the same guest room as the last time. Would you like something to drink?"

"Great, thank you. And I wouldn't say no to whatever sugary thing you have. I'm going to put my bags in there first." 

Woods nods and goes to the kitchen as Clarke starts walking to her room. She must have mixed up the doors though because when she opens it instead of the green interior she's met by an image that leaves her frozen in place. A woman, Anya, easily given up by her distinct hair even in the absence of light due to drawn curtains, is pressing a moaning figure into a desk with her lips on their neck. It only takes Clarke a second to recognize Raven in that figure. 

"Shit, sorry, sorry," Clarke mumbles, whirling around and slamming the door closed.

The need to put down her things momentarily forgotten, she marches back towards the kitchen where Woods is looking through the contents of her fridge.

"Um, did you know that your sister and Raven are—" The blonde moves her hand wildly at the loss for words. Even when she blinks the image appears frozen on the back of her eyelids.

"Probably making out in my study by the sound of it?" Lexa continues her sentence with zero surprise. "Yeah."

"How long has this been going on?"

"A while," the woman laughs.

"No way," Clarke huffs in disbelief. "But they are bickering all the time. Like constantly."

"I'm pretty sure mild threats are Anya's primary love language."

Clarke opens her mouth but then closes it, having no retort for that. Because yes, it does alarmingly sound exactly like the older Woods.

"How the hell did I not see them while staying at Raven's?"

"Surprised by it myself. They are quite obvious if you pay attention."

Clarke blames the lack of sleep and the abundance of bombs in recent weeks for her obliviousness because normally she does a great job of spotting those kinds of things. Coming to think about it now, the woman can clearly see Raven getting a kick out of their endless loud arguments.

"Your family is snatching all my best friends," Clarke complains without any real malice. "Don't suppose you have anyone else to pair up with Wells?"

"Afraid not," Woods chuckles. "Here is your drink."

Clarke gets a can out of her hand, noting that it's the same lemon soda she's been keeping stocked up in the office fridge ever since she came to the Bureau. "Thanks. Well, I guess I'm going to return to getting ready. Hope you have nice soundproof walls in here."

A poorly muffled snort comes from behind when she turns to walk to the correct room this time. Clarke opens the door to find the greens beautifully cast in the warm light of the evening sun. She puts down her dress on the bed and her bag beside it, lying down on the unoccupied space left. Walking in on kissing women actually served as a perfect interruption from the thoughts that were troubling her on the ride here. Clarke hasn't gone undercover for five years and doing it again is giving her anxiety. It's not the assignment itself. Even without practice, she remembers well the thrill that comes with assuming a new persona, existing in somebody else's skin, leaving your life behind for a while. And Clarke was good at it, the best in her class really. But she's trying extremely hard yet still failing not to think about the last time she worked a UC case. Or more about how it ended.

Compartmentalizing is what Clarke needs right now. Because if she backed down last minute, Lexa would have to go alone. And Clarke is not letting that happen. So she needs to find a box, throw her worry in there, seal it, and shove the thing into the farthest darkest corner of her mind she can find. Easier said than done, unfortunately. The blonde needs a distraction, luckily she has a task at hand. Clarke sits up and opens the bag, taking the items out and placing them on the bed cover. She decides to start with her make-up, stepping closer to the mirror. She goes for a mostly simple look, aiming for something classy. A bit of contouring, some eye shadow on her lids to accentuate her bone structure. She isn't sure about the lipstick, having a few different options, so she only applies some lip balm for now and plans to get back to it later.

Clarke chooses to leave her hair in its natural waves, only scrunching some gel in to give it more of a structured look. Then it's time for the dress. Clarke opens the garment bag and stares at the bright red fabric inside. Raven was nagging her about going shopping all day yesterday and Clarke lost the battle and had to eventually give in. Apparently, she doesn't own any attire worthy of a rich people's gala, which is fair, considering that her entire wardrobe was recently blown up into bits and pieces. But when Clarke said she could simply borrow something of Raven's, she was told that there was nothing appropriate there as well. And that is a complete load of bullshit. Nevertheless, between being Raven's new hyperfixation for the day and getting a new gown the choice was obvious. She was kinda naive in thinking that it couldn't take that much time. But she endured.

The pulls the dress out of the bag and puts it on. Clarke can only zip it halfway up, but it stays in place just fine for now. The woman walks to the mirror and looks at her reflection. The dress has a low sweetheart neckline with wide shoulder straps, leaving her chest open. The knee-long pencil skirt is pretty snug, but there is enough room for her to holster up a gun to her thigh. She has new strappy golden shoes to complete the outfit, but she isn't putting on the torture devices until the very last minute. Clarke is studying herself in the mirror. It's been quite some time since she was this dressed up. And she discovers that she's actually enjoying it. The spark of confidence is flaring up brighter in her. Ah, fuck it, Clarke thinks emboldened by it, reaching for a tube of red lipstick. She puts it on carefully and returns her gaze to the full picture. Well, she has to give it to Raven, that does look like rich people worthy.

Clarke glances at the time, surprised to find out that forty minutes have passed. She throws her stuff back inside the bag so she can quickly pick it up later and decides to go look for somebody who can her help with the dress. When she walks back to the living room, only Raven is there, doing something on her phone.

When she notices her, the woman gives a low whistle. "Wow, Griff, you look amazing."

"Thank you," Clarke replies turning her back to Rey. "Can you zip me up?"

"Sure."

Raven does a quick work of it and Clarke turns back, saying, "Remind me again. Where did you get the invites from?"

"Thank mommy the dearest."

"If there was any stealing involved, I don't want to know."

"I have no idea, what you're talking about, Griffin," Raven says in mock indignation. "I'm a federal agent, I have never stolen a thing in my life."

Clarke narrows her eyes because she knows for a fact that it is a lie, but she doesn't say anything. The thing is, Raven's relationship with her mother is as cold as Antarctic. Maybe even colder. She was raised by an array of nannies, mostly seeing her parents in passing during the evenings as they were going from one event to another. When her father died, her mother was all too happy to ship her off to a boarding school, paying her tuition in full for all the remaining years at once. The only time Raven returned home during the school year was for a mandatory summer break. And even those times, it wasn't much of a warm welcome. Her mother and she both existed in the huge house, never seeing each other, like two planets whose orbits never crossed. After graduation, Raven got access to her trust fund, packed her remaining things, and left the house for good.

There is an exorbitant amount of money in her bank accounts, she and her children and probably the grandchildren don't actually have to work for a day in their lives. But Raven enjoys it, studying, and applying that brilliant brain of hers. At least something good should come out of that fancy-ass education. These days, Rey and her mum only rarely cross paths at charity events or something, living two completely separate lives. Clarke isn't sure they held more than a minute-long conversation in the last decade. Of course, with all her money Raven doesn't need to steal the invites, she can simply make a call and get ten of those. But she's always been very fond of breaking the rules she's been given. Also, there is her mother's lost favorite antique vase in Raven's living room that she uses as a garbage bin.

"Fine, let's pretend I believe you," Clarke says. It's a lost cause anyway, what's she going to do if she doesn't? Arrest her friend?

Raven gives her thumbs-up and grins cunningly which gives Clarke all the answer she needs. Before she can say anything else there is a clicking noise of heels on the wooden floor coming from the direction of the staircase. When Clarke turns around to look at the approaching woman, it's a wonder how she resists leaving her mouth hanging wide open. If she thought seeing Lexa in normal clothes was strange, nothing has prepared Clarke for seeing her in a gown. Because that... Well, that is a sight to behold.

The dress has spaghetti straps and a V-neck, the long asymmetric skirt falling slightly below her knee. But the fabric is what the blonde finds truly mesmerizing. It looks like molten silver and for a moment Clarke wishes to touch it to see if her fingers would travel smoothly through the material like it's running water. The fabric flows down and glimmers in the light. The dress seems perfectly tailored to fit each curve of Lexa's body in exact precision. And Clarke can't help but wonder where she's hiding her gun.

Lexa's hair is cascading down her shoulders in soft waves. And when she turns, Clarke manages to catch a sliver of a tattoo peeking out of the low cut on her back where the dress barely reaches her shoulder blades. Clarke is utterly transfixed, and it takes all her strength not to audibly gulp looking at the expanses of her toned back.

"What do you think?" Woods asks, facing her again.

You are fucking stunning, is what Clarke thinks. But she doesn't say it out loud. When the silence gets too long, she receives a jab in her ribs from Raven.

"You—" Her voice sounds hoarse and Clarke clears her throat. "You look great."

The blonde swears she can hear a muffled giggle coming from Raven's side. She decides to glare at her friend later.

"Thank you. You too." Woods gives her a warm smile.

"Great. Now that we all got our compliments out of the way, let's get to business," says Anya walking from the same direction her sister appeared.

Clarke feels stupid for a second because she has kinda forgotten that they are here to work and not for a casual meet-up. Then an image of a dark room pops in her mind, and she has to blink a couple of times to shake it off. Her mind is having a hard time keeping up with all the shocks of the evening.

"Right," Clarke says and follows the woman.

The agent pulls out two tablets and hands them to her and Lexa. The blonde is studying blueprints of the building where the gala is going to take place. It's a big three-story building, but only the first floor and selected rooms on the second are supposed to be opened to the public. There are multiple exits which give them a variety of escape routes if things go south, but at the same time create more places to monitor.

"We are going to have teams surveilling the main and the back doors, plus Green hacked all the cameras he could find on the outside. No luck with the indoor ones, I'm afraid. Too many layers of protection."

"That's the filthy rich for you," Raven chimes in.

"Anyway, we're going to look closely for any surprises coming your way. The security in this place is top-notch, so expect the metal detectors when you come in. Raven swears the guns she gave you are invisible to the frames."

"They are," Rey confirms. "I triple-checked."

"We will be in the van the whole time, ready to move in if needed. You've got your invites, but you're going on the fake names just to be safe."

"And who did you make us to be?" Lexa asks.

"Eliza Taylor and Alycia Carey from the Forest Preservation Society." There must be some kind of joke in here because Anya grins and Lexa gives her unamused huff.

"Really?"

"What? Isn't that your favorite foundation?"

Woods only presses her lips but doesn't respond.

"Okay," Raven takes over the briefing. "You obviously get your coms, but I modified them a bit to go through the scanners without a hitch."

She opens a black plastic case to reveal a pair of new devices. They are smaller than the regular ones and appear to be made of a different material. Clarke puts hers into the left ear, and it disappears, sitting deep inside, unnoticeable to anybody even from up close.

"It fits great, Rey," she tells the woman.

"You know Raven and her toys," Anya states with an innuendo that Clarke can easily detect now.

Raven kicks the agent with her good leg but doesn't react otherwise.

"From what we were able to find about the deal," she continues. "Mr. Peters is going to be the one present at the event. He's meant to exchange a USB drive with the research with Russell Lightbourne, an illegal information broker from our watch list. His clientele is a bunch of very shady people from all across the globe."

"So they don't want the knowledge of whatever the group is planning to end up on a local market," Lexa muses. 

"Guess nobody loves the mess in their own backyard," Anya replies.

"As we should be the only ones getting the files, I thought that erasing all the data from the drive and letting the deal proceed before we arrest Lightbourne would be the best course of action," Raven says.

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Clarke asks.

Raven pulls out another device from her bag which looks like a bulky USB more or less. "I made this thing. You just have to stick it in any computer at the same time as theirs, and it will automatically copy everything erasing it at the same time."

"Undetectable as well?" Clarke takes the flash drive.

"Of course," Rey sounds mildly offended.

Even with that, bringing a USB drive in her clutch may look suspicious and Clarke doesn't wish to test their odds, so without thinking she pushes the device down in her bra.

"That's rather convenient," Lexa comments, impressed.

The statement provokes laughs from two other women. Clarke hums in agreement but doesn't look up, not meeting her eyes.

"I think we need to get going. Traffic is hell today," Anya says.

Clarke checks the clock. One hour before the start of the event. "Yeah, we should. Fair warning though, I'm shit at driving in heels."

"Don't worry about it. Leave your car here, and we'll take mine," Lexa replies.

"Okay, I'll go grab my shoes then."

Raven follows her into the room. "You should scrape your jaw off the floor, Griff. You're being painfully transparent."

"Shut up," Clarke hisses, strapping on her heels. "And don't think we won't talk later about what I had to witness earlier."

"Not much to talk about." Raven shrugs.

When both women return to the living room, Anya is standing beside the front door. "Lexa's already in the car."

Clarke nods and walks outside. The evening air is warm enough that she doesn't need any jacket. Dusk is falling rapidly, most of the sun having already hidden behind the horizon, coloring the surroundings in the prettiest palette. Clarke gets onto the front seat and Woods starts the engine. The drive is quiet again, and Clarke concludes that it's the woman's preferred way. But in the absence of distraction, her nerves which she's been trying so hard to squash are starting to arise once more. She can't put her finger on it, the specific thoughts that have her tangled up. But there is general uneasiness swirling around in her body.

Lexa speaks up before Clarke can dive too deep into her anxiety. "You're nervous." It's a statement rather than a question.

"Trying not to be."

"Have you been undercover since?" The brunette hits the mark with her question perfectly as if Clarke's worry is projected in the silent space of the car for both of them to read.

"No, I haven't."

"You can pull out of the operation. It's okay, you know."

"No, I'm fine."

"Will you tell me if you aren't?"

Clarke doesn't think anybody has ever asked her that before. Though the question is simple, it makes the ground beneath her feet feel less shaky. Lexa doesn't prevent her from going, doesn't pull out the rank card, and doesn't tell her what she should be doing. Only gives her an out and her support. And Clarke can't express how much she appreciates it. "I will."

It's fully dark when they stop on the side of the road in a mostly residential area. Lexa exits the car swiftly and before Clarke can follow her, the woman opens her door and offers her hand. Leaning on it, the blonde avoids wobbling on the cobblestone. They walk together to the pompous mansion made of white stone. Woods keeps her arm steady as they go up the steps and Clarke marvels at the grace of her movements.

"Ready?" Woods asks when they halt at the end of a short line of impressively dressed-up people.

"Yeah," Clarke exhales slowly.

A mere moment later, they are standing in front of a tall man wearing a black suit. "Invitations, please."

The brunette takes the letters printed on expensive thick paper out of her bag and hands them to the guard. He studies them quickly, checking the list he's holding.

"Miss Carey, Miss Taylor. Welcome to the gala." The man motions for another guard to open the massive carved wooden doors leading inside.

They take their invites back and nod, moving towards the entrance.

"Here we go," Lexa whispers, as they are welcomed by the bright lights and sounds of live music.

Chapter Text

"Alright, we are in," Clarke confirms over the coms.

They step inside a massive open area with beige marble floors and an extremely high ceiling. A lot of people are already there, but with so much space the place doesn't look even a bit crowded. Servers dressed in white shirts and black suits are skillfully moving around patrons, carrying trays with drinks and food, attending to every arising need. A couple of people glance their way when the women enter, but they quickly shift their attention elsewhere without lingering.

"Peters is already somewhere inside. No sign of Lightbourne yet. We'll keep you posted," says Anya.

"Got it."

"I think we should split up for a bit. First confirm that Peters is alone in here and check out the location, and then devise a plan for getting that USB," Woods suggests. "Get back together in fifteen?"

"Yeah," Clarke agrees. "You take right, I take left?"

The brunette nods and starts moving away in that direction. Clarke is walking through the groups of chatting people trying to blend in and not attract anyone's attention. She's vigilantly examining the attendees, searching for the familiar face. Everybody here is dressed to the nines, a single piece of their attire probably costs the same amount of money Clarke makes in a year. Suddenly, the woman is thankful that Raven didn't take her objections and made her shop in a fancy boutique. Even if Clarke didn't want to know the actual price of her outfit, it obviously matches the occasion.

The blonde sees one of the attendants carrying printed versions of the event itinerary, she offers him a polite smile and takes one, moving closer to an enormous window with a view of the pond. While she's standing there, pretending to study the program, her eyes are tracking the movement around her. There are a few celebrities in the crowd, a number of politicians, and one or two foreign diplomats. But Clarke doesn't see Peters or Lightbourne. Yet she can spot multiple guards strategically placed around the room, professionally scanning their assigned sectors for any trouble. It's to be expected of such an upscale event. She can only hope that if hell breaks loose, they're going to be of assistance and not hindrance.

Clarke opts to check out a separate smaller hall on the left. There are significantly fewer people in the space and the conversation is quite muffled. It appears to be some sort of exhibition. While the room is mostly dim, the art pieces are displayed on the walls under professionally set lighting. Clarke lets her eyes wander, surprised to discover a couple of very famous artworks hanging there. Whoever curated today's collections has a sophisticated taste in her opinion.

The blonde slowly moves around the room, soaking in different paintings. Clarke does her best not to ever allow regrets space to live in her mind. Yet at a moment like this, she can't prevent herself from wondering where she would be if she had been brave to pursue art as a career when she was younger. Clarke was told she was talented by various people, including the ones with expertise. But is being natural enough in a competitive subjective sphere when so few ever have the breakthrough? Would she have been one of those who made it? Would she be fulfilled and happy? Maybe she would be standing exactly where she is right now, appreciating her own work under the bright lights.

Clarke shakes her head softly, getting rid of this line of thinking before it has a potential of spiraling out of control rapidly, and peers at another remarkable drawing. A part of her wishes she could stay for a bit longer to explore and get lost in the display but alas she doesn't have that kind of luxury. Her gaze darts around people in the room, once again coming up empty on the targets, so she allows herself a last glance at a particularly compelling picture and starts walking away toward the main area.

There is a bar by the wall opposite the exit with a great view of the whole first floor and the door. Few people are there, most of the guests are enjoying the festivities and mingling. The agent decides to take the perfect vantage point. She sits down on a bar stool and makes her order, eyes never leaving the crowd. That's why a couple of minutes later she slightly startles when a voice comes from her left.

"Is it any good?"

Clarke turns to see a woman in a deep-blue dress with her dark blond hair styled to one side, giving her a charming smile.

"Sorry?"

"Your drink," the woman clarifies. "Is it good?"

"Oh," Clarke replies swirling the straw in the scarlet liquid. "It is, actually." She only took a couple of sips using it more for cover purposes, but the cocktail left a pleasant aftertaste on her tongue. Mix of oranges and rosemary.

"Great," the woman says. "I mean the mixologist seems rather high-end, but I had a fair share of horrendous experiences at fancy parties."

She gestures for the bartender to replicate the drink for her and returns her attention to Clarke. "I'm Niylah, by the way."

"Eliza."

"Nice to meet you, Eliza." Niylah flashes a bright smile at her. "How are you enjoying the evening?"

"It's a very nice event, I especially loved the art exhibit in the back."

"Oh, my friend was the one who organized it. I'll let her know it found some appreciation."

"Please do," Clarke says, smiling. "She has a great eye."

"Do you work for a charity or are you one of our esteemed benefactors, Eliza?" the woman asks in a sweet tone.

"The former." Clarke is struggling to keep her watch not too noticeable under Niylah's unbreakable eye contact. 

"Which one?"

Shit. She's been so focused on the never-ending assessment of her surroundings that the name slipped her mind. Judging by Niylah's use of the word 'our', she must be one of the organizers with access to the rather exclusive invitation roster meaning that Clarke can't just pull a random name off the top of her head. She is trying to think of something but comes up completely blank. Blowing their cover by such a minuscule thing would be a failure of epic proportions.

"Focus, Blondie," Anya's voice speaks in her ear, and relief is flooding her senses. "It's Forest Preservation Society."

"Forest Preservation Society," Clarke parrots out, hoping the hitch wasn't too long.

"How interesting," says Niylah, slightly leaning in her space. Now, Clarke may have been out of the dating scene for a while, but she isn't an idiot. The woman is quite apparent in her intentions. Had they met years ago, Clarke might have gone along with it. Niylah is pretty and clearly interested, Clarke can see herself sharing her evening and maybe even her bed with her. But today's circumstances are too far off from that.

"And what exactly does your organization do?"

Indeed. What does it do? Preserves forests? That seems like a rather dumb answer. While Clarke is raking her brain for a believable response, hoping to receive another lifeline from the support team, the help comes in the form of the familiar voice, approaching the blonde from her right.

"We aim to keep the natural habitats intact," says Lexa, putting her hand on the back of Clarke's seat. "Protecting them from the ever-growing needs of the industrial complex."

Well, somebody did a much better job on her homework. Clarke is grateful to be rescued from her own stupidity. Her undercover skills might be rustier than she expected.

Niylah doesn't look too happy with the intrusion, her brows furrow a bit and her lips are pressed. But the woman schools her expression swiftly and still gives Woods a short smile. "Do you work for the Society as well?" Though her tone is much less welcoming compared to the interest she was displaying to Clarke's line of work minutes ago.

"I do," the brunette confirms before directing her gaze to Clarke and asking, "Care for a dance?"

Clarke looks at Niylah, disappointment written all over her face, and offers her an apologetic smile. "Excuse me, please." Then she takes the offered hand and tells Lexa, "Lead the way."

Clarke cautiously follows the woman to the area of the hall filled with dancing couples. She isn't a great dancer at the best of times, but a slippery marble floor plus high heels can easily equal a disaster. Clarke does not need broken bones as a result of this assignment. The tenser you are, the more likely you will fall, her father's voice rings in her head from one winter when he attempted to coach her to skate. Wasn't much of a success either, to be honest, but at least she was left with a teachable moment.

As she's attempting to will her stiffness away, Woods coos softly, "Relax, Griffin."

"I'm doing my best," Clarke grunts, nevertheless failing at moving less rigidly.

Then Lexa's arm circles the blonde's waist, and tiny shocks of electricity travel through her body. Despite the fabric covering her skin, it feels like her nerve endings are exposed. Clarke exhales slowly, relinquishing control and allowing Lexa to lead. The woman is clearly in her element, movements sure and fluid. Her firm support keeps Clarke from stumbling and plummeting to the hard ground.

"I found Peters," the brunette says. "At your six." She gently sways Clarke giving her the visual.

"I see him."

The man looks much worse than in his ID picture. There are shadows beneath his eyes and his suit fits him wrong as if he lost a few pounds. He's constantly fidgeting with the glass he is holding, and his gaze is chaotically jumping around the room with uneasiness. If Clarke had to guess, she'd say he is barely keeping himself from running away. Not great.

"Anya, anything on the buyer?" the blonde asks in her earpiece.

"No movement so far."

"I haven't seen anybody familiar in my sweep," Lexa says.

"Me neither,"  Clarke confirms.

"I think we should observe him for a bit, let him finish his drink, and then get the drive."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

"All we need is a small distraction," Woods says. "Judging by the way he has been touching his left pocket non-stop in the last ten minutes, I'd say it's a pretty safe bet the USB is there. We walk by, I trip, oops, silly me. Before he notices anything I sneak the thing out of his jacket."

"Have you forgotten to mention your pickpocketing past while joining the Bureau or something?" Clarke huffs, not convinced.

"Let's say I was fond of magic when I was a kid," Woods laughs.

"What she means to say is that she was a giant nerd who spent all her spare time practicing tricks," Anya helpfully offers.

"Really?"

"Something like that." Lexa only shrugs without a hint of embarrassment.

"Why magic?"

"Our dad was quite an expert at illusions and we adored watching his tricks. I was eager to learn some myself. Don't know, I guess it felt like solving a puzzle when everything clicked into place. I liked the feeling, so I rehearsed a lot."

"Did you perform them?" Clarke asks, intrigued.

"At a family event or two."

"Were you good at it? Did you have a stage name? Were you wearing costumes?" The blonde fires up her questions in rapid succession. There is an almost imperceptible color to Lexa's cheeks. She'd never notice if they weren't standing so close, but it's there.

"Oh my god, you were!" Clarke lightly smacks the woman's shoulder, giggling. "Are there photos I can look at?"

"There are a few," Anya announces in a conspiratorial voice. "If you play your cards right, Blondie, maybe you'll get your chance."

"Anya, shut up, will you?" Lexa grunts, exasperated.

Clarke decides that the smart thing here will be to leave the issue be for now and strike a deal with the older Woods later. No chance in hell she's going to pass on this opportunity. A photo of tiny Lexa in some probably dramatically over-the-top costume on an improvised stage is definitely not a treasure Clarke expected to acquire from this operation. A nosy side of her is dying to know what kind of child Woods was. The blonde noticed when they were trapped in the lab that all of her distracting stories were about Anya's and Lincoln's young years and no information about hers. What sort of bargain would she need to make to fish some details out of Anya about the baby Commander?  Maybe some goods on Raven will do?

They continue their slow dancing and Clarke feels surprisingly relaxed. Each time her feet miss a beat, Lexa just confidently corrects her without pausing their movement. The pair simply floats around the floor, accompanied by the skillfully played melody, a modern rendition of some classical track. Step. Turn. Another step. A comforting rhythm. Being guided frees Clarke's mind for exploration. Her eyes find more art on the wall, she doesn't recognize the painter, but three pieces decorating the corner were definitely done by the same hand. Vibrant colors and sure lines. There is something amazingly captivating in the abstract scenes.

"A lot of beautiful art in here," Woods notes.

"Yeah," Clarke agrees, her attention still consumed by the work.

"Do you paint?" Seriously, how is this woman reading her so well?

"I used to."

Clarke still can imagine in perfect detail the first brush she had sitting between her fingers. Her dad must have noticed her eyeing a set in a store. Clarke was only five or six, but even then she understood that it was pricey, so she was only enjoying the view of shining dark brushes, placed in a polished wooden box. The next week, the girl came home from school to find the box and some other art supplies waiting for her on the bed. She was ecstatic, playing with the colors deep into the night. If her parents are to be believed, she even fell asleep in front of the easel that day. Clarke has cherished the set and taken great care of it. It's safely packed in one of her art boxes. Truth be told, the blonde terribly misses it. The way pleasure has reverberated through her entire body when she stretched paint on the canvas, mixing colors together. The joy that filled her to the brim. The feeling of loss is almost strong enough to make her tear up.

After a long pause the blonde adds, "After all that happened, I couldn't access that part of me anymore." Clarke senses the woman's curiosity, but Lexa doesn't pry any deeper into the subject even if she evidently wants to.

When Clarke returns her gaze to her partner, she finds the green eyes intently studying her face. She can practically feel the stare on her skin, but it doesn't make her uncomfortable, she just returns it instead. Getting lost in the rich-colored irises, the blonde notices almost transparent rims around them.

"Are you wearing contacts?" she breaks the silence all of a sudden.

"I am," Lexa says. "Can't see shit without them, I'm afraid."

An image of a young brown-haired girl in glasses pops up in Clarke's head and the picture is truly endearing.

"Your new friend is shooting daggers at me," Woods interrupts her thoughts.

Clarke's eyes travel along her line of sight, and she catches Niylah rapidly glancing in the other direction.

"She isn't my friend. We exchanged ten sentences tops." The ridiculous urge to explain herself surprises the blonde. 

"Can't say that I blame her," continues Woods. "I did snatch a beautiful woman from right in front of her."

Clarke can't deny the warmth that is spreading inside her upon hearing the words. Must be something special when a gorgeous woman calls you beautiful. Lexa is looking directly at Niylah, smugness radiating from her smirk. Is Clarke imagining it or did the woman just pull her an inch closer? A familiar fragrance that she's been surrounded by for the past few weeks attracts her attention. Being in close contact with the source, Clarke can finally recognize the scent for what it is. Sandalwood. Rather hypnotizing. Perfectly fitting for Lexa as well. Clarke finds herself melting in the grip of strong arms a fraction more.

The brunette tears her out of the daze once again, "I think it's our time to move." She tilts her head in the direction of Peters who puts down his empty glass and nervously checks his watch.

"Agreed."

"So we are using my plan?" Woods asks.

Clarke nods in response. "I don't have anything better anyway."

"Okay, let's walk up there. And please, don't fall when I go down," Woods jokes.

And Clarke only presses her lips and gives her an annoyed glare as a reply. She isn't that helpless. Though she is putting extra care in her steps now, not that she'd ever admit that. Clarke offers her hand, and two women are leisurely approaching the target.

When they are only a few steps away Lexa stumbles, and before she falls, catches her balance on the man standing nearby.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" Lexa says in a high-pitched airhead voice, placing her free hand on his shoulder. "I'm such a klutz in these stupid heels. I'm sorry."

Who could have imagined the woman was such a good actress? If Clarke didn't know any better, she'd be striving to offer assistance herself, swatting away any other candidates. 

The man blinks at Woods for a second before smiling politely. "Don't worry about it."

The next moment, the brunette corrects her posture, standing perfectly upright again and leaning more on her companion's arm for stability. The whole interaction hardly took half a minute and if Clarke hadn't been paying attention, never in the world would she have noticed Lexa nicking the USB out of his pocket. That's kinda scary. Highly impressive. But somewhat unnerving.

"We have the device," Clarke confirms when they are far enough from Peters.

The women keep walking away, getting lost in the sea of people. Now they just need to find their way to a computer, transfer the files, and return the device while everybody remains none the wiser. Lexa is directing the way to the upstairs where according to the floor plans some computers could be located. There isn't that much time and they need to move quickly. Even without Lightbourne on the premises for now, Peters can notice the loss on his next anxious inspection.

Before they go up, however, a concerned voice sounds in Clarke's ear. "Guys, we may have a problem."

Right at that moment, there is a glimpse of commotion in her periphery. Clarke turns to the door, seeing a group of people entering the hall and looking around. One of them is Emerson. The Mountain Men are here.

"Oh, fuck," Lexa mumbles, watching the scene.

They are so screwed.

Chapter Text

"I guess we aren't the only ones who learned about the deal," Lexa suggests.

Clarke's eyes are running through the team, rapidly assessing the situation. She doesn't need to memorize their faces because the men really stand out amongst the wealthy guests and attentive staff. The group is dressed mostly in black and all of them have a distinguishable way of carrying themselves. Emerson must have chosen each person from the military population of the compound which makes the current predicament that much worse.

"I counted six of them," Clarke states. "And they're working with the guards."

So much for helping hands in a crisis. But there are no other conclusions to be drawn here. The agent watches as Emerson exchanges a few words with the man positioned near the entrance, the head of security she assumes. The guard nods and Mountain Men are led inside. All of them are obviously carrying guns that aren't confiscated. Either the guards are on their payroll or they are members of the militia. None of the options are favorable for the agents inside.

"Should we go in?" Anya asks.

"No, stand down for now," Woods commands right away. "They are armed, and the place is full of civilians. If you come in guns blazing, it can quickly turn into a bloodbath."

"What's the plan then?"

"We need this information, and we can't just go outside with Peters' USB if guards are looking for it," Clarke says.

"Right," Lexa agrees. "So we copy the data as discussed, ditch the drive because I doubt any deals are taking place tonight, and go away as swiftly as possible."

"How long is the transfer going to take, Rey?"

"A couple of minutes, depending on the amount of data."

Clarke exchanges a look with Lexa. A couple of minutes. They can do that, find the computer, get the files, and be out in safety in ten minutes tops. Sounds suspiciously simple which in her experience means things are about to go to shit at any moment. The agent's heart is pumping a rush of adrenaline through her body, preparing it for running away or fighting or anything in between.

"There is another problem," older Woods chimes in. "They almost certainly know Griffin's face."

Right. If the Mountain is responsible for the explosion in her apartment, they must know who she is. Maybe even one of the men here was the one who pushed the button that day. The thought is chilling.

"Maybe they won't recognize her in all that makeup and fancy clothes?" Raven suggests.

Lexa gives her a quick once-over and shakes her head. "I'm not comfortable testing that theory. We must act fast and keep out of their sight."

Clarke knows that it's their best course of action right now. She throws a glance at the door again, catching the moment the group starts to disperse amongst the crowd. Surprisingly, no one is paying them any mind as they're scanning the people. Peters is nowhere to be seen.

So the agent starts walking up the stairs, Woods immediately following in tow. "Be on standby if we need an assist. I don't like our chances in a two-on-six encounter."

"We are ready to go in, the moment you give the order," Anya confirms, but there are some uncertain notes in her tone. She must be worried about her sister's safety once again.

They are up on the second floor, and Clarke's shaking away any urgency from her features. Maybe not all security is working with the Mountain, but it's better to be safe than sorry. The agents can't afford to attract any attention to themselves.

"The third door on the left is a library," the blonde recites from her memory. "Should have a computer."

"The guard is going to turn in a minute, and we go in."

"Yes," Clarke says, keeping her eyes on the man and taking Lexa's hand so that they can coordinate their movements better.

The women are strolling along the corridor, getting close to the target when the man does move the other way to scan the left portion of his sector, and Clarke darts toward the library pulling Woods with her. Luckily, the door isn't locked and the next second they find themselves inside an unilluminated room, only pale light is coming through a big window on the left wall.

It takes a few seconds for the agent's eyes to adjust to the darkness. The library isn't too spacious. But there are several rows of bookcases on their right. A communal table stands close to the window and a desk is opposite the entrance. No computers that she can see though. Lexa and her enhanced vision must be doing better, because she strides towards the desk after a brief inspection of her surroundings.

"See something?" Clarke asks, walking along and pulling Raven's invention out of her bra.

"A laptop." The brunette points to a closed black case.

When they get to their destination, Woods opens the device and comes face to face with a new problem.

"Reyes, will your thing work if the computer is password protected?"

"Shit, I haven't thought about that feature. No, it won't," Raven sounds horrified at her miscalculation.

Clarke would reassure her that these things happen, but they don't really have time for coddling right now. Also, she is by no means a computer wizard, so she has no idea how to proceed.

"What are we going to do?" the agent asks Woods willing her rising worry out of her tone.

"Maybe the password is written somewhere?" It's a wild guess and Lexa's unsure voice doesn't exactly instill a lot of confidence. But Clarke's life has recently been nothing but a sequence of wild guesses and wilder events, and they are out of options here, so she starts the search.

The agents are moving things off the surface of the desk, opening the drawers, sorting through the papers. There is nothing here and the needle of Clarke's internal panic meter starts approaching the red zone. If they can't access this laptop, will they have enough time to find a different computer, or will they have to take their chances with the security and attempt to get out Peters' flash drive? Does it even matter if Anya is right, and they know her face? Clarke doubts they have the order to gun her down in plain view of dozens of rich and famous, but detain her for the Mountain? That's a different and much more realistic story. And she really isn't a fan of kidnapping. 

"Found it!" Woods breaks the silence and starts typing in the letters.

Clarke throws her head back to the ceiling for a moment, ready to thank whatever higher power for this little gift. She lets out a tiny exhale, not allowing herself to relax just yet. They still have a ton of obstacles ahead of them.

"Okay, that's great." The blonde sticks Raven's device into the laptop while Lexa is doing the same with hers.

A window full of lines of code appears on the screen. The words are a true mystery to the blond agent. The symbols inside the window are moving a million miles a second and after a bit, a line of download pops up on the top of it. That Clarke can understand.

"We are in," Lexa tells the team on the other side.

"Finally," Anya grunts. "Raven here almost popped an aneurysm."

But beneath her complaining, Clarke hears a hint of relief. She imagines that Anya hates sitting in the van powerless to fix their mess, especially where her family is involved. Already since joining this case, her sister has been in mortal danger twice.

"Guys," Raven patters frantically. "I'm really sorry, I don't know how it happened."

The blonde opens her mouth to calm her friend down, but Woods speaks first, "It's okay Raven." She is employing her best soothing voice. "You were working on ten things at once, something was bound to slip your attention."

"But it shouldn't have!"

"You are human just like the rest of us, genius or not. Don't be too hard on yourself. Everything is alright."

Clarke doesn't get to mull over this display of Lexa's softer side because everything is not alright. Not alright at all. The line is moving at a snail's pace if the snail was on the brink of death. During the couple of minutes that they have been standing here, only twenty-seven percent were copied.

"It's going to take too long," she says looking at Lexa, who judging by the look in her eyes, has already come to the same conclusion.

Right now, the only sounds coming from outside are music and muffled conversation. Yet the agent can't help but picture the men in black going in rounds looking for the traitor. They don't have any time to spare. She can't prevent her foot from tapping on the parquet flooring. Her normally controlled demeanor is evaporating in a puff of smoke. Because adrenaline may make her calm, but it certainly has never granted her patience.

"Your restless hammering isn't going to make the process move any faster," Lexa notes, nevertheless not taking her eyes off the screen.

"And what are we going to do when our time is up and the Mountain guys get to us? Say magic words and disappear in a cloud of confetti?"

"Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke," Woods tells her, but she doesn't sound offended.

"Sorry," the blonde mutters. "I'm being a bitch when I'm stressed."

The brunette diplomatically avoids replying to that statement, but there is a glint in her eyes. She also doesn't scold Clarke for her inability to stop her tapping as the wait is driving her crazy.

"What's taking so long there?" Anya seemingly shares her impatience.

"Must be a lot of data in here, we can't exactly speed things up."

"Do you want us to go in?"

"Negative."

Clarke is staring at the progress line, irrationally willing it to move faster. Sixty-eight percent. Seventy. Seventy-one. Then the sound coming from the hall hijacks all her attention. Heavy feet are stomping along the corridor, getting closer.

"Shit," Lexa says, immediately taking the laptop.

She turns the brightness down to the minimum and flips the appliance away from the entrance half-closed. At that moment things are starting to get bizarre. Lexa tugs Clarke closer, positioning her beside the desk so that her figure would hide the computer. Then she moves nearer herself, pressing her body into Clarke's front.

"What are you—" The shocked words die on her lips when Woods starts unzipping her dress.

As Clarke's brain is utterly blanking out, the brunette pushes the right strap off her shoulder, leaving the gown barely hanging on her form. The gray lace of her bra is burning itself into Clarke's memory. Lexa moves even closer, placing her hands on the desk on the either side of the woman, the waterfall of her curls efficiently hiding most of their faces from view. And the blonde is enveloped in a blanket of sandalwood once again. A scary realization pops up at the front of her mind. It's not the scent she's intoxicated by but Lexa in general.  A thrill crushes through Clarke's body when she feels hot breath caressing her neck. Woods isn't touching her, but it is enough to send her heartbeat somewhere into the stratosphere. A whimper that falls from her lips gets lost in the sound of the door hastily being pushed open.

A harsh white of a flashlight cuts through the darkness. Four men appear in the doorway. From what Clarke can tell, three of them are the gala guards, the other one came with the Mountain, though she's unable to match his face to any of the names from their files. Her hand slowly finds its way to the gun holstered on her thigh.

"Gentlemen, can I help you somehow?" Lexa turns only a fraction to her right, her voice dripping with annoyance at being interrupted. It doesn't escape Clarke's notice that Woods put herself into their line of fire, actively shielding her.

The men look uncomfortable, averting their gaze off her exposed body. One of them clears his throat before speaking, "I'm sorry, Ma'am. But this is a private area."

"So what?" Woods throws, her tone full of condescension. The filthy rich usually aren't the ones who like being told what to do. "Can't you see that we are busy?"

Clarke is ready to personally arrange for an Oscar after everything she's seen today.

The guard looks uncertain when he says, "Apologies, Ma'am, but I have to ask you to vacate the library."

"Well, if we must," the brunette huffs, somehow managing to make it sound rather intimidating. Then she turns fully to the men, their eyes everywhere but not on the women, as Lexa's dress is almost falling to the ground. She coos to Clarke, "Will you zip me up, darling?"

The blonde has to clear a dry throat of her own before murmuring, "Of course, darling."

One of Lexa's hands moves behind her as if she wants to place it on Clarke's hip when in reality she snatches both of the USBs in one swift motion. When her dress is in order, she combs her fingers through her hair and the devices disappear amongst the chocolate locks. Clarke silently prays that the download was complete.

"Let's go then, this party is spoiling my mood," Woods lets out an irritated whine, clacking her heels and not even sparing a glance at the men as if they are undeserving of her attention.

Nobody is interfering with their exit, the guards still look awkward after having disturbed the couple. It seems like they weren't recognized or deemed a threat. But Clarke still keeps her head slightly lowered so as not to provide a good look at her face. They are walking along the corridor hand in hand, and she can feel the exact moment four pairs of eyes leave their backs.

"Looks like we got out," the agent whispers and watches as Woods masterfully deposits the redundant flash drive into one of the planters without breaking the stride.

"Anya, what's the status?" Lexa asks when they stop in the corner near the stairs. She gives the Raven's device to Clarke and mouths for safekeeping.

"Peters just exited the back door with an unidentified male. They got in a car parked behind the building. Emerson and three of his men drove away in pursuit."

"I want a team on them."

"Already en route."

"What about Lightbourne?"

"Agent Green spotted his vehicle on the traffic cams approaching the gala, four blocks away."

"Okay, you and your team wait here for the confirmation and arrest him before he comes inside. The Bureau has enough to charge him on multiple counts. We are going to exit the building and drive to the office."

"Roger that."

"Okay, let's see if our luck has worn off or not," Lexa says.

An image of how exactly they were testing it a few moments earlier flashes in front of Clarke's eyes. Her brain has yet to begin computing what occurred in the library. She shelves the memories to analyze at a later moment and nods.

They walk down the stairs without any issues, inconspicuously wandering through the crowd in the main area. The agents are almost at the front door when a voice calls out.

"Eliza, leaving so soon?"

"Oh hell," Clarke curses under her breath and turns to address the approaching woman. "I'm afraid so."

"Are you sure? You're going to miss the auction." Niylah is by no means being loud, but unfortunately, it's enough to attract the attention of one of the men in black nearby. Seems like they are out of luck.

Lexa glances at the man and then back at Niylah, giving her a sharp smile. "Have to go deal with some urgent forest business. I'm sure you understand how it is."

Not waiting for a reply, the agents are striding towards the exit.

"Do you think he recognized me?" Clarke asks.

"Not sure, but we need to get out of here."

The women offer polite smiles to the security at the front, going through the metal detector effortlessly again. In her periphery, the blonde catches two men hurriedly moving in their direction.

"They're going after us," the blonde points out.

"Get into the car," Lexa's authoritative tone leaves no room for objections.

Once they're inside the brunette instantly starts the engine and pushes on the accelerator.

"Buckle up," she tells Clarke, maneuvering out of their parking spot. "Anya, we are being pursued by two of Emerson's guys. I'm going to shake off the tail, you stay here and get the buyer."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Alright. But let me know at the first sign of trouble."

"I will."

The outside world is rushing by as they're picking up the speed. The assailants' vehicle is not far behind. Soon they are driving away from the residential area, getting closer to the highway. Clarke's pulse is picking up pace again, being fed by another surge of adrenaline. The inside of the car is silent, the blonde not wanting to ruin Lexa's concentration while she's expertly moving between the rows of cars.

They are really pushing the speed limit now, but the other car is still there. A tinge of anxiety blooms in Clarke's chest as she glances in the rearview mirror.

"We are going to be fine, Griffin. I aced the driving course in the academy, the best score in the decade and all. I know what I'm doing," Woods reassures her.

"I'm not arguing with that," Clarke says. "Just don't particularly enjoy being chased."

The view in the windows changes from apartment complexes to factories and warehouses. They're in the industrial district of the city now. There are fewer cars on the road, making it harder to get away unnoticed. But at the same time, the clear streets allow Woods to speed up significantly. Clarke only hopes Mountain Men don't get bored with their trail and don't start shooting instead. Gunfights in moving vehicles are pretty high on her loathing list.

Lexa obviously knows the area well, not in need of any map or direction, she looks like a woman with a plan. Laser-focused. Determined. In control.

"Hold on to something," she announces suddenly.

The blonde grips the door handle as the car takes a sharp turn off the main road onto a side street, into the arch of a rare residential building, halting in the free spot nearby. Lexa quickly shuts down the engine and turns off the lights. The only sound present is the roar of her heartbeat in Clarke's ears. They must have been far enough from the unsubs for Woods' maneuver to remain hidden. Time passes, but no other car drives inside the area.

Clarke can't keep the booming laughter bubbling inside her any longer. Her maniac cackling sounds deafening in the silent space of the car. The adrenaline rapidly dropping and leaving her body in waves. She can't stop shaking. Lexa doesn't look at her as if she's gone completely mental, only joins in. So here they are, two federal agents, in expensive evening gowns, pretty much howling in a dark parking lot.

"Ten out of ten on your driving evaluation, Agent Woods," Clarke says in a fake official tone.

"Why thank you for such a high regard, Agent Griffin. It is much appreciated," Lexa plays along in a similar voice.

Clarke giggles once more and leans back in her seat. Exhaustion is pressing her into the leather. She really wishes she could leave the rollercoaster of this crazy evening behind and bury herself in the softness of her duvet. But this is kind of the finale to the operation is definitely not in her cards. Debriefing, a preliminary report, quick assessment of the data. That's much closer to the reality of her night. At least she will be able to get rid of the stupid shoes because her feet are aching with pulsating pressure.

"Okay, let's call the team and see what we've got from today," Clarke says and receives a nod from Woods before she starts the car again.

"Raven, we're free from the tail, on our way to the office now. Give me a short rundown on your end as of now," the blonde asks.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Chapter Text

Lexa is mindlessly scrolling on her phone, bundled up in her FBI hoodie. It must present an odd picture combined with her evening attire, but the material is soft and provides protection from the cool air coming from the AC unit which is a lot more important to the agent than her appearance right now. They arrived about half an hour ago, and now she's sitting in the conference room, waiting for everybody on the team to finish up with their assignments before proceeding with the debriefing. Reyes gave them an overview over the phone, but there are still a lot of things left to discuss.

The only people in the room are her and Agent Green, who is doing something on his computer as usual. Griffin is somewhere on the floor, probably talking to Kane. As soon as Raven received the flash drive, she smiled like a kid in a candy store and wandered off to her lab with the request to summon her when everybody is in. Anya's team is processing Lightbourne in holding. Blake's is on their way back to the office.

A steaming cup of green tea appears on the table in front of her. Lexa glances up to see the blond agent giving her a soft smile.

"Thank you," she tells the woman, who nods and takes a seat at the table in the middle row, sipping some of her own beverage.

Lexa is relieved that things don't seem to be weird between them after the little stunt she pulled. Was she dancing along a thin edge? Yes. But at that moment acting quickly was crucial, and it was honestly the first idea that came to her mind. And it worked, didn't it? Not much of a gamble to assume that the security wasn't going to risk provoking the wrath of the rich and powerful. Discretion is right there in the job description, written in bold capital letters. Nobody would dare pay too close attention to a half-dressed woman. Truthfully, Lexa's never been bothered about showing skin. But even the scarce light coming from the window was enough to show Griffin's wide-eyed expression at her actions, and for a moment there, she thought the woman would freak out. Should Lexa be completely honest with herself, she'll have to admit that a part of that decision was born out of pure indulgence. An impulse she was powerless to deny. 

"Heard you had a fun night?" her cousin asks, pulling out a chair on her right.

When Lexa raises her eyes to look at him, she sees a jagged cut on his cheekbone and a bruise has already started to form. "What happened?"

"Lightbourne wasn't all too eager to come with us. Had to go through his bodyguard. He didn't pull any punches."

The brunette frowns at the news. Even though it's inevitable, she hates it when her family gets hurt. Her traumas she can deal with, theirs throw her protectiveness into high gear.

"Don't worry about him, Commander," Raven's voice comes from the door. "Little Blake has already taken care of the guy."

"No excessive force, mind you," Octavia points out sitting down near Linc. "Just protecting what's mine."

Lexa has to fight down a snort looking at her cousin's expression stuck between lovesick and horrified by the straightforward admission. The man is staying silent, probably waiting for the conversation to shift.

A few moments later the remaining agents come into the room, scattering around.

"Alright, as everyone is here, we can begin," Griffin says. "Let's start with Peters. Bellamy?"

"Yes. As we were following him, Emerson ran his car off the road. We tried to get the Mountain Men, but they got away."

That was the 'bad news' part of Reyes' report. Apparently, the militia is very aware of the FBI's pursuit tactics which allowed them to break the chase. Lexa can't exactly assign any blame here, but it doesn't help to prevent the frustration from growing inside her. Each time they get close to making an arrest, the Mountain Men manage to slip like sand through their fingers, taunting the Bureau. The agent is sure that tomorrow she'll have to listen to someone once again telling her off for the lack of men behind bars.

"How is Peters and the driver?" her sister asks.

"The unknown man died upon impact. We haven't been able to identify him yet, he isn't on any of our databases and not in the Mountain file."

"And Peters?"

"He survived the crash and EMTs got him to the hospital. He's in the ICU now, but according to the doctors, his chances aren't that great. I should get a call if anything changes."

"Great," Anya groans. "Yet again zero terrorists to interrogate." 

"It's not like they are cooperating anyway," younger Blake notes.

"Anya, how are the things on the Lightbourne front?" 

"We apprehended the guy and five of his security detail," the agent confirms.

"Some paranoia right there if you ask me," says Octavia.

"You didn't seem to object earlier," Anya laughs, shooting a look toward Lincoln.

The black-haired woman only shrugs. "He got what he was looking for."

"Vendettas aside, I don't suppose he's saying anything?" Griffin inquires.

"Yeah, asked for a lawyer right away. Some guy in a fancy suit showed up not ten minutes later than we started booking him. But I don't think that it'll do him much good."

At least something to appease the brass. Lightbourne has been on the list for more than seven years and evaded arrest every time the FBI was closing in on him. There were some speculations before, that somebody was providing him with intel. But the investigation didn't show any leaks.

"Let's hope so," Griffin says. "Okay, what do we have on the data front?"

"There is a lot of it, but everything is encrypted. Yet again Monty and I have a tone of stuff to decode." Raven is wearing a strange expression that Lexa can't quite discern, a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "But I did manage to pull out a couple of things. Meet Lorelei Tsing."

A picture of a dark-haired woman with brown eyes and tawny complexion pops up on the screen.

"Parents died in a car crash so she was adopted by her aunt and uncle. A child prodigy in science. Graduated with honors. A PhD in biomedical science. A bright woman in all regards. Here is where things get weird. No criminal record, no social media, no publications in scientific journals since university, even no credit card purchases. It's like she fell off the face of the Earth ten years ago."

"You think data has been scraped?" Lexa muses.

"It's a logical guess. But does the Mountain have this kind of resources?" 

Honestly, at this point, the brunette is ready to assume anything. She wouldn't be extremely surprised to find out that Mount Weather has some help from the inside of a law enforcement agency of some kind.

"I also find some references to Ichor a couple of times," Reyes continues. "And to something which looks like another project. Cerberus."

Lexa's body instantly goes stiff at the mention of the name. Her eyes dart to Clarke who doesn't appear surprised. Raven probably gave her the heads-up before they came to the briefing. The brunette wishes she'd received the same kind of courtesy because it's really hard to keep her reactions in. When she looks around the room, however, she finds that she's not the only one with a similar struggle. Lexa assumed that Griffin told her nearest friends, perhaps Wells and Raven judging by their initial reaction to her. But she certainly didn't expect the whole team to be familiar with the name.

"Is that—?" Blake doesn't finish her question.

"Assuming it's the same Cerberus, yes," the blonde begins. "As you know, five years ago, due to my background, I was part of a team investigating a case of what we thought was a type of chemical weapon. People were exposed to some kind of toxin with incredibly gruesome consequences."

"What happened?"

"They became extremely violent, attacked other people and when the effects wore off, they crashed and were basically left in a vegetative state. There were multiple incidents across the state lines, no common thread between either the exposed or their victims. Agent Collins and I infiltrated a possible source location, but during our UC operation there was nothing pointing towards the unsubs."

Griffin doesn't say out loud how her role in the investigation ended, but the uneasiness travels room the quiet space nevertheless. Her retelling is mostly matter-of-fact, emotionless. And it's a stark contrast to how Lexa'd imagine it going. She wonders if it's easier for Clarke to keep herself within the confines of a professional side of the memory, allowing her a better grip on her emotions.

"So if the name is on the drive, should we presume that Tsing was involved with that project as well?" Wells asks.

"It does fit her background," Raven comments.

"But we will require a much deeper dive and some actual evidence to come to any real conclusion," Griffin says. "Though right now let's work under the assumption that she's somehow connected."

"Anything else on that USB?" Lincoln asks.

"Nothing definitive at this point. It will take us at least a couple of days to get anything useful from encryption," Reyes complains.

"No crazy hours," the blonde warns. "I mean it."

She gets a loud groan from the woman in response.

"Please, see to that," Griffin looks at her sister.

"Oh, somebody finally got her eyes working," Octavia jokes, waggling her eyebrows, lightening the mood.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asks the older Blake.

"Nothing that concerns you," Anya cuts off any further questions.

"I guess that's it for now," Clarke says. "Go home and rest. Good work today."

Quiet murmurs of agreement and 'thank you, boss' sound around the space, agents standing up and walking out of the room.

"Let's get this thing fixed," Octavia tells Lincoln, gesturing to his face.

"No need to fuss, it'll heal by itself."

"Griff, can you take a look?" Blake isn't satisfied with his reply.

"May I?" the blonde asks and Linc nods.

She carefully examines his cut, fingers floating across the skin. Done with the inspection, she pronounces, "Definitely should clean it. No need for stitches though, but some wound strips won't hurt."

"You heard the doctor," says Octavia. "Scars are sexy, but infection isn't. So I'm getting it fixed."

"Sure, O," his cousin sighs, defeated, and stands up to give the brunette a hug. "Bye, Lex."

"Listen to your girlfriend, Linc."

When the couple walk away to the bullpen, Lexa turns to Griffin and asks, "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, thanks. Just give me a moment to get some things."

"Sure, I'll wait here."

⠀

It took ten minutes in the car for the blonde to doze off, tired by the event of the evening. It took five for Lexa to fall deep into her thoughts. Driving has always been one of her favorite methods of reflection. Mechanical movements on autopilot and changing scenery are a perfect path for getting her mind to roam free. So despite the peaceful interior of the vehicle, her brain is loud. 

She doesn't risk another look at Griffin. It's not really necessary anyway. Lexa has the image stained in her memory in painfully precise detail. That goddamn dress is a crime. Hugging Clarke's figure perfectly, exposing her fair skin, accentuating her collarbones with the help of the short waves falling just above. It took an immense amount of effort not to keep her eyes glued to the woman because, for the whole evening, the red fabric was calling to her like a siren. Lexa considers it a miracle that her lack of focus didn't cost them any trouble. Though she wonders how people there went about their evening without tripping over themselves to get Griffin's attention. The brunette can sympathize with poor Niylah quite a lot, actually.

It's hard to remember when was the last time Lexa was so unsure of her actions. There is a reason she must pull the brakes, Lexa keeps reminding herself. A good one. She can't be doing this. She can't be getting closer to Clarke while keeping her in the dark. Yet it was impossible to resist a bit of adventure. Much easier to allow herself to play with fire within the darkness of a library, carrying somebody else's name. But having loosened the reins of control once, she now craves doing the same again. There is this needy creature under her skin whom it's getting harder to turn down by the day.

When they get to the house, Lexa turns off the engine and gives Griffin a light shake on the shoulder to wake her up. A soft touch not to startle the woman.

"Did I fall asleep?" she asks, blinking away the disorientation.

"You did. We are back at the house."

"Oh," the blonde's speech is still a bit slow. "Good. Let me get my bags and I'll be out of your hair."

When they exit the car, the woman can't fight her yawn while moving to the porch with leaden steps.

"Maybe you should stay in the guestroom for the night if you are tired?" Lexa suggests.

Purely out of the goodness of her heart. Because driving sleepy is dangerous. No ulterior motive there. Absolutely none.

"Thank you, but I don't want to be a bother," Griffin replies.

"You wouldn't be."

"Still."

Lexa is not going to argue with that. No is a no, and she'll never trap somebody in her house when they don't want to be there.

"Okay," she says, typing in the code on her security system. "Go get your things, I'll wait here."

When the blonde disappears into the house, Lexa walks to one of the garden chairs she keeps outside for the summer and plops down on the cushions, ignoring the weird pull of her dress. Given a chance to finally reach some stillness after a day of frenzy, the brunette discovers that she's pretty exhausted as well. She leans her head back on the cushion and gazes up at the sky. It's a cloudless night and the stars are everywhere, glinting in the darkness. They aren't as bright as in the forest, but the glow captivates her attention nevertheless. She spent countless hours studying the constellations when she was younger, finding solace and wonder in something being so far away and so close at the same time.

Lexa stands up a few moments later when she hears footsteps coming closer, almost having fallen asleep herself. The woman appears on the threshold, carrying two bags. She changed into the jeans and jumper she came in earlier, but her face and hair still look the same, creating an amusing mismatch in styles.

"Your cat hates me, you know," Griffin laughs. "Pretty sure he's trying to kill me with his laser stare." 

"Oh, I absolutely wouldn't put it past him," Lexa chuckles.

"Well, thank you for the ride again and for having my back out there," the blonde says, stepping a bit closer. "Guess it's fair to say that my return to UC wasn't a complete disaster."

"We achieved our goal. I had a chance to dance with a beautiful companion. You enjoyed amazing art. A success in my books by all accounts."

What the fuck is she doing with this beautiful companion stuff? Like yes, Clarke is stunning. But hasn't she just decided to tone it down and rein her pining in? But the blonde only smiles at her words and, if Lexa's eyes aren't currently betraying her, moves an inch forward. Or is it simply her wishful thinking playing up? Get a grip, Lexa.

"I have to admit," Griffin says in a soft voice. "We do make a pretty good team."

Then she throws a tiny glance at Lexa's mouth. So quick, that it could have easily slipped her attention. But her awareness happens to be heightened to the maximum today. Nobody says a word, they stand there on her wooden porch, surrounded by the vast dark sky and warm air of the night. Tension wrapping them in a tight cocoon. Well, the brunette is certainly not imagining that. 

Lexa doesn't permit herself to look at Clarke's lips. Not even a glimpse. Nothing. Because she is not making the first move here. Will she be able to restrain herself from responding? Not a chance. But Lexa can gather the remaining of her self-control to stand still and forbid her arms from flying to the blonde's waist.

It feels like the moment is timeless. Lexa's muscles start to ache from the constraint of her posture. Clarke is making another step, this time the blues gazing deep into her eyes. Right at the moment Lexa is ready to shatter with anticipation, a phone rings between them. It's like a bucket of iced water is thrown over her head. Clarke doesn't jump at the intrusion, but makes a step back, fracturing the haze.

It's her phone that is aggressively ringing in the night's quiet, so she goes through the bag to find it and briefly checks the screen.

"Griffin," she responds, her tone official. "Yes, Sir... Tomorrow at ten?... Yes, I understand, Sir."

"What's that about?" Lexa asks when she's done, not attempting to keep her curiosity at bay because this definitely sounded like a work call.

"It was Kane. Assistant Director Jaha wants to have a briefing with the team tomorrow," she sounds as confused as Lexa feels.

"Do you reckon it means that we've done something good or something terrible?" the brunette wonders.

"Honestly? No idea. Guess we'll have to wait till tomorrow to find out." Griffin shrugs. "Well, I'll get going then."

"Sure." Lexa can't find any other words to say.

Are they ignoring what's just occurred, pretending that it never did? Something was about to happen, right? It couldn't be that she read all the signals awfully wrong. Right?

"See you tomorrow then." The blonde sends a small smile her way before getting in her car.

"See you, Griffin," the agent responds and walks into the house.

Her sole hope is that her mind will shut up at least for a short while, giving her a chance to sleep without seeing red dancing around in her memory.

⠀

The next morning the agent arrives at the briefing slightly early. The meeting is held on the executive floor, and Lexa doesn't visit it that often. There are already a couple of agents inside, two men she doesn't recognize, and a few people from their unit. Jaha requested the presence of the whole team, including Reyes and his son, only McIntyre was spared from the summon due to her extended medical leave.

The room is spacious enough to accommodate a multi-agency task force or two. Two walls of it made of floor-to-ceiling windows. On the other side is a huge screen fixed with cameras to allow for video calls. There is a long table in the center of the room, but all the chairs are unoccupied, everyone in attendance preferring to stand closer to the entrance for now, chatting or checking their phones.

It's ten minutes until the arranged time, and agents keep slowly appearing. Griffin walks into the room, Raven and Octavia coming after her. She tells something to the women before moving away and strolling in Lexa's direction.

"Hi," her greeting sounds normal and not awkward at all, which seems like a good sign.

"Hey," Lexa responds. "Got anything new on the purpose of the meeting?"

"Nothing," the blonde sighs, clearly not enjoying the secrecy.

Anya and Lincoln come inside, nodding their acknowledgment before going to stand somewhere nearby. The team is waiting for the start, talking amongst the groups quietly. Judging by the faces of the gathered, everyone is really curious to find out what's going on. Their boss steps into the room. Hell, if Kane is here, things must be serious.

A few moments later, Assistant Director Jaha appears in the doorway, followed by another person, who is obscured from the view. "Good morning, Agents."

A chorus of 'good morning's sounds in reply. Lexa can see that Griffin is almost biting her tongue not to rashly request to get straight to the business.

"I've asked to gather here today to discuss the most recent development of the Mountain Weather case. First, I'd like to introduce a team working on an adjacent investigation."

Then the man steps out from behind, striding towards them. A voice that Lexa has never expected or wished to hear again speaks, "Hello, Princess."

Chapter Text

Clarke is frozen in place. A marble statue. Everything within her body is perfectly immobile. Her heart, stopped mid-beat. Her blood, stuck in her veins. The air, trapped in her lungs. Down to the very last molecule. Absolutely, utterly, impossibly still. All but her mind, which is racing a million miles a second.

She must be dreaming because there is no other reasonable explanation here. She cannot be seeing this for real. Cannot be seeing this. Can. Not. So she is sleeping or having a hallucination, perhaps a mental episode. Either that, or she's dead. There is simply no way that her eyes are showing her the actual picture. Thus, she must be going crazy. Something within her must have snapped. It's not real. Not real. Not real, Clarke's repeating like a chant in her head. Except that it is. A part of her knows it even if her mind refuses to accept the fact.

Clarke is afraid to blink so that she doesn't lose the mirage in front of her. Because Finn is dead, and yet she's gazing right at him. He looks slightly different, but everything is still there. Each line of his face, the exact shade of his eyes, the skin that felt soft under her fingertips. All the things Clarke learned by heart and never forgot now are coming to life in her memory with new colors. She has no clue what's happening, but she can't avert her eyes from his face. The one she spent countless hours learning and sketching. The one that for many years was the first thing she saw upon waking, and the last before falling asleep. The face that she never imagined seeing again. A feeling of wrongness starts to sprout inside her. If Finn is dead, how is it that his face changed? Why does he appear older? Why is his hair a different length? Where did the stubble come from?

Clarke is overwhelmed by bewilderment. Unable to make the logical part of her brain take control. All she's doing is staring. Staring and staring. Her entire body is numb, every sensation dulled to almost non-existent. Maybe Clarke is dead. Because she certainly doesn't feel like she is on any plane of existence. An eternity passes or a second, it's impossible to distinguish the two.

A voice penetrates the thick fog that is crashing the blonde in its hold. "...arke, you need to breathe. Clarke!"

Breathing, right. Clarke must not be doing that if the burning sensation and the pressure in her chest are any indication. She tries to, letting out a whoosh of air. The next inhale feels like acid being poured down her throat. But she does it again, her chest expanding slightly. The lungs finally getting back to the practiced rhythm.

While Clarke is slowly coming to it, her brain registers a new sensation. A strong warm grip on her fingers, accompanied by the never-ending calling of her name. 

"Clarke." It could be a shout, could be a whisper. The woman wouldn't be able to tell.

"Clarke." She hears again and this time her vision slowly follows the comfort of the voice.

Clarke finds the impossibly green eyes boring into hers. Then Lexa's whole face comes into focus and Clarke flinches as if slapped. She sees it, in every feature of the woman's face. Guilt.

"No," the blonde whispers and steps back automatically, shaking the hold off her hand. The realization hits her with the force of a meteorite. "You knew. All this time, you knew."

Clarke has no idea how her legs don't give up that very second, how she's still standing upright instead of being collapsed on the floor.

"Clarke," Lexa tries again. Her voice is swimming with emotion, telling a thousand different stories in just one syllable of her name.

But Clarke can't bear to hear it. Now that her senses are back, she feels raw. Like she's been skinned alive, everything causing immense pain. She can't be standing here any longer.

"No," she says, hardly audible, not being able to give her voice any body.

Then she uses the last shreds of the strength she has left to do the only thing in her power. Clarke runs.

⠀

⠀

When the door slams behind the retreating agent, Reyes says, enunciating each word, "What. The. Fuck?"

Nobody is reprimanding the woman for her colorful language. In fact, the whole room is stunned into palpable silence. If anyone had been unaware of what was going on, they were rapidly clued in by Griffin's reaction. No one moves an inch towards the exit. Lexa feels her heart drop deep in her body, her mind stuck on replaying the way Clarke winced and pulled away her hand as if scorched.

"No, I mean, what the actual fuck?" Raven isn't calming down. Then she finds the perfect target for her fury. She turns to Lexa and points her finger at the brunette. "Did you really know?"

Lexa isn't confirming anything out loud, but her face apparently is speaking volumes.

"You did! How could you do that to her?"

The brunette is getting the feeling that if not for the audience surrounding them, she would have already been punched. Truth be told, Lexa wouldn't mind some punishment right now for all the hurt she caused. The moment she saw Clarke's face crumble, she understood how royally she fucked things up. Lexa should have told her everything right after she was assigned to her unit. Consequences be damned, anything would have been better than her learning the truth like this.

Anya has never in her life been able to stand by passively. "She didn't do anything," she counters.

"That's the fucking point!" Raven yells.

"It wasn't her decision to make," Anya fires back.

"Why aren't you even surprised? Did you know as well?" Clearly, both of them are very easy to read right now because only a glance at Anya's face strokes the fire in Reyes tenfold. "Of course, you did."

The woman is about to shoot a response when Lexa stops her with a grab of the forearm. "Let it be, Anya."

"Yes, listen to your sister, Anya," Raven spits out. "God, you and your crazy family!"

At the mention of family, Lexa catches Lincoln's shocked expression, and she can't stop her chest from tightening. What kind of monster does she present in his eyes now? If he'd known about the cover-up, he would've certainly told her to come clean, just like Anya did. Hell, why couldn't she listen to her sister?

"Okay, let's calm down, everyone, and remember that you all are federal agents," Jaha chimes in. "It's not exactly how I saw the meeting go, but—"

Honestly, fuck it. Everything is going downhill anyway. So Lexa interrupts her superior without any apprehension. "What did you expect, Sir?"

The agent hopes the venom that is poisoning her blood is perfectly evident in her tone. Because the nerve of this man. Yes, she'll be forever responsible for her role in the events, but he was there as well, he was the one who issued the order. He is the one who evidently has no remorse for his part. It's as if he doesn't even comprehend what went wrong with his brilliant plan.

Her question must have held enough emotion to be interpreted correctly because Wells Jaha comes out from behind her, his eyes wide, and asks his father, "Dad, how long have you known about it?"

"It's not important—"

"How long?"

A memory flashes in her mind of their conversation weeks ago, when she was on medical leave. Lexa found the agent surprisingly perceptible then. And if he could read her quite well after only knowing her for a short time, how efficiently can he analyze his father?

The senior agent doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to. His son comes to the right conclusions on his own. "From the very beginning, didn't you? Were you the one who made the call?"

No response again and Lexa watches how Wells' expression changes from shock to disdain. "How could you do that to Clarke? You saw how she suffered. You were there when it almost killed her!"

"I'm sure Clarky will cool off once I talk to her," Collins snakes his way into the conversation.

Now this is the person who Lexa really doesn't mind shutting up with her fist. But the Blakes beat her to it.

"You aren't going to come anywhere near Clarke, is that understood?"

"And if you do, you'll have to go through us."

"Bell, you should calm down your feisty little sister," Collins sneers.

Lexa sees how Linc silently moves behind his girlfriend. Not inserting his voice into the conversation, but positioning himself for support and protection if needed. The tension in the room has skyrocketed over the past ten minutes. And, for the first time, Lexa is considering the possibility of a physical fight breaking out between the agents.

Kane must be sensing it too as he moves closer to the epicenter and says loud enough to be heard over ongoing arguments, "Okay, everybody. I need you to get back to your desks now, we will reconvene the briefing at a later date. And bear in mind, I will condone no fights on my floor. Anything happens, and you'll be placed on administrative leave immediately. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sir," sounds from different corners of the room.

"Why don't we talk in my office," Kane asks Jaha who nods, and the men start walking towards the elevators.

"I meant it," says older Blake, looking at Collins. "You keep your distance from Clarke, or you'll have a lot of problems with all of us."

Lexa wonders if the same kind of warning should apply to her.

 ⠀

 ⠀

Clarke doesn't remember how she ended up in the apartment.  Not the way out of the headquarters. Not the drive. Nothing. But here she is, in the middle of her living area, staring into the distance with unseeing eyes. Inside her is a jumble of feelings, abrupt and confused. Finn is alive, rings in her head on repeat. The only coherent thought her mind is capable of producing. She's not going crazy, Woods' reaction told her that much. But she can't move beyond this bare fact, held captive by the image of his face, unable to escape the maze of her shock.

It's a physical sensation, the world is spinning off its axis, the ground shattering beneath her feet. Clarke feels so impossibly heavy, like the weight of her limbs has changed, but her body hasn't adjusted accordingly. And before her brain can catch up with the actions of her body, she finds herself lying on the laminated floor. Motionless. The angle of her vision having shifted, now Clarke's looking ahead at the velvety fabric of her couch. She must be crying because after a short while the image gets blurry. Exhaustion settles over her like a weighted blanket. 

⠀

When Clarke opens her eyes the next time, she is met with darkness. Awareness comes a few moments later, and she realizes that she crashed out on the floor. Moving is a struggle, it's like her veins are carrying lead. And even after a long slumber, she is hollowed out and drained. A quick glance at her phone, still located in the pocket of her suit jacket, tells her it's been at least ten hours since she got home. Her lock screen informs her of a myriad of missed calls and unread texts from different numbers as well, but Clarke chooses to ignore them for now.

She pushes herself off the floor, the events of the morning gradually coming back to her. When she is up on her feet, two things are crystal clear to her. Her dead fiancé is alive. And the woman she grew to trust betrayed it. Having fallen asleep drowning in sorrow, Clarke woke up seething with rage. What kind of person would fake their own death for five years? Who in their sound mind would keep it hidden? Then it hits her, the cover-up. That certainly couldn't have been done by Woods alone. Not enough clearance. A jarring realization appears in her mind. Jaha was the one who called the meeting. He was the one who came with Finn. So as wild as it sounds, it seems that the man who was family to her knew that her fiancé was alive and kept it from her. The idea is burning her as a searing fire.

Filled with newfound energy, Clarke starts walking around the room. Who else knew? Somebody on her team? Kane? No. Their reactions went completely unnoticed in the midst of her panic attack, but a rational part of the agent knows that you don't conceal this sort of thing by telling it to half of the Bureau. Must be a pretty short list. Full of people she is never talking to ever again. Fuck the professional responsibilities. They had no right. No right to make her go through that. Was it some sick joke to them? Watch her crack and break into a million pieces. As the anger builds up, Clarke's movements get more jerky and her thoughts gain a frantic tone to them. A desire to hit something or better certain someones is growing by the second. She barely manages to keep herself from destroying her recently acquired things. At least for now.

Her angry pacing is interrupted by a knock on her door. Clarke fully intends to pay it no notice but whoever it is, they aren't giving up easily. The knocking morphs into a persistent pounding, and she has no choice but to check the peephole before somebody calls the cops.

A blond woman is standing outside of her apartment.

"Leave me alone, Anya!" Clarke yells through the door.

"I know that you hate me, Blondie," the woman shouts back to be heard. "But you must hate quite a lot of people right now, so I don't really think you can use that excuse here."

Knowing everything she does about the woman, Clarke is sure that older Woods isn't going anywhere before she tells her whatever it is she came here to say. Clarke can nevertheless leave her to stand in the hall, but all that pounding is bound to give her a headache, and she is already miserable enough without it. So she huffs, annoyed, and turns the lock she has no recollection of closing.

"I'll answer any of your questions if you want," is the odd form of greeting Anya gives her as she strides inside and sits down on Clarke's sofa without any hesitation. "Though I am not the one you should be directing most of them to. But I'm going to tell you something first."

Clarke closes the door and walks back to the room. She doesn't exactly feel like sitting down, but standing there looming over the woman is plain weird, so she joins her on the couch.

"Does your sister know you are here?"

"Of course she doesn't," the agent says like it is the most obvious thing in the world, which it may be.

"And what's so important to share? If you came to make a case for her, I don't want to hear it."

Anya ignores her statement and gets straight to the point. "When your fiancé supposedly died, Lexa was in charge of the rescue op."

Alright, no beating around the bush then. The way she phrases it should hurt Clarke even more, but instead it does the exact opposite, cooling down some of her boiling anger.

"I'm aware."

"Whatever happened on that mission isn't for me to tell. But let's say Lexa wasn't thrilled about the decisions made," Anya continues. "And shortly after everything went down, her girlfriend Costia was taken."

Clarke can hear the pain the words are causing the woman, and she remembers the gruesome story Raven told her weeks ago. Anya obviously cared for her a lot too.

"Yeah, I know." Clarke's voice is quiet, losing the raw edge of emotion.

"Good," Anya says, sounding relieved at not having to retell the horrors. "What you probably don't know is that Lexa was planning to tell you everything."

"What?"

"Before what happened to Cos, Lexa told me about the op and the plan. She said she just couldn't go with it, that she knew the risks, but she needed to tell you he was alive. Lexa was going to talk to you when you were out of the hospital so you could do it privately."

"And then Nia kidnapped Costia," Clarke finishes her thought.

"Yes."

Anya doesn't say anything else, leaving Clarke to deal with the repercussions of the statement. She can understand how this kind of event could have sidetracked the woman's plan. It doesn't make her less angry, but she understands. However, this doesn't negate the fact that she had five goddamned years to tell everything. Five years, and all this time she kept her in the dark. How many times has she talked about Finn and her loss, for fuck’s sake? How many opportunities did Lexa have to come clean? Yet she never took any of them. Clarke only received guilty looks instead. The looks which now have a completely new meaning. All that glass doll treatment after the lab. Lexa wasn't afraid to break her, she felt guilty about the part she had already played in her destruction.

"I also knew all this time," Anya breaks the silence. "And though I convinced myself that it wasn't my place to tell or the classified information I ought to share, it was cruel. I should have told you a month ago, maybe years ago. I am sorry, Clarke. I really am."

"Thank you." Clarke can't come up with other words to say.

"Do you want me to tell you anything else?"

"I don't."

"Okay then." Anya stands up, not lingering after she's done with her mission. She walks back to the door but stops before exiting the apartment. "Please, don't kill my sister when you talk to her." And it doesn't sound like a joke even by a fraction.

When the woman leaves Clarke is exhausted once again, despite the prolonged sleep she had less than an hour ago. But her brain has no intention of shutting down. All that happened today keeps swirling around in her mind, creating a tangled mess. Her emotions are all over the place, swinging from one to another in a span of a minute. Plucking through weeds, Clarke comes to one important conclusion. She must learn all the facts. No omissions, no bending the truth, no cover-ups. And regardless of how easy it would be to cast her as a villain in her story, Clarke believes there is only one person who will tell her everything.

⠀

She is standing on the familiar porch for the second time in the last twenty-four hours, her mood drastically different. The previous night seems to have happened in a parallel universe or something. Her heart aches for the woman she was only yesterday. Before Clarke can lose her nerve and storm away, she pushes the bell button. The door opens only a couple of moments later, but she doesn't allow herself to assign any meaning to it.

"I think we should talk."

Chapter Text

The day in the office passes in a blur. The mystery of the nameless agents remains for now. Lexa watches the three incomers in Kane's office after his conversation with Jaha, discussing something for half an hour. Two unknown agents leave right after that. Collins stays for a bit, poking around, but after receiving from Octavia an impressive death glare promising terrors, he seems to decide that it's not worth it.

Technically, in Griffin's absence she is the one to give orders, but whatever the men came to say must not be deemed urgent enough to proceed without the team leader. Not that it would be too effective in the first place. The tension in the bullpen can be cut with a knife. Everyone is wound up to a maximum, one strong gust of wind away from exploding. There are a lot of opinions and accusations flowing around, even if nobody actually voices them out loud.

The agents are hardly interacting, silently going about their tasks. It's like they sense the fight brewing and prefer to physically distance themselves to minimize the risks. Everybody pretty much retreats to their corners. Reyes locks herself in the lab after having a screaming match with Anya once they leave the executive floor. Her sister puts on the invincible facade, but Lexa can see right through it that the fight affects her a lot more than she'd care to admit. Green disappears into 'the den', followed by Jordan. Wells is doing his best to avoid his father, immersing himself in work in his laboratory. All things considered, Lexa is genuinely surprised that no one yells their grievances at her during the day.

The agent spends the whole time rethinking all of the decisions that led to this moment. There isn't a doubt in her mind, she made two huge mistakes. She never should have agreed to participate in the plan. And Lexa should have told Griffin the truth right away, or when she started thinking straight again, or when she joined the unit. Or rather any day during these five years, honestly. Instead, she hurt Clarke deeply and irreparably, edging the scars that aren't going to heal right into her heart.

That may not even be the worst part. Having had a long time to think, Lexa ends up with a terrifying question. Did she misjudge her intentions gravely? Was she really trying to protect Clarke or was it just her cowardice? What if all this time as she kept convincing herself to be cautious of not adding more pain, Lexa actually was simply afraid to be confronted with the pain she had already caused. She can't help but think about people being close to her being dealt a horrible hand. Two incredible women suffering tragic fates, and she is in the middle of it as the common denominator. Crashing through their lives like a wrecking ball.

When the brunette comes home, her mind is still buzzing with one possible scenario after another. All in vain, as she is incapable of fixing the past. She is looking up at the ceiling in her living room, imagining a particular life, where she never met Griffin at all when the doorbell rings. Lexa jumps to her feet and goes to the door, expecting Anya or Lincoln to be there. Instead, when she opens it, a rush of adrenaline runs through her body when she sees a blond woman outside of her home.

"I think we should talk," Clarke says in a monotone voice.

Lexa has not anticipated this at all. She imagined being ignored when they inevitably returned to work. Or being screamed at. Or even finishing the case, packing her bags and leaving Polis. Not the blonde on her doorstep wanting to talk to her. That's why it takes her a couple of moments to reply, even if it isn't a real consideration at all. She'd do anything asked of her, really.

"Of course," Lexa tries to keep her tone neutral, stepping aside so that the woman can come in. "Would you like something—"

"No," Clarke cuts off her question. Her expression is guarded, just like it used to be during the first days of their working together.

The coldness of her voice stings, but Lexa knows she deserves it, a lot more than that. The brunette was the one who broke the established peace, there is no one else to blame for this. Everything will be over soon one way or another. She decides to find some consolation in that.

"Couch okay?" she asks and gets a short nod in reply.

The women sit down in silence, Lexa deciding to give Clarke space to approach the talk on her terms. Or she's being a coward again, who knows at this point. For a few moments, they don't speak. Griffin appears to be bracing herself for whatever comes next. Lexa's instincts tell her to do the same, but she denies herself the luxury of a shield. She must experience this all to the fullest.

Some minutes later Clarke speaks, "I need you to tell me everything that happened."

"Okay." Lexa knew where this was going the moment she saw the woman's face this evening.

"No sugarcoating, no lies," Griffin adds. "You owe me this much."

"Okay."

"I mean it. Tell me all that you know," Clarke points out again.

"I promise. No lies." The words taste sour in Lexa's mouth.

"Start from the beginning. Start from when you got the call."

⠀

Lexa was typing out a report on their last operation when she received a call about an urgent rescue required. She didn't get these kinds of ops very often, but her unit was the best available fit at that moment. As soon as she got all the crucial information, she was striding towards her team.

"A distress signal came five minutes ago from two of our undercover agents. Agent Griffin and Agent Collins. They're on the move and being chased." The woman pointed to their newest addition. "Tris, I need you to track the cell's location and coordinate from here. Everybody else, we are moving."

Not three minutes later, Lexa was in her car, racing through the streets with sirens blazing.

"Tris, where are they tracing now?"

"According to the cellular data, they stopped. It's an abandoned factory, I sent the address to you," the young agent's voice sounded via the speaker. "And the photos of the agents as well. I also notified the police, they're sending a patrol for backup. ETA seven minutes."

"Copy that, keep me posted about any developments."

The agent looked at the screen, relieved to find out that the location was only four minutes away. Though fifteen minutes may seem like an adequate time for this kind of response, Lexa knew from experience that every second might be critical. She checked the photos of the agents next, committing their faces to memory. Soon after, a two-story building came into view. She jumped out of the car, going for the trunk to get her vest. As she was strapping it on, the rest of her unit arrived and started doing exactly the same.

Not wasting a moment, she went into the instructing mode. "The territory is huge, so we are going in two teams. Nyko, Quint, you are with me, we take the second floor. Echo, Ryder, and Artigas cover the first. Police are coming as a backup in five."

They passed two cars left on the side of the road and charged towards the building. As they were at the entrance, two gunshots sounded from within the structure. They ran inside, breaking their formation. Lexa located the stairs and sprinted to the second floor, followed by her team.

"Clear," she yelled, examining the first room of the vast area. "Let's split up. I'll take left."

"Copy," said Quint, running in the opposite direction.

Lexa was checking the third room, moving deeper into the building through the space filled with industrial equipment when somebody fired a gun on their floor. As she bolted towards the sound, several rounds in succession followed it. The agent stopped when she reached a big hall full of machines as she noticed the motionless body of a man. A blond woman was lying on the floor not far from him, pointing her gun at the door. Judging by her shaking, she was barely keeping her arm up. Lexa quickly checked the man's pulse, finding it faint under her fingers.

"I located Griffin and one unsub is down. Requesting RA," she said in her earpiece.

Then she got to the hardly conscious woman who lowered her gun as Lexa came closer. "Agent Griffin, I'm Agent Woods. I'm going to get you out of here. Can you walk?"

Lexa's eyes darted over her bloodstained jeans, accessing her injury. The blood was dark and not gushing out, which, if she remembered correctly from the medical aide course, meant it wasn't her artery.

"No, I'm fine, it's fine," Griffin said with obvious strain.  "I need to get to Finn, we got separated."

"Agent, you're bleeding."

"I'm okay. I'm not leaving him here," the woman sounded agitated, her words tangling up together. She attempted to sit up but only winced in pain.

"My team is going to rescue him, you need to worry about yourself." Lexa got her arms around her and tugged her into a sitting position, trying not to provoke her wound more.

"You promise?"

One of the first rules you learn in the academy is not to make any promises, especially when it comes to dangerous developing situations. But when she met the blue eyes staring at her intently, somehow the words slipped out of her mouth without her being able to stop them. "Yeah, I do. Let's go."

Lexa was holding the agent, supporting her upright when she went limp in her arm in a moment. Fuck. The brunette put two fingers on her neck, luckily finding her heart beating in a steady rhythm. Must be pain shock. She hoisted the blonde in her arms, moving towards the exit.

"I've got Griffin. Unconscious, but breathing. Quint, get the unsub. Nyko, I want you on our cover."

"We're done with the sweep. The floor is clear," Nyko confirms. "Moving towards you."

"Tris, what's the EMTs position?"

"They're two blocks away."

"Good, have them meet us near the cars. Tell them not to get closer until we are clear for the whole building."

"Got it."

When two agents met her in the next room, Quint nodded before moving to get the second person. Nyko stayed at her side, surveilling the surroundings for any unexpected surprises, gun held high.

"Artigas, what's your status on Collins?"

"We covered most of the area. No contact yet. Shooting is coming from the B side of the building, we're almost there."

When they reached the stairs, Lexa was stepping down in slow fashion, being careful not to disturb the still unconscious woman in her arms. Three of them almost out of the structure, Lexa caught yet another cacophony of shots coming from her right, followed by loud yelling.

"Let's get out of here, now!" she commanded, before picking up pace.

⠀

Lexa was standing outside the building under the scorching sun, hair under her ponytail wet with sweat. She was keeping an eye on the woman being treated by paramedics. She hadn't regained consciousness, but Lexa was assured that the agent wasn't in any serious danger. They were going to take her to the hospital in a couple of minutes. As the ambulance drove away, Lexa walked to the place where most of the agents and police were gathered. For some reason, even SAC Jaha was on the scene, currently speaking to Agent Collins. 

"One of the shooters is talking," Lexa shared the information she'd received from Artigas when she reached the men. "Turns out it is not actually related to the UC op, there was a hit green-lit on you by the leader of the gang from your previous case, Agent Collins. So, I suggest we arrange a safe location for you until we figure it out."

"Or, if my cover is intact, we can actually let them think they killed me, and I continue working this case."

"What?" She asked confused. Because there was no way she interpreted his words right.

"I mean, if they think I'm dead they won't be coming for me again," Collins explained, which honestly brought zero clarity. "And I can maintain my cover here."

So Lexa did hear him right then. Never in all her years on the job had she heard a more bizarre suggestion, even when she let her probies get creative.

"This is ridiculous. It's not even a long-term op, there is no reason for the pretense. We can put literally anybody in at this stage."

"Yeah, there is no way I'm getting sidelined at my own operation!" Collins sounded riled up by her commentary. He kinda looked like a child who was forbidden candy before dinner, ready to stomp his foot at any moment.

"How can you even suggest that? Isn't Griffin your fiancée?" She got some additional info on the agents and the operation while her team was clearing the building and interrogating the uninjured unsub in custody. "You want to let her think you died?"

"Clarke would understand," the man threw casually.

No, Lexa thought, even only having talked to the woman for a couple of minutes, she would definitely not. In fact, Lexa couldn't imagine how any sane person could. Because this was fucking nuts, put frankly.

"Sir, with all due respect, this is rather extreme." Lexa turned to Jaha, expecting him to put a stop to this useless conversation. Instead, she found a calculating look on his face. "There is absolutely no reason to pursue the idea. You can't be seriously considering this. We need to pull Agent Collins out now, and my team is going to work on neutralizing the threat."

"I appreciate your insight, Agent Woods. However, you are not a part of this operation," the man said, putting all his seniority in his tone. "Your task was to rescue the UCs, and as both agents are out, I believe you've reached the end of the scope of your responsibilities here. Now, Agent Collins, do you think the lead about the location was credible? How close are you to identifying the unsubs?

"Yes, Sir. Very close," Agent Collins failed to conceal the eagerness and self-confidence overflowing in his voice. "I'm sure we are going to have these guys in the handcuffs in no time."

And then what? Did he plan to suddenly return from the dead? Even entertaining this stupid idea was giving Lexa a massive migraine. How were they actually having this conversation? Something was really going wrong because Jaha looked to be seriously thinking over the proposal.

"Sir," Lexa tried once again, hoping to break this clearly temporary madness.

"Thank you, Agent Woods. That will be it," he interrupted her, his voice full of finality like he was swatting her away with a verbal equivalent of a shooing motion.

There wasn't much to be done about it.

"Yes, Sir," Lexa replied, projecting neutrality despite her inner thoughts.

She was sure he just needed a couple of minutes to consider all the holes in this plan and come to reason. Almost sure.

⠀

"And later that day I heard the announcement about Agent Collins' death," Lexa finishes, her mouth dry from the uninterrupted retelling.

Clarke didn't stop her even once to ask any questions or clarifications while Lexa was pouring out everything to the last detail she could remember. And now the silence hangs heavy in the air. It seeps into her body with each breath, taking residence in her lungs. There is so much more Lexa wishes to say, but she restrains herself, giving the woman time to process.

During her whole speech, Clarke's face remained passively plain, all her emotions locked beneath a mask. And despite being capable of reading some feelings that were peeking through, the brunette kept her eyes away, because it felt like an intrusion of privacy. And she has no right to that. Now Clarke is directing her unfocused gaze to the outside world visible in the window.

"Clarke," Lexa tries tentatively when ten minutes pass without speaking.

"No." Clarke stops her with a raised hand. "I need some time."

"Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?"

"No," comes another reserved reply.

Then Lexa will stay. For however long it takes. They can spend an eternity here for all she cares. This time, she can't prevent her gaze from traveling to Clarke. Her mind is solely focused on the woman, trying to envision what she's experiencing, what thoughts are coming to her. A fruitless attempt. Under these unimaginable circumstances, the only thing she can conjure is turmoil. So Lexa simply rests her eyes on the image in front.

Thirty minutes later a question breaks the quiet. "Did you tell me everything you know?"

"I did," Lexa confirms immediately. "All that I can remember."

"Okay." Clarke doesn't say anything else. Doesn't attempt to leave either. And the brunette struggles to gather what's going to happen next. She really doesn't mind sitting here for longer, but she doubts that's even remotely close to what the other woman needs.

"Can I say something?" Lexa asks.

"Yes."

"I know that you don't owe me forgiveness, Clarke. There is no excuse for my actions," Lexa confesses.  "But I want you to know, that keeping this from you is one of my deepest regrets. I'm truly sorry, for allowing the plan to go through, for not saying anything to you then, for continuing with the concealment once we got here. For all of it. I am sorry." 

A response doesn't come in the form of words rather than an intense stare. Clarke's maintaining unbreakable eye contact as if her blues are searching for something in the green eyes. Lexa stays still, not averting her gaze, allowing all her thoughts and emotions to be projected right on her retina, being open and vulnerable. No hiding. No half-truths. She shuts down her self-preservation instincts and lets her each and every feeling for the woman be visible in the dim light of the floor lamp.

"If you lie to me like this again. If you betray my trust again..." Clarke utters.

"I won't," Lexa says with conviction.

Another stretch of silence sets between them. Another studying look. Whatever Clarke sees on her face must be enough for some sort of conclusion.

"I should go," she says, standing up.

"Alright." And Lexa doesn't argue.

There are so many questions in her head, but she bites down the words. Lexa follows the blonde to the door without saying anything, watches as she stops for a second while on the porch, and nods something to herself before getting in her car and driving away. The brunette stays outside for a little longer, her sight fixed on the road.

This day leaves her bone-weary, so Lexa goes to bed soon after. But when she closes her eyes, sleep doesn't come. Instead, she's once again pulled into the vortex of her memories.

⠀

Lexa was standing on a busy hospital floor, keeping her watch by the nurse station. A quick flash of her badge gave her all the information she needed. Griffin had surgery to extract the bullet, her prognosis was a full recovery. Her mental state on the other hand wasn't that great. If Lexa needed any confirmation that Griffin had received the news, she got one as soon as she threw a short glance at her. There, in the hospital bed, was lying a ghost of the woman Lexa met two days ago. Even with blood oozing out on the dirty floor, she looked more alive than she did now. In the whole thirty minutes that Lexa had been standing there, the blonde didn't shift even an inch. Transfixed on the bare wall in front of her.

There were two people in the room with her, her parents, Lexa assumed. She saw them exchange a couple of words among themselves, that prompted no reaction from their daughter, who remained immobile. The couple were constantly throwing concerned glances at the unnerving image of their child staring at nothing. Lexa had a feeling that they were extra protective right now, so even security considerations aside, she doubted her chances of getting anywhere near Griffin while they were in the room.

Later that evening as Lexa came home, she made a beeline for her study right away, needing time to think everything over again. Costia didn't say anything at her short greeting, but the look in her eyes told Lexa that she was still concerned about her withdrawn behavior. I can touch the tension radiating off you, Lex, she told her the day before. And even if Lexa really didn't want her to worry about it, she imagined that it was very true.

She was sitting behind her desk, tapping with a pen on the wooden surface when a voice shouted from the kitchen, "Love, your sister is here. Don't stay there too long, the dinner is almost ready."

"Thank you, Cos," she yelled back when the door opened and Anya came into the room.

"What is going on with you, Lex?" Her sister asked, as always straight to the point, without preamble.

Lexa gave her a short look and made the split-second decision. "I'm going to tell you something, and it can't leave this room."

"Okay," Anya agreed, taking a seat in the nearby chair. "If this is about the rescue from Tuesday, I have already told you, this wasn't your fault. These things happen, regardless of how hard you try to prevent them. And I know how relentless you are."

"He didn't die."

"Come again?"

"Agent Collins. He is alive."

"I'm not sure that I'm understanding correctly what you're saying," her sister sounded rightfully confused.

Lexa gave her a brief account of the preceding events which left Anya looking even more dumbfounded.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed, when Lexa was finished, and then lowered her voice to a more normal volume. "Why in the world would Jaha authorize anything like this?"

"Apparently, it's a promising case." Lexa had done some digging during the previous days. "A lot of big names watching, the stakes are high. He must really want to see it settled."

"But how do you even pull off something like this? This some kind of black ops shit."

"Seems like it. Collin doesn't have any blood relatives, only his fiancée who was already notified. Everyone in the Bureau believes that he didn't make it out of that building. My whole unit received orders to forget about the truth from Jaha directly. All the information on the reports had been doctored." 

"This is insane!" Anya grunted, exasperated.

"I agree."

"You know I don't have a habit of pitying people. But shit. His poor fiancée!"

"I saw her in the hospital today," the brunette admitted.

"Oh, Lex."

"I didn't talk to her, just watched from afar. Anya, I can't do this. The news destroyed her! She looks like she was the one who died."

"You gonna tell her?" her sister guessed.

"I don't have a choice. She at least must know that he's alive if she can't be fully aware of what's happening. I don't care about Jaha's idiotic ambition. Have to wait till she's out of the hospital though, don't need to have an audience."

Anya didn't reply, a pensive expression was playing on her face.

"Do you think I'm crazy for doing this?"

"No, I don't. I agree that she has a right to know. But I think you should be careful and do it without jeopardizing everything you worked for," Anya countered. "That not considering the fact how furious she'll be after learning the truth."

"Better she knows and gets hurt by it, than facing all that grief," Lexa sighed.

⠀

So she knew clearly it then. How could Lexa let the message get lost, is the last thought on her mind.

Chapter Text

Just as expected, everyone in the office is walking on tiptoes around her once again. But this time, instead of getting mad, Clarke decides to reap the benefits of the quiet, thinking and overthinking everything for the hundredth time. When she returned to work the next day after the failed meeting, Kane called her into his office to inform her that as there were no current developments in the case, the briefing could wait. Clarke is free to schedule a new one when she feels able to handle it, and the agent is really grateful for the offer. So the week has been spent with a ton of paperwork and silent hours in her office.

No one on the team has bothered her much with questions or requests, giving her space but keeping an eye on her nevertheless. Clarke has a feeling that her friends are running shifts. Though she's been mostly left to her own devices, during the whole time whenever she's been behind her desk, somebody without a fail has been in the bullpen. Not even once has the agent found herself alone. Counting the time when she was working through a particularly stubborn report one day till very late in the evening. She left the room only to find Octavia, the only one behind a desk on the floor, yawning at the brightness of her computer screen.

The silent watch ends on Friday night when her channel surfing is interrupted by a knock on her front door.

"Open up, Griff," Raven shouts her default greeting from the hall.

When Clarke does, she finds her, Octavia and Wells standing there, holding bags with takeaway and another suspiciously clanking one.

"Is this an intervention?" the blonde jokes while letting everyone in.

"No idea what you're talking about," says Octavia. "This is girls' night."

"Plus me," Wells chimes in.

"Plus unfortunately male Wells," confirms Raven.

Clarke gives a small chuckle and takes the bag from his hands, the one which is stretching under the weight of its contents. There is a variety of glass bottles inside.

"Are we expecting more company?"

"Nah, just us," Rey huffs, taking off her shoes and walking to the kitchen area.

She places the bags on the table, taking out containers of food. Enough to feed a small army which matches the amount of alcohol pretty evenly. Clarke knows better than to question her friends' hedonistic tendencies. So she simply works on setting the table near the couch, getting utensils and glasses out of the cupboard.

They are sitting in the main area and nobody is saying a word. Clarke is eating the best Indian food of her life while constantly receiving short glances from everybody else in the room. Her friends must be dying of curiosity if she thinks about it because they haven't asked her about what happened five years ago. And unless Anya told Raven, which Clarke seriously doubts due to all the angry glares they have been exchanging this week, all they know is that Finn is alive.

The floodgates open after five minutes of silence when Octavia bursts out, "How are you doing, Clarke?"

"I'm okay," the blonde answers without missing a beat.

Raven arches an eyebrow and sends her cut the crap look, but the wild thing is that Clarke isn't lying. She does feel much better. Having returned home from Lexa's that night, she fully expected to be pulled into the shadows again. Yet the darkness didn't come. And when she woke up the next day instead of being suffocated by all-encompassing pain, she felt so much lighter. The boulder of guilt, Clarke wasn't aware that she was carrying all this time fell off her chest. It felt as if for the first time in the last five years she was able to draw a full breath. It's got only better since then. Like somebody dialed up her perception of the surroundings. Colors are brighter, sounds louder, materials under her fingertips are more pronounced. The grained film of grief was dropped off the world, bringing another feeling to the front of her mind.

"I actually am," retorts the blonde. "It's not some kind of perfunctory answer."

"Would you like to tell us what happened?" Wells asks in a cautious voice before adding right away. "It's okay if you don't, of course."

"No, I want to," Clarke says and goes into a shorter version of events she learned from Lexa.

There are a couple of loud reactions during her speech, some curses are uttered under their breaths, but for the most part, Clarke speaks uninterrupted, being able to retell everything in one go. When she finishes, the woman looks at her friends who are wearing various emotions on their faces. Raven is pressing her lips, vexed. Octavia looks downright pissed. Wells is upset.

"That pretty much covers it," Clarke says, leaning back on the cushions and taking a sip of her cider.

The room is quiet for some time, the group seemingly going through all the things they've just learned.

Then Raven speaks, "So, do we hate the Commander?"

And isn't that a great question? During the week, Clarke watched how Lexa spent her time in front of the computer, working through her share of the reports. She looked isolated from the outside world, though Clarke isn't sure how much of it is due to her team's intentions and how much is of Lexa's own making. She hasn't noticed any open hostility towards the woman at least. So, probably it's more of a latter situation.

Clarke did spend a good chunk of her weekend being angry at herself for not being sufficiently angry at Lexa. Rather pointless affair. Despite how many times she looked at it, the brunette doesn't seem like the primary culprit in the story. The woman is responsible for not telling Clarke anything, no doubt here. But the agent can't help but wonder how much time had passed after Finn's 'death' when Lexa broke the surface of her own grief. How deep into her depression had Clarke already fallen? While still holding the Lexa accountable, the blonde wonders what her reasons for continuing with the lie were. From all Clarke learned about Lexa, she has a hard time imagining malice.

Then there is the fact that while giving Clarke the account of that day, Lexa didn't try to soften her with excuses. She didn't attempt to use her own loss to her advantage, she actually didn't say anything about her intention to reveal the truth at all. Had it not been for Anya, that piece of the mosaic would be lost. And this confirms a lot for Clarke. So every time she goes to ignite the fire of her anger, it simply isn't there anymore. Smoldering coals turning to ashes is all that is left. Clarke doesn't hate Lexa, quite the opposite if she's being honest. And she entirely refuses to chastise herself for that.

"I don't think so," she eventually replies.

Then Octavia says out of nowhere, "Lincoln hadn't known."

Clarke is confused for a second about the purpose of that obvious statement, then she notices the tension locked in O's muscles and she understands.

"Guys, you don't need my permission to talk to your partners," Clarke assures her friends and adds looking at Wells. "Or your father."

He must have been waiting for Clarke to broach the subject because as soon as she mentions Jaha, Wells starts speaking rapidly. "I am so sorry for him, Clarke! I should have guessed something was going on. I should have asked more questions back then. I should have—"

The blonde cuts him off, placing a hand on his shoulder. "No, Wells. Neither you nor anyone else could have guessed he was alive. None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? Absolutely nothing."

The man nods in response with a sorrowful look in his eyes. "I still can't believe father would do something this horrific. It's like I don't know him at all."

"You aren't the only one."

Clarke isn't sure she'd ever be able to get over the devastation of learning the truth about Jaha's involvement. She can't imagine how he was able to look at her lying in the hospital bed and say that her fiancé was dead, and then pretend it was real for five long years, coming to every family dinner, to every celebration, all the while he was the one to make the call for the good of some operation. How was he able to look her in the eye knowing that he sanctioned the decision that caused her the torment which kept on chipping on her soul day by day?

The silence grows uncomfortable and Clarke really wishes for a change of topic.

As if reading her mind, or maybe just reading her expressive face, Raven says, "Have you heard about Monty and Harper?"

Clarke gives her a thankful smile before replying, "What about them?"

The rest of the evening is spent in endless chattering, laughing, and consuming an ungodly amount of food. Raven gives her all the Bureau gossip she missed last week which turns out to be a lot. Octavia boasts about her latest adventure date. Wells only listens to them jabbering, asking questions at the right times, and providing his best commentary. After Clarke exchanges goodbye hugs with her friends and closes the door behind them, she walks up to her bed and falls down on the comforter, smiling. Her body is relaxed, and her mind is calm. She never noticed how much space grief occupied in the mind. Forgot the pleasant caress of joy. The safety of serenity.

Clarke takes out her phone and makes a quick call to Kane. She's ready. It's time.

⠀

When Clarke comes to the briefing on Monday, she finds the room already occupied by the whole team. All the seats in the front of the room are taken, leaving her only space in the back. This buffer between her and the new agents seems intentional and Clarke is thankful for the gesture. She does appreciate being exempted from staring right at her ex-fiancé for the whole duration of the meeting. So she takes a free seat and nods at the tall bearded agent at the front of the room, indicating their readiness to start.

"Good morning, everybody," the man begins. "I am Agent Roan Winters and this is Agent Atom Spencer for the past few years we've been working on the Project Cerberus case."

Clarke notes that the agent doesn't introduce Finn which makes her wonder how much of the situation he's aware of. She can't resist throwing a quick look at Finn, standing behind him. Him appearing a lot worse for wear is the first thing that comes to mind. His shorter hair is styled carelessly, and he looks like he hasn't shaved in days. The blonde averts her sight not to make eye contact.

"Agent Collins has been working undercover under the direction of his handler Agent Spencer in an attempt to glean information about the person behind a series of killings via a neurotoxin. We haven't come to any definitive conclusions on the identity of the unsub, only being able to make a list of possible suspects. But when you were researching Lorelei Tsing in combination with the name of the project it triggered an alert and Agent Jaha contacted us to hold a joint briefing."

Clarke is curious if these three are the only ones left on the case. When she worked on the investigation it was a team of at least ten agents actively pursuing it, not counting the UC group. A big promising case under the watchful eyes of the brass. It's a rather bitter discovery to learn that she was abandoned to be crashed by agony for something that fizzled down to be a small minor investigation being dragged through the years.

"Is the project still ongoing?" asks Bellamy.

"Yes, but it's got a lot less active over time. There have been only one confirmed victim this year compared to eight in the first. According to our intelligence, the management was transferred to someone as the unsub started working on something new."

"Could it be Cage?"

"That certainly is a possibility," Agent Winters confirms. "But we don't have anything to prove that as of now."

"So we think that our mad scientist genius gifted her narcissistic sadist of a boyfriend a pet project that makes people lose their minds?" Octavia's huffs. "Just fantastic."

"And that's all that you guys have to show after five years of work?" Raven's voice is a mix of confusion and irritation.

Agent Winters' expression tells Clarke that he is asked this question a lot. He rubs an eyebrow with his knuckles before answering.

"We've also linked her to five cases with vics killed by radiation poisoning seven years ago. You need to understand that she's highly intelligent and excels at covering her tracks," the man sighs exasperated. "I'll be honest with you. This whole operation is a fucking mess. I'm really hoping our two teams together will have enough progress to finally close this damned case."

Winters certainly looks like this investigation is sucking all life out of him and Clarke takes pity on the man. "I think we have to assume that Cage and Tsing are currently working on the two projects together in some capacity. Judging by the lab we found, the Mountain definitely has a scientist amongst them now. A skilled one. Monty, Raven, any progress on the decryption?"

"Very slow, unfortunately," Monty replies. "We can confirm that the drive has a lot of information about Cerberus and Inchor, but right now we don't have any clean data. It might take another week."

"Alright, we don't have any new leads, so we are waiting," Clarke says before returning her attention to the group at the front. "Agent Winters, I assume your team has read the case files?"

"Yes, we did."

"Any questions?" the blonde asks. "Would you like me to find you some space to work here or do you need to return to the TonDC office to continue with the assignment?"

"No questions at this point." Winters looks at his team and two men nod their confirmation. "We're pausing the UC for now, so some temporary desks in your building would be appreciated. I think working in close quarters will be more productive."

"Of course." Clarke thinks for a second about the best candidate for her request that wouldn't cause an incident. "Jasper, could you find the agents some place to work?"

"You've got it." He gives her an OK sign.

"Thank you, Agent Griffin. I'm looking forward to working with you," Winters says.

"Likewise," Clarke agrees. "If no one has anything else to share, you all are dismissed."

Most of the agents have vacated the room when a figure appears in her line of vision, covering the light. Clarke doesn't need to raise her eyes from the file that she's been studying to know who it is.

"No," she says in a firm tone, denying the man the attention he's so desperately craving.

"Come on, Clarke. I just want to talk!" Finn practically whines.

"And I don't."

"We need to talk," he doesn't relent.

Suddenly Clarke remembers how much she hated arguing with Finn. She always got the impression that they were walking in circles, unable to escape the pattern, repeating the same words over and over again until she got nauseous of fighting. She used to think he was just passionate. Now though, it's baffling how she ever found his inability to accept a 'no' attractive. Clarke stands up, ready to get back to her office, when Finn tries to grab her arm. He is only saved from getting slapped by another man coming between him and Clarke.

"I believe Agent Griffin was clear enough. You need to leave." Lincoln is calm, but there is a dangerous undertone in his voice.

"Really Clarke?" Finn snickers. "Are you going to hide behind this big guy?"

"I am not. However, if you don't go away and follow your team right now, I'm talking to your superior and getting you kicked out of my investigation. Now leave!"

Finn stares at her for a moment, before throwing an annoyed "fine" and moving towards the exit.

"Thank you, Lincoln," Clarke says squeezing the man's arm.

"Any time, Clarke," he replies with a smile.

When the agent walks closer to her office, she sees Lexa inside, placing some kind of file on her desk. The woman meets her eyes, nods, and starts striding away back to her place.

"You can talk to me, you know," Clarke says casually.

She's aware of the fact that the last time they had a conversation, her participation came down to mostly one-word replies, because back then she was plagued by a mix of anger, crashing sadness and disorientation. But now, having worked through a lot of her emotions and thoughts, she doesn't mind being around the woman at all. Lexa hasn't been avoiding her per se. More like she was taking account of Clarke's movements and skillfully extracting herself out of their crossing paths. In other words, yeah, Lexa's been avoiding her.

"I know," the brunette replies. "Just wanted to give you some space."

"Well, you don't need any more." It's an awkward conversation, honestly, but Clarke prefers awkwardness to silence.

The green eyes are looking into hers with intensity as if Lexa is trying to decipher some secret message she's hiding. She keeps at it for a few seconds before blinking away her engrossment and offering Clarke a small smile, saying, "Okay."

⠀

⠀

It's Friday and Lexa catches herself daydreaming while staring at the bay view in the window. The temperatures have turned unbearable recently, hot enough to melt the asphalt on the streets, and she wishes for nothing more than to flee the agonizing heat in the cool solace of the forest. They haven't got any big developments this week and Lexa's sure that a weekend away will do her some good. So the plan is to return home, pack her bags, and be on her way first thing tomorrow. The prospect must be too alluring because her imagination keeps popping up the familiar pictures, pulling her attention off her work.

Octavia's voice distracts her from her thoughts, "Griff, what happened? You look like shit."

Lexa's eyes travel to the blond agent walking in their direction with a bag on her shoulder. Though she wouldn't have chosen these exact words to characterize her appearance, Clarke does look off. Her waves are a bit wilder this morning and there are noticeable shadows under her eyes, like she had a troubled night of sleep, tossing and turning.

"Finn happened," Clarke sighs. "Came to my place late at night to talk and wouldn't go away despite me not opening the door and telling him to leave."

"What a jerk!" Blake exclaims. "Did you call the cops?"

"I didn't want to. But I guess I'll have no other choice if he isn't leaving me alone. The irony must be lost on him," the blonde sneers. "He left for five years and now suddenly he can't live without us having a conversation."

"He is an asshole, Clarke. I don't think he's a reasonable person after what he did. Do you want to stay with me for a couple of days, so he doesn't come to your place?"

"Thank you, O," Clarke replies. "But I don't want him to start harassing my friends as well. I'm going to write a report first and see what happens."

"Or, you can go with me to a forest cabin for the weekend. No way he'll find you there," Lexa blurts out without thinking.

What the fuck is wrong with her? Two pairs of eyes snap to her in shock. Clarke's brows are shooting up, eyes almost comically large. She blinks a couple of times as if processing if she heard the brunette right. Lexa would disappear into the thin air if she could. Griffin has only recently learned she was keeping a gigantic secret from her for five years, and now she's offering the woman a getaway weekend. Mortifying. Why can't her brain simply have tighter control of her lips?

Before she can't retract her statement though, Clarke says, "Okay."

"Okay?" Now it's her turn to work through her bewilderment.

"Yeah, if you actually meant it?"

"I did," Lexa confirms, still quite perplexed. "I was thinking of going tomorrow morning, not too early."

"I'll be ready then." Clarke nods. "Your car?"

"Sure. I'll text you the details?"

"Great," the blonde agrees. "Alright, I need to drown myself in some caffeine before even attempting to do any work. I'll talk to you later, O?"

With these parting words, the woman is walking away towards their break room. Lexa catches Blake's eyes, her confusion perfectly mirrored in them. What the hell just happened?

Chapter Text

Lexa is keeping her eyes steadily on the road as Clarke is sleeping, reclined in the passenger seat, letting out little sniffles now and then. Apparently, they have vastly different ideas of what constitutes early. In Lexa's mind, nine o'clock is a pretty decent hour for departure, in Clarke's, it's 'too damn early to be awake on the weekend'. So even though she agreed with Lexa's suggested time, when she came to pick her up, the blonde looked at her heavy-eyed and huffed, like mornings personally offended her. It took all of five minutes for the woman to doze off, leaving Lexa in the quiet.

It's a nice day, sunny and cloudless, not yet too hot. Despite the weekend, there aren't many cars on the road, so Lexa can enjoy the mindless act of driving, her fingers lightly drumming on the steering wheel. Beautiful scenery has always been a bonus to the cabin getaways. Expansive green fields where she sometimes could spot horses. Hills covered with firs and pines. A couple of lakes glistening with reflected sunbeams. Since Lexa was little, something within her has come alive at the view.

An hour passes and Clarke starts shifting in her seat. A few moments later she opens her eyes and mutters a soft 'hey', still sleepy. The picture is honestly adorable.

"Hi," Lexa replies in a quiet voice, giving her time to adjust to reality.

Clarke doesn't say anything for a while, only pulls her seat up and follows the changing landscape with her eyes. They're driving through a big stretch of agricultural territory, surrounded by fields of golden wheat on both sides.

"Hungry?" Lexa asks a while later.

"I could eat."

"There is breakfast on the backseat."

Clarke reaches for the bag, taking out a wrapped sandwich with her name on it. She gives it a testing sniff to discern its contents.

"It's mostly cheese," Lexa supplies, giving her a short glance. She doesn't miss the way Clarke's eyes light up.

"How did you know?"

"Oh," the brunette chuckles. "Your love affair is no secret."

Clarke doesn't wait any longer, peeling off the brown parchment paper and biting into her food.

"This is good," the blonde comments, chewing slowly. "Where did you get it from? I may steal your sources."

Lexa doesn't fight a smile at her compliment. "I made it, actually. Also, there is some coffee for you in the green thermos."

The blonde takes another bite, hums appreciatively, and returns her attention to the bag. She pulls out the thermos and two cups, gesturing with one in Lexa's direction.

"Would you like some as well?"

"I don't drink coffee," Lexa admits. "Wouldn't say no to some tea, though. It is in the yellow one."

Clarke gives her a calculating look before retrieving her beverage and pouring some into a cup that she places in the holder between them.

"Sugar and cream are somewhere inside as well," Lexa adds.

Truth be told, she might have gone slightly overboard with her packing. She kinda has enough to open a small roadside café if they're ever in need of one. That's not counting the bags with groceries in her trunk. Lexa still isn't fully convinced that today isn't a figment of her imagination. And even though Clarke told her she doesn't need space, and she acts normally around her, Lexa can't stop herself from treading carefully as if on unsteady ground. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. But she's getting increasingly more relaxed as the minutes pass by.

"Tell me about the place again?" Clarke asks, going through her breakfast.

To Lexa's surprise after her prompt agreement, the blonde didn't even ask for many details yesterday. Most of her questions were related to the things she needed to bring and the general location of their destination.  Like it's a perfectly regular occurrence for her to let somebody take her to an unfamiliar place somewhere in the woods.

"The cabin has been in my family for generations. I believe my great-great-grandfather built the house himself. It's quite secluded, not many neighbors in the area and the town is about half an hour drive away."

"Do you go there often?"

"Anya, Linc, and I used to spend a lot of time there during the summers as kids," the brunette replies. "Now we don't go as frequently, but I really love the place. Very peaceful, nice break from the bustling city."

"I used to spend a lot of my summer breaks in a hospital."

"Your mother is a doctor, right?" Yes, Lexa checked a bit on Clarke's family and background, so what?

"A chief of cardiothoracic surgery," the blonde says. "I was planning on going in her footsteps actually, finished my pre-med degree before signing up for the academy."

"Why didn't you?" Lexa can easily imagine Clarke being a great doctor in another life with her care for people and attention to detail.

"I don't know how to explain it, but it didn't feel right. I loved learning, but I figured pretty early that just the thought of treating patients on a daily basis gave me enough anxiety already, and it didn't get better with time."

"Sounds reasonable," Lexa comments.

"Yeah, but I still felt like a failure for a bit before I found a new path."

"Why did you decide to go into the FBI?"

"Totally stumbled upon that one," Clarke chuckles. "Someone in a coffee shop was discussing it, so I googled the requirements. Later when I got in, it turned out that I wasn't half-bad at it."

"Clarke, you're an SSA in charge of a successful unit, you're doing much better than 'not half-bad'." For some reason, it feels important to Lexa to state, especially after all the instability of the recent days.

"Thank you," the woman replies with a smile.

"Plus, being a federal agent is just another way to help people," Lexa adds.

"Yeah," Clarke huffs. "Tell that to my mother."

"Not a big fan of our job?"

"You can say that," her tone suggests that it is a huge understatement. "She's always hated my new dangerous career path but when Finn died she kinda took it as one more massive argument in her stash to convince me to quit."

Lexa is stunned by this admission. If someone ever used Costia as a bargaining chip in a fight, she'd be devastated. For a mother to say something like that? How horrific. She's biting her tongue not to express any of the comments flying in her mind out loud not to hurt Clarke more.

"You're trying to keep your words inside so hard that your face might crack," she muses.

"That's fucking vicious," Lexa lets out.

"Yeah, we aren't exactly on the best terms these days."

"I'm sorry." Lexa wonders if Clarke told her parents about Collins' return and what she had said if so. How would her mother react to the news?

Clarke stays silent after that as Lexa's navigating her way on a dirt road surrounded by tall pine trees. Soon a two-story house comes into view. It's not too grand, but built with a big family in mind, so it has more than enough space to host get-togethers from time to time. Lexa parks the car in the driveway, shuts down the engine, and pops up the trunk to retrieve the bags. Meanwhile, Clarke is looking around, studying the place. Lexa wonders what catches her attention the most, it's an interesting experience, to see the place you're so familiar with through a different set of eyes.

"Let's get settled in and I can give you a tour?" she suggests.

"Sure," Clarke replies, picking up her things from the backseat.

Lexa didn't expect a huge bag the blonde brought with her, but who is she to comment on it, while she's currently holding two overflowing bags of food? The women walk along the gravel path towards the door and Lexa struggles to take the keys out of the back pocket of her jeans with all the things she's carrying. She nearly jumps when she feels Clarke's fingers ghost her butt.

"Here you are," the woman says, handing her the bunch with a fake innocent smile.

"Thanks," Lexa replies in a monotone, keeping her breathing even. She hasn't considered Clarke being in a playful mood during the trip which now seems like a big miscalculation because it has a decent chance of killing her rather prematurely.

Lexa steps inside, kicks off her shoes near a wide dresser in the entryway, and walks to the kitchen. The first floor has an open plan not too different from her own house. There's a kitchen area on the right and a living area on the left in the front portion which grows into a bathroom and a dining area with a large table that overlooks the forest through floor-to-ceiling windows. Lexa places the grocery bags on the kitchen table, opting to unpack them after the tour.

Clarke is moving around the floor, her gaze traveling along the little details of the place. A red-brick fireplace, a wall full of family photos, soft leather armchairs cracking with age.

"The bedrooms are upstairs," Lexa comments when Clarke's done with her survey, pointing to the staircase on her right.

Clarke nods at follows her to the second floor. There is a corridor with three rooms on each side. Lexa inclines her head towards the first door on the left.

"You can take this one, it's the second-biggest bedroom, and it's facing the west so you won't be bothered by the sun early in the morning."

"Thank you," the blonde smiles and opens the door, putting her bag down by the wall.

"The bathroom is downstairs, this floor is mostly bedrooms besides the library," Lexa says.

"You have a whole library in here?"

"Kinda. It's not that big or anything." The brunette walks towards the last room on the left, opposite her own bedroom, and opens the door.

Despite not being on the east, the room is bright enough already thanks to another set of tall windows and a skylight. Three walls are covered with shelves filled with books, there is also a couch and three armchairs in the middle of the room, and a desk by the window. Lexa loves spending her time in the room, flipping through the pages.

"My grandfather was sort of a bookworm," Lexa explains.

"Was he the one that got you into reading?" Clarke asks.

"I suppose. He gifted us a lot of books when we were little, it didn't stick that much with Anya, but I've always loved diving into various worlds."

"This place looks amazing," Clarke says running her fingers along the spines.

Then her eyes find a bunch of her cousin's art supplies stocked on one of the shelves and Lexa sees a little glimmer sparking in her irises.

"Those are Linc's," the brunette comments. "I'm sure he won't mind if you borrow some."

"Oh," Clarke turns back to her a bit startled. "I wasn't ... well. I... thank you."

Her face is full of distress and Lexa feels like a change of topic is in order. "So, there is a lake nearby, and I was thinking, with this weather, it's a perfect place to spend the morning before it gets too hot. We can go now if you aren't hungry?"

"Sounds great," Clarke says, appearing relieved not needing to explain her reaction. "Give me five minutes to change, and I'll find you downstairs?"

"Okay."

⠀

 ⠀

Clarke made a grave mistake. Somehow, she hasn't accounted that swimming entails bathing suits. So now, she is commanding her disobedient eyes to stop staring at Lexa in a green bikini. Which is so fucking hard that it almost physically pains her to avert her gaze. She can't stop herself from sneaking glances at Lexa's lean body and sun-kissed skin though. As she's facing away, Clarke can study the tattoo she noticed at the gala. It's a series of intricate circles covering the lower part of the brunette's back. Suddenly Clarke's warm everywhere and the sun has nothing to do with it. It takes plenty of effort not to drool at the image of the gorgeous woman in front of her. That would be creepy, nobody likes creepy.

"Are you going to swim like that?" Lexa asks turning to Clarke and her eyes move over her body.

The blonde looks down at her outfit of a plain white T-shirt and jeans shorts she chose for the walk. With all the gawking she forgot to take off her own clothes. She makes a quick work of undressing, soon standing in her own black suit.

"What do you think about cliff diving?" Lexa asks.

"No particular feelings," Clarke drawls. "Haven't ever done it."

"Would you like to?"

"Maybe." Clarke isn't afraid of heights or anything, but the suggestion makes her a bit nervous nevertheless.

"We can go up, and you decide there?"

"Okay," the blonde agrees and follows Lexa.

They walk along a well-trodden path up the hill, passing majestic tall trees everywhere. When Lexa mentioned the lake, Clarke expected to find a sandy beach. Instead, they arrived at a rocky shore, framing clear still water. A couple of other cliffs are visible in the distance. The place looks straight out of a magazine ad, all the blues, grays, and greens coming together in a picture of serenity.

When they get to the top, Clarke glances back at the water. They aren't terribly high, but an uneasy feeling continues squeezing her stomach.

"Three of us have been jumping off this cliff ever since we were kids. The bottom is clear, it's perfectly safe," says Lexa and then adds immediately. "But no pressure whatsoever, we can get down and swim off the shore."

Clarke hesitates for a moment, trying to shut up her anxious brain that is sending her highly detailed pictures of life-threatening scenarios. A minute or two passes before she reaches a decision.

"Can we jump together?" she asks the brunette.

"Of course," Lexa replies, taking her hand.

Clarke looks down at their linked fingers. "Don't let go, okay?"

"Why would I?"

The blonde keeps to herself all the instances of small broken promises she's faced over the years. "On three?"

"Alright," Lexa says, leading her closer to the edge. "One. Two." Her eyes move over to Clarke's face before the final count. "Three."

The fall is short, but it's enough to get the adrenaline into Clarke's bloodstream. A few seconds later, the warm water surrounds them everywhere as they go under. Lexa is holding her hand even when they break the surface. Clarke is staring at her with wild eyes as she's having an overpowering urge to laugh. The rush she got is exhilarating.

"Oh my god," Clarke exclaims. "This is awesome!"

"Right?" Lexa grins and swipes the wet dark hair off her eyes with a free hand. "Would you like to do it again?"

Clarke doesn't wait an extra second before starting to thread water to get back to the shore. They jump a couple more times in quick succession and Clarke is having so much fun. But after her fifth dive, tiredness starts to creep in, and she finds it a lot harder to return to the rocks. The brunette notices and suggests taking a break for lunch and the blonde gladly accepts. Having consumed two more sandwiches of Lexa's creation, Clarke lies down on a warm flat stone, gazing up at puffy clouds traveling along the blue sky. Rejoiced in being relaxed and carefree. She didn't expect to enjoy herself here so much, and she's really grateful to the spontaneous part of her that took Lexa up on her offer.

Then the weather starts to change, more of the clouds are gathering above, getting grayer until the sky is overcast. A light breeze begins to rattle the leaves.

"I think we should get back to the house before it rains," Lexa says.

Clarke nods her agreement, and they start putting their things away in the bag. She decides to keep her bikini on, the way back isn't long, and it's mostly dry anyway. Lexa seemingly has the same idea. The women finish packing and hit the road after a few minutes. They're walking in comfortable silence. And then there is this feeling again, gaining strength beneath Clarke's sternum. The same magnetic pull she experienced on Lexa's porch. Clarke slows down her steps before stopping completely moments later. Lexa notices after a few paces, turning around to find the blonde, standing still in the deep of the forest. The greens find the blues, locking their unblinking gazes.

It lasts only a couple of seconds before Clarke breaks the stare and catches a glimpse of Lexa's mouth. When she looks up again, the understanding is flaring in the brunette's eyes. The next moment, Lexa's kissing her. Her lips taste like desire and green tea. And Clarke is a goner right then. She drops her bag to the ground, moving her hands up to the nape of Lexa's neck, grabbing a fistful of chestnut locks to pull her closer. Lexa lets out a small moan, taking hold of Clarke's waist as she starts walking them back, and after a few steps, the blonde's back is pressed against a tree trunk. Bark bites into her skin, but she doesn't mind at all.

Lexa slides her tongue in, deepening the kiss, and Clarke gives out a moan of her own, dissolving into the embrace. Wildfire is blazing under her skin, following the path of Lexa's wandering hands. And she's genuinely afraid for a second that she'll burn down. All the sensations are overwhelming her starved body. Clarke barely has the presence of mind to start exploring the brunette's body in return, one of her hands comes to rest at the small of her back, pulling her top up a little.

Lexa's thigh separates her legs, providing the delicious pressure right where she's craving it. And Clarke is dying. Little electricity bolts flicker in her fingers as Lexa's lips break off the kiss moving along her jaw first, then travelling across her neck. Clarke closes her eyes and leans her head back, giving Lexa the best access. It's all too much after many years without close physical contact that she's already seconds away from coming. Lexa bites the side of her neck simultaneously pressing her thigh a little harder, and it does Clarke in.

She falls over the edge, a wave of pleasure rocking through her. Her muscles go limp and if not for Lexa's strong body pressing her into the tree, she would melt into a pile of goo on the mossy ground. Clarke hides her face into the crook of Lexa's neck, breathing her in.

"Did you just…?" the woman whispers, her fingers moving along Clarke's skin in feather-light touches.

"Mhm," she murmurs into the brown hair, ripples of the orgasm still echoing in her body.

Some minutes pass before the blonde comes back to reality, yet continuing feeling very lax, like a mound of pliable clay. She returns her lips to Lexa's, kissing her at a leisurely pace, with declining urgency. They don't relish in the renewed contact for long though because a clap of thunder sounds between the trees, followed by another right away. Then a downpour of rain falls from the sky. They break off, looking at each other for a second, before rapidly picking up their bags from the ground.

Lexa takes her hand and shouts in the noise, "Let's go!"

Clarke starts running immediately, keeping her eyes on the forest floor so as not to trip over some root or stone. The women are sprinting through the woods, giggling wildly. But by the time they make it to the house, both of them are drenched. As soon as the door closes, Clarke is kissing Lexa again, parting her lips instantly, licking her way into the brunette's mouth. 

They drop their bags by the entrance, moving deeper into the cabin toward the stairs without separating. Lexa's clawing at the hem of her now see-through T-shirt and Clarke takes the hint right away, lifting her arms up. Lexa's top is next. They are leaving a trail of wet clothes on the floor leading up to Lexa's bedroom. The rain didn't cool the blonde down in the slightest, on the contrary, making her desire more layered.

Once they're in the middle of the room, the women break off for a moment, exchanging charged looks. Lexa is panting, her eyes are impossibly green, glinting with arousal. Clarke supposes she isn't any less wild, as her heart is thumping in her chest, spreading happy chemicals through her veins. The blonde raises her hand, tugging at the string of Lexa's bikini top, the knot giving up easily under her pull. Then her attention shifts to the bottoms, she drags them down the long, toned legs until they fall down to the ground and Lexa kicks them away. The next moment Clarke pushes her on the plush bed.

She's drinking in the sight in front of her. Utterly gorgeous woman, bare and sprawled across the covers. Chest rising and falling with heavy breathing. All elegant lines and velvet skin. Clarke is so turned on that she feels slightly dizzy. She walks to the edge of the bed until her shins bump into it. Her hands go up behind her to unclasp her swimsuit in a quick motion. The piece of clothing drops to the floor, followed by her trunks. She's never felt any particular pride about her body, but the way Lexa's hungry gaze roams over her naked form ignites the confidence in her.

The blonde crawls onto the bed, careful not to squash Lexa, and moves up until their lips meet again in a heated kiss. Lying down, Clarke moans when their skin makes contact. They make out for a while until their exchange gets more frenzied, bites growing in number. Clarke pulls away, latching her mouth to the side of Lexa's neck instead. She moves slowly, leaving a wet path down the brunette body, grazing her teeth just about her breast.

"Fuck," Lexa cries out, clutching the sheets in her fists when Clarke pulls the stiffened nipple into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it. "Fuck, Clarke!"

The sound travels to right between the blonde's legs, making her even more soaked if it's possible. She lets the glistening peak out of her mouth and blows on it before moving to the other one. Lexa's muttering something illegible when she gives it a persistent suck and Clarke has to press her hand to the woman's hip to stop her from squirming around.

"Please, Clarke," Lexa begs breathless. "Please."

The blonde complies, turning her mind to kissing Lexa's stomach instead. The muscles of her abdomen flutter under her lips. The lower she moves, the more agitated Lexa gets. Spreading her legs wide, nudging Clarke down with a foot propped on her shoulder.

"Please," she repeats in a hoarse voice.

All the moans and sounds falling off the brunette's lips are almost all it takes for Clarke to lose it again. She lies down on her stomach fully, getting situated into the space between the woman's legs, coming face to face with the small bundle of nerves. Just a light brush of her tongue on Lexa's clit is enough for the brunette to arch her back off the mattress, craving more contact, proving that she is just as worked up as Clarke.

Lexa bucks her hips, making the blonde intensify the pin on her side. She moves her tongue in lazy strokes with no particular pattern or rhythm while the fingers of her free hand are lightly running over the glistening folds.

"Don't," Lexa exhales in a plea.

Clarke's pretty sure she understands the unsaid words but stops anyway only to receive a loud desperate groan.

"Don't tease me," the brunette tries again in a shaky voice.

"I wouldn't dare, Commander." Clarke smiles into the soft skin of her inner thigh before giving her hipbone a light bite.

"Clarke," Lexa whines on the verge of crying.

Her broken voice makes Clarke take mercy on her. She thrusts two fingers at once into the sleek heat returning her mouth to her clit. The blonde is picking up the pace while alternating between sucks, licks, and soft grazes of her teeth, leaving Lexa in a thrashing loud mess. Soon Clarke's curling her fingers and Lexa is letting out a litany of curses mixed with her name and calls to the higher power. Tension in her muscles building up, she's careening toward her release. The press of the blonde's palm on her lower belly combined with a particularly hard suck is enough for Lexa to shudder screaming Clarke's name and fall back on the bed. Clarke feels Lexa's walls clenching around her fingers and gives her a couple of gentle swipes of her tongue, mindful of sensitivity.

After a few moments, Lexa tangles her fingers in the blond hair and tugs Clarke up until she's on all fours, her knees bracketing her hips. She's hovering just above, keeping her weight off the brunette and Lexa slaps her thigh lightly, signaling for her to fully sink down. Clarke lets out a loud gasp when fingers dig into her ass cheeks in reward. Her body is fully pressed against Lexa's, and they exchange slow unhurried kisses despite the scorching fire inside her. Clarke's melting into the silkiness of Lexa's skin, the edges of her mind getting fuzzy. She missed this kind of closeness that comes with sharing your pleasure with someone, and she's utterly entranced now.

After a while Lexa pushes her up into a sitting position, leaving Clarke's vulva pressing on the hard planes of Lexa's abs. Then blonde puts down her hands on each side of Lexa's torso and gives an experimental swing with her hips, whimpering at the contact. Shivers run down her spine as Lexa's hands come up to knead her breasts. Clarke makes another impatient movement, smearing her wetness on the brunette's stomach.

One of Lexa's hands moves between Clarke's legs, pushing a finger inside her as her thumb starts drawing circles over her clit. Clarke feels that a small spark will be enough for her to combust. She loses herself in the rocking motions. Meanwhile, Lexa's fingers work wonders, coaxing out the sounds that Clarke had no idea lived inside her. Her breathing comes in uneven gasps, her heart rate is through the roof, and she is so, so close. She chokes on a moan as Lexa changes the angle, hitting the spot on her front wall on every second trust. It only takes a couple of those for an orgasm to explode everywhere in her body. All her strength leaves her at once, and she drops down limp onto Lexa. She barely registers soft hands caressing her back. When Clarke rolls over on her pillow a few minutes later, she's staring at the ceiling, her mind blissfully blank. She feels like Lexa took her apart and reassembled the pieces. 

"That was—" the blonde utters when her mouth finally remembers how to form words.

"Yeah," Lexa agrees, sounding similarly wrecked.

Clarke turns her face in the brunette's direction, failing to contain a smug grin when their eyes meet. "Ending a five-year dry spell in a spectacular fashion."

"You haven't since?"

"No," Clarke confirms, starting to absently trace patterns into Lexa's skin

The brunette doesn't say anything, only returns her smile and lazily places her palm onto Clarke's hip. Both of them looking thoroughly worn out, they spend a long time slowly running hands over each other's skin with no intention other than to relish the moment.

⠀

When they finally get out of bed, the sky has already started turning dark. Clarke has been declining Lexa's offers of food for the best part of an hour, but when she stands up, slightly swaying on her feet, she understands that maybe she shouldn't have. Her energy reserves are clearly in need of some replenishment. 

She gets a change of clothes from her room and walks downstairs where Lexa is examining the fridge that's almost bursting with the amount of food stocked.

"How many days did you expect us to stay here?" Clarke asks.

"Only these two," the brunette answers sheepishly, avoiding her eyes.

"And what's with the minimart you brought with us?"

"I didn't know what you like, so I packed different options," Lexa admits.

Clarke doesn't remember when was the last time somebody bought half of a freaking store just to make sure she had something to eat. It's honestly so Lexa, and the blonde starts to rethink a couple of the interactions they had before.

"I'm not a picky eater. Anything special that you'd like to have?"

"How about a steak with some roasted potatoes and veggies?" Lexa offers.

Clarke's stomach growls after picturing the meal. Turns out she's a lot hungrier than she thought. "Sounds great. You cook the steaks and I make the sides?"

"Okay."

The women work on dinner moving around the kitchen like a well-oiled mechanism, passing tools and ingredients. Chatter flows the whole time, they exchange stories about their childhood, the academy, and their time in the Bureau. Lexa tells her how she burst into tears on her seventh birthday when everybody popped out of the darkness yelling 'surprise' at a secret party. Clarke shares how she accidentally locked her training officer in a storage room without a phone for half an hour during her first month at the FBI. The conversation feels natural and easy like they've known each other for a lot longer than they do.

The weather returned to normal, it was one of those summer rains, intense but very short, but the temperature cooled quite noticeably. Lexa suggests eating outside, so when the food is done, Clarke is setting the table that they dragged onto the lawn while the brunette is bringing things from a shed in order to light a little bonfire. They settle in wooden deck chairs near the pit. The blonde puts the plate on her lap and cuts a piece of meat. Now, Clarke is alright in the kitchen, nothing special but sufficient enough to feed herself and others, nobody has ever complained. But she had her suspicions and this only confirms it, Lexa is great at it. The meat is tender and flavorful, with exactly the right amount of salt and spices. All the culinary experiences of the trip are beginning to spoil her.

"The steak is amazing," Clarke comments before taking another bite.

"Thank you," Lexa replies with a smile. "Everything is great."

They keep eating in silence, the only sounds are the clanking of cutlery and crackling of the fire. Very soon Clarke places her empty plate on the table and relaxes back into the chair, full and satisfied and delightfully boneless. The heat from the fire pleasantly dances along her exposed skin. Lexa finishes her food after a few minutes, doing the same. She's studying Clarke's face with brows slightly furrowed, eyes unsure.

"What is it?" the blonde asks, unable to wait for long.

"I wanted to talk," Lexa says.

"Okay."

"But I don't want to ruin the moment," she adds in a lower voice.

Ah, the talk then. Really, Clarke is so positively drowsy that if the perfect mood for these kinds of conversations exists, it doesn't get any better than this. Plus, she spent the whole two weeks in her head, analyzing and remembering and reflecting on so many little things, her mind is pretty set by now.

"Let's talk then," she agrees, turning to face Lexa.

"I wanted to tell you that I now realize how much I fucked up. I can't turn back time, believe me, I would if I could. But I can promise you to never keep this kind of secret from you again."

Lexa's tone is earnest and sincere. And despite everything, Clarke trusts that she truly means it.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" she asks.

"I really thought I was protecting you. But maybe I was also protecting myself a bit from witnessing your pain," the brunette confesses.

"But you were planning to tell me initially, weren't you?"

"How do you—" the woman mutters confused before the realization flashes across her features. "Of course, Anya told you. Yeah, I was. After you were released from the hospital."

"I wish you'd had a chance," Clarke states more like a fact and not a regret. A long pause hangs in the air before she adds. "I forgave you, Lexa. Though I can forget everything in an instant. I think it'll take me some time to lower my guards down all the way again."

"Thank you. Really." Lexa offers her a nod and a cautious smile. "I understand."

They don't talk after that for a while, lying in their chairs enjoying the peaceful night. Clarke keeps wishing for the softness of Lexa's body beside her. And when the woman returns to her seat after stroking the fire, she decides that there's no reason to deny herself the pleasure. So she simply stands up, walks to the nearby chair, and lies down, tucking herself into the brunette's side as the woman hugs an arm around her waist. Lexa stretches her other arm, plucking a sheer blanket from under the table, and covers them more for comfort rather than warmth.

Clarke leans her head back on the woman's shoulder and looks up at the sky. The stars are so much brighter than they are in the city.

"The sky is really beautiful in here," Clarke whispers.

"It is," Lexa agrees. "I used to spend a lot of time stargazing when I was little."

The blonde turns her head to see the woman. "So are you going to give me a lecture about constellations now?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

"That would be too cheesy," Lexa laughs.

"But you know all of them, don't you?"

The brunette only shrugs in response.

"Of course, you do," Clarke giggles. "You're such a nerd, I love it. Now I really want that lecture."

Lexa shoots her an incredulous look and Clarke purposefully presses her lips in a pout, making big pleading eyes.

The brunette gives up quite fast, sighing and pointing to the sky. "Do you see that bright star?"

 ⠀

⠀

Lexa is inhaling the moist pine air of the forest as her feet are landing on the packed ground of a trail. It's relatively early in the morning, and she went outside for her typical run. Even while keeping her breathing steady, it's hard to suppress the bright smile that appeared on her face the moment she opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was unruly blonde waves, then she registered their owner snuggled into her side. Clarke never made it to her own room last night, flopping on Lexa's bed and falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. When Lexa joined her under the covers, it took her a while to drift off, all the excitement of the day playing in her mind on repeat. A lot of time has passed since she was this ecstatic.

Then, when Lexa woke up, another emotion was added to the mix. Something she thought she'd left behind a long time ago. Fear. This awful gut feeling whispering to her that something horrible is about to happen. The problem is, when Costia was taken, the part of her brain responsible for keeping people she cares about safe got broken and has been malfunctioning ever since. These days it likes to scream at her from time to time regardless of the appearance of any danger. Which is goddamn annoying to put it mildly, and something, that even with professional help, she was only able to tone down to manageable levels. Lexa's well aware that bad things don't happen just because you dare to be happy. But tell that to her screwed-up brain. It's also too early in whatever they're doing to freak Clarke out with the intensity of her feelings. So here she is, running around, grinning like an idiot while fighting to smother her worries.

It takes about an hour to convince herself of the lack of actual threats. Lexa finishes her lap and returns to the house, goes upstairs, and slowly opens the door to her room. She finds Clarke still in the bed in a cocoon of blankets, shielding her face from the sun. The brunette starts quietly taking off her sweaty clothes to get in the shower, but regardless of her attempt, the woman begins to stir. Sleepy unfocused eyes peek from under the covers.

"Hey," Lexa whispers. "Go back to sleep, it's early."

"What are you doing?" the blonde questions, her words slurring a bit.

"I'm going to take a shower after a run. You should sleep some more."

Clarke must find the information intriguing, because she drags the blanket lower, showing her whole face, and asks, completely ignoring the suggestion, "Can I join you?"

The question causes a feverous wave to roll from Lexa's head to her toes. The words are out in an instant, completely bypassing her conscious mind, "You should."

The blonde gives her a wolfish grin, kicking off the blanket and exposing her bare fair skin.

⠀

⠀

As they are having breakfast outside, Clarke keeps yawning into her coffee cup. That's probably why Lexa suggests a more passive plan for the day. So they decide to spend the afternoon in the library. The brunette gets the book that she brought on the trip and offers Clarke to choose anything she wants from the shelves. There is a historical romance with a stunning cover that's basically calling her name. She gets the book and takes a seat in one of the armchairs, pulling her feet up as Lexa goes for the couch.

They stay silent, only a flipping of the pages is heard in the room for a while. Then Clarke notices a change in the brunette's pattern of breathing. She looks up and surprisingly sees that the woman has dozed off, her fingers still holding the book. The sun rays coming through the skylight, decorating her form. Lexa seems so peaceful in her sleep that Clarke's heart catches. A long-forgotten urge is gaining strength within her and her gaze involuntarily flies to one of the shelves filled with art supplies.

Clarke hesitates, getting reacquainted with the desire, learning the feel of it on the tips of her fingers, patiently waiting for it to take shape. She can't deny the doubt creeping in at the same time. Not even once has the blonde picked up any of her paints in five years. What if that part of her is irrevocably lost and what she's experiencing now is more like a phantom limb pain? Wishing for something that isn't there anymore. Clarke looks back at sleeping Lexa and the want to capture the moment exceeds any of her fears. After all, how can she know for sure if she doesn't try?

Clarke stands up, setting the book aside, and walks to the shelves. She sorts through her possible options and opts for a graphite pencil. Plain and familiar. Exactly what she needs for the return. And Clarke's always enjoyed how the simplicity of the medium pushed her to dig deep in her expression. There is an empty sketchbook among the supplies, so Clarke takes it along with the pencil set and returns to her armchair. She places the objects on her lap and takes a deep inhale. When a first line is placed on the page, it all returns to her in one powerful surge. Engrossed in her work, Clarke misses the minutes ticking away, the sun changing its position. She's drawing and drawing and drawing. Determined to show Lexa's beauty on paper.

Only Lexa suddenly jerking upright, taking labored breaths, breaks Clarke out of her trance. The sketchbook forgotten, she rushes to her side, pressing a calming hand to her thigh.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, you're okay," she mutters soothingly. "What were you dreaming about?"

"I—" Lexa swallows audibly. "I don't know. Some nightmare."

Clarke hugs her closer, circling one of her arms firmly around Lexa's waist. The brunette relaxes into her hold and puts her head on Clarke's shoulder, the tension in her muscles gradually easing off. The women breathe in unison for some time, Lexa's heart rate getting back to normal. Then her eyes catch on an open sketchbook on the coffee table. She stretches out an arm while looking at Clarke questioningly.

"It's not finished yet," the artist explains.

"May I?"

Clarke doesn't allow herself time to overthink it and worry about the woman's reaction. "Sure."

Lexa picks the thing up with gentle hands as if holding something precious. Clarke can see in her eyes that she understands the significance of the lines on paper without any words said out loud. She studies the brunette for reactions as her gaze travels along the picture.

"It's amazing, Clarke," Lexa says in awe. "You are very talented."

"Thank you." The blonde smiles. "I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to draw again."

"I'm glad that you did. You're great at it." Lexa leaves a light kiss on her temple and then adds in a light tone. "Plus, no one ever tried to seduce me with a portrait."

"Seduce you, hah?" Clarke playfully slaps her thigh, all the worries forgotten for now.  "Your moans this morning didn't tell me that you require any more of that."

She grins broadly when Lexa lets out a mock shocked gasp, her cheeks hurting from all the smiles that have been playing on her face for the past two days.

Chapter Text

Clarke is staring at a coffee pot, waiting for the liquid treasure to be ready, when a finger pokes her in the right cheek. As she turns, her eyes meet Octavia's narrowed gaze.

"Griffin, what's wrong with your face?"

"What?" Clarke asks, confused.

"Your face," Octavia repeats as her finger circles the area. "It's doing something weird."

Clarke can't exactly see what's going on with her features, but she can make an educated guess. Ever since she exited Lexa's car yesterday evening, her lips have been stuck in a permanent smile. It made her do a double take as she caught a glimpse of herself while passing the hall mirror. It's not like she hasn't been smiling recently, just not as brightly. Or as much. Not with her whole being either. It's only a rush, she tells herself, it won't last long. Yet somehow the comeback to reality, imminent in her near future, doesn't bother Clarke at all. In a span of two weeks, she had a complete one-eighty from deep trenches of grief to quickly developing feelings for a new person. But there is zero whiplash surprisingly. She feels good, great actually, for more reasons than one. 

Her drift off may be a touch too obvious because Octavia's eyes widen as she whisper-shouts, "Oh my god, Clarke! No way! You and the Commander?"

Clarke blinks, evaluating her options for a moment. Lexa and she haven't discussed what they're telling people if anything. But Clarke doubts she would mind her sharing the gist with O. Then again, it's not exactly the most office-appropriate topic even if there is nobody in the near distance. Rumors in the Bureau can turn nasty pretty fast, especially the ones concerning female agents regardless of their rank.

"Earth to Clarke." Her friend breaks her thinking with a dramatic wave of a hand. "Has Woods fucked your brains out or something?"

"Shut up, O!" The comment pulls an exasperated chuckle out of Clarke. "She did not."

"But you slept with her, didn't you?" Octavia wiggles her eyebrows. "I know that look. It's 'I got multiple orgasms over the weekend' look."

"Well, yeah," Clarke admits. What's the point of lying? It would never fly with her friends anyway.

"How was it? Is she all that stern in bed as well? Did she woo you with her moves?" Octavia shoots a series of unfortunately very expected questions.

The blonde rolls her eyes. "I'm not telling you any details." But she is also too aware that she can't leave O with nothing, otherwise, she's going to follow her around like an overexcited puppy, so she concedes. "It was really good." 

"I told you, fucking fantastic genes!"

It's still kinda weird how the three of them arrived and managed to end up in bed with a big part of her immediate friend group.

"Nope," Clarke says. "I'm not going to think about you in that context."

"Whatever, Griff," Octavia huffs. "At least tell me about the non-sexy portion of the weekend."

And Clarke does, describing amazing nature and the beautiful cabin, recounting their diving and dining under the stars and so very attentive Lexa. Sharing about the feeling of rightness she's been experiencing for the past two days. Clarke's beaming again by the time she finishes, and she doesn't even attempt to fight it.

"I'm happy for you, Clarke." Octavia mirrors her smile. "You deserve so much. But if Woods does anything shitty, you let me know."

There is a dangerous glint in her eyes and Clarke wonders if she should be concerned by how excited her friend looks at the perspective of inflicting bodily harm on someone.

"Thank you," Clarke replies. "And I'll make sure to tell her that."

The woman's expression turns uncertain for a second before she schools it back into fierce resolve. Clarke sees the respectful looks she's been giving to Lexa and knows that though she'd never admit it, Octavia is slightly intimidated by the senior agent.

She isn't about to show it though. "Yeah, you do that."

Octavia is about to say something else when an approaching voice, the one Clarke really doesn't want to hear, cuts her off.

"Clarke," Finn says coming closer.

Well, this is one way to tear a smile off her face. Her tone turns ice-cold when she asks, "What do you want?"

"We need to talk, Clarke," he parrots out the phrase that has started to make her nauseous recently.

Octavia glowers at the intruder, her pointed look almost enough to incinerate him on the spot. She turns to Clarke with a determined expression. "Do you want me to kick him out?"

The agent weighs her options. She doesn't want to have this conversation. She'd very much rather not see her ex-fiancé's face ever again. But sadly that's not possible, at least right now. It's clear that Clarke can't avoid him forever. And Finn seems to be unable to hear reason. Inevitability in the making. Maybe he'll finally leave her alone after this, but maybe she shouldn't get her hopes up just yet. Clarke wishes the boneless satisfaction of the weekend was more prominent in her now.

"It's okay, O," the blonde sighs. When Octavia remains unmoving, she puts a hand on her arm and adds, "Really."

"I'll be nearby." The woman nods before leaving. There clearly is a threat packed in the short statement.

Finn doesn't say anything, just looks at her seemingly waiting for something. He's been harassing her for two weeks, and now he wants her to start the conversation as well? Clarke takes five slow breaths in an attempt to cool off her blood that's already starting to boil.

"What did you want to say?" she asks, fighting to keep her tone neutral.

"Come on, Clarke. You can't be that mad."

"Can't be that mad?" the blonde exclaims. Ten seconds in and this talk is already barreling downhill. Clarke's really holding on to rapidly evaporating hopes of avoiding making it into a huge scene at work. She repeats in a quieter voice, "Can't be that mad? Let me get this straight. You made me believe that you were dead for five years, and now you think I can't be that mad?"

"It was meant to be for only a short time," the man counters.

"Oh, is it somehow supposed to make me feel better?" Un-fucking-believable.

"You know how big the case was, the pressure got to me!"

How in the world does he think this is a good argument? Their whole job is a patchwork of stressful moments. Yet Clarke's never heard of anybody in the Bureau faking their death before.

"What was the plan, Finn? Were you going to simply come back from the dead one bright morning?" Okay, she's shouting now.

"I don't know," he says. "I didn't anticipate this outcome, okay?"

"What the fuck did you expect was going to happen? I see you alive, forget how I almost died myself after losing you, and run into your arms to live happily ever after?" Steam is practically coming out of her ears.

"You should calm down, Clarke," Finn offers in a condescending tone.

Oh god, she's about to kill a federal agent in a building full of federal agents. For the life of her, Clarke can't reconcile a charming boy she promised to marry with the asshole standing in front of her right now. The wild thing is he doesn't seem to be the least bit concerned with her mental state or even slightly sorry, only angry that his brilliant arguments aren't able to make a dent in her view of the situation. Was she wearing rose-colored glasses before? Because it's either that or some bizarre case of parallel universes going on. Clarke is struggling to get her fury under control and calming breaths are doing a rather shitty job. Frankly, she isn't even sure it's possible to calm down under these kinds of circumstances.

"Alright," Clarke says employing the remaining of her composure. "Here is what it's going to be like from now on. Nothing you can say would ever change my mind. I loved you, Finn, and you broke my heart."

The man is opening his mouth to say something, but she stops him with a raised hand. "No. I don't want to hear it. Whatever you're going to tell me to convince me or maybe clear your conscience, I don't care anymore. The boy I loved died, and he's never coming back. From this point, you may only talk to me regarding the case and only if your direct supervisory agent is unavailable. I will be writing another report about your constant badgering, and it's up to your case agent to decide on the disciplinary action. Try cornering me again, and it'll be the last thing you do in this office. Do you understand me?"

Finn doesn't reply, his eyes filling up with rage of his own. And truly, Clarke couldn't care less about his feelings. Too impatient to wait for an answer, she strides away from the break room to her desk, catching a couple of concerned glances from her team. Anger continues to bubble uncomfortably in her chest and her hands are itching to punch something. Clarke would hate to spend her day battling her emotions, so she changes directions, walking to a source of outlet instead.

⠀

Twenty minutes later, the agent is expelling her outrage in a steady rhythm of blows to a boxing bag. The nuclear reactor inside Clarke's body is cooling down by a fraction with each hit. And yeah, imagining Finn's face as a target for her fists to land feels fucking great. Because a part of her was worried about how she'd react to actually talking to him again, wondering if it would bring the stabbing pain back to her heart. But him behaving like an utter bastard freed her from this concern quite swiftly. However, her anger doesn't mask the sadness for a younger version of herself who was made to live through everything that happened. Clarke suspects the feeling may never disappear completely. She wishes for the case to be over soon, so she can get rid of Finn's nagging presence and start fully healing from the shock of him reappearing in her life.

Clarke doesn't hear the approaching steps through the beats of some random exercise track she put on, but her eyes catch sight of a figure coming closer in her periphery. She pulls out an earbud when a man walks up to the training area.

"Bad time?" Winters asks, studying her face.

"No, it's fine," Clarke replies, getting the towel she left on the ropes and swiping off the sweat gathered on her forehead. "What have you got?"

She's so wound up by the earlier conversation and adrenaline flowing in her blood that she's indifferent to the visibility of multiple very noticeable marks scattered around her opened skin. To his credit, the agent doesn't let his gaze wander.

"Agent Spencer was working with the forensic accountants to uncover any property Tsing might be hiding," Winter starts.

"Have they found anything?"

"There was a house that her aunt owned. There is no paper trail connecting Tsing to it, but the woman didn't have any other heirs either."

"And who's the owner now?" Clarke asks, taking a sip from her water bottle.

"According to paperwork, the abandoned house was bought by a shell corporation three years ago after the aunt's passing."

"But you think that Tsing is behind it?"

"She could be," Winters agrees. "Or the Mountain. I don't believe in coincidence at this point."

"Well, it's worth checking anyway," Clarke decides. "I'll gather my team to move in as soon as we get a warrant. Would you like to join?"

"Sure," the agent agrees. "Should I take Spencer with me?"

Once again, Clarke wonders if the exclusion of Finn is for her benefit or if there's some underlying issue in his team that she's unaware of. Either way, she's not complaining. "Why not? I'll let you know when we're ready."

⠀

⠀

"Do you think it's stupid?" Clarke asks while fidgeting with the ring she keeps on the chain around her neck.

"What is?" Lexa replies.

They're driving to the house with the possible connection to Tsing that Winter's team found. When they were down on the parking level, Clarke just casually jumped into the passenger seat of Lexa's car and started complaining about the AC being set too low a few moments later. Lexa didn't point out that she could have taken her own vehicle. Clarke's need for comfort was obviously written all over her features even before she offered a retelling of her earlier encounter. For the same reason, the brunette didn't comment on Clarke's feet being propped on the dashboard either.

"I shouldn't want to keep wearing it," the blonde says, tugging on the chain. "The guy basically volunteered to play dead while I was going to pieces."

Lexa keeps quiet for the time being, allowing Clarke to express everything that's sitting inside of her.

"I kinda wanted to throw it in his face," the woman continues with a heavy sigh. "But I got so used to the weight of it on my chest, brings me comfort somehow."

"It is not stupid, Clarke," Lexa says after a long pause as she's sure the blonde is done with her train of thought. "You suffered a terrible loss, regardless of how it came to be. You went through that and came out the other side. The ring can represent that. How strong you are."

Clarke still looks unsure, fiddling with the jewelry.

"Or," Lexa adds. "I can drive to a bridge, and you throw it in deep water. Whatever you want."

Truthfully, after having heard about Clarke's morning conversation, Lexa is having a hard time keeping her murderous impulses at bay. She isn't completely sure she has any right to it after being an active participant in the cover-up, but this fact does nothing to soften the sharp edges of the urge. The brunette has half a mind to team up with Octavia, she certainly appears to be the most vicious of Clarke's friends, and have a talk with Collins of a slightly more persuasive variety. But Lexa doubts Clarke would approve of her approach and this is the only reason she needs to abstain. So she's keeping her anger inside, resolving to hate the man from afar. Whether or not she's doing a good job of it is to be determined.

"Don't think that throwing precious metals into rivers is the best solution in this economy," Clarke lets out a weak laugh. "But thanks for the offer."

"Well then you can pawn it and go on vacation or something," Lexa responds with a small smile. When the blonde's brows remain furrowed, she adds in a more solemn voice. "It's not stupid to want to keep it, Clarke. It's not weak. It doesn't keep you connected to him if it's not your intention. If you want to hold on to it, don't worry about anything besides that."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Clarke asks, biting her lip.

"Why would it?" Lexa asks in confusion.

"Well, because we, you know." The blonde gestures expansively around them in a way of finishing her sentence.

"Of course, it doesn't," the brunette reassures her. "I'd never want to take away something that makes you feel better."

⠀

Ten minutes later, Lexa pulls over near their destination.

"Are you sure it's the correct place?" Clarke asks.

"This is the address Winters gave us," Lexa confirms, but double checks just to be sure.

As another proof, Blake's car parks behind them, soon followed by two more.

"Well, it certainly doesn't look abandoned," the blonde muses.

In front of them is a cottage-style two-story house with a well-manicured lawn and recently-swept stone path. Blooming colorful flowerbeds surround the fence and there are some apples growing on the trees beside it. It seems like a picture-perfect suburban dream, yet if it's the place they're looking for, Lexa can only wonder what kinds of monstrosities may be hiding inside. There are no cars in the driveway and no movement is visible from the windows.

"Alright," Clarke says when all the arrived agents form a half-circle around her. "Let's check this place out. Remember who we're dealing with. If this house is in fact connected to Tsing, we can't predict what kinds of traps may be inside. So stay on high alert and regularly check in over the coms. Lincoln, could you take the point on this one?"

"Of course," the man nods.

They quickly suit up in their vests and gather in front of the entrance.

"FBI," Lincoln projects in a booming voice, pounding on the door. "Open up."

When no response comes he repeats, "FBI! We have a warrant."

No sounds are heard from the inside. Lincoln motions for the older Blake to proceed. He crashes the battering ram on the door, and the locking mechanism squeaks and gives way. The agents hold up their weapons and charge inside. There are still no signs of activity in the building.

"Jordan, Winters, Spencer, and Blakes, stay on the first floor," Lincoln commands. "The rest, we are going upstairs."

The team separates into different directions, covering the space of the house. Lexa races up the stairs behind her cousin. Their group stops on the landing which turns into a corridor, continuing in opposite directions. Linc gestures his order to disperse throughout the floor.

"Kitchen clear," Octavia says in the earpiece.

"Bathroom clear," mirrors her brother.

Lexa moves towards the last room on the left, noting the lack of dust or any clutter along the way.  Whoever the owner of this place is, it's somebody very meticulous about the way they like things. She opens the door to a place that looks like it used to be a bedroom. Now the space is covered in white plastic sheets. There is metal shelving full of some kinds of chemicals along one wall and another structure with multiple cages on the opposite side. Two metal desks stand in the center of the room. Then Lexa's eyes catch on boots peeking from the fridge near the far left corner of the room.

"FBI! Don't move!" she orders.

She comes closer and finds a person in a lab coat, lying on the floor motionless.

"I found a body in some sort of makeshift lab," Lexa announces. "Last door on the left." 

The person, male she assumes, must be somewhere between his thirties and forties, judging by his figure. It's hard to draw any other conclusions because his state prevents any obvious examination. The man's whole face is a bloody mess, covering all his features beyond recognition. The poor guy must have been bludgeoned to death. Whoever did it was very thorough, there is practically zero unmarked skin on his face and his hands are covered in blood as well as the floor beneath him. It all makes quite a gruesome picture.

"Copy that. The rest of the floor is clear," Clarke says. "Don't touch anything without gloves, I'm coming."

Lexa puts the nitrile blues on and examines the room, but there is nothing of note besides the victim inside. Just rows upon rows of various equipment, a couple of small rodents rustling in their cages. She wonders if Tsing had to relocate whatever she is doing here after they discovered the previous lab. And what could have her unlucky partner done to deserve this kind of end? The phone buzzes and Lexa fishes it out of her pocket.

"Woods," she says without checking the name.

"Oh, thank god!" Reyes' voice is full of barely contained alarm.

A surge of panic runs through Lexa, and she has to remind herself that this can't possibly be about Clarke. "What is it?"

"I was calling Clarke, but she didn't pick up," the woman gabbles.

"We are in the middle of the search. What happened?"

"Monty and I decoded a chunk of data from the USB. Inchor. It's a blood virus," Raven rushes out.

Lexa's ears start buzzing right away, and she misses the next words on the phone. She has to blink a couple of times to get rid of blurriness that has nothing to do with her poor vision. Lexa instantly drags the collar of her longsleeve up to cover her nose and mouth as she strides as far away from the body on the floor as possible. She comes closer to the exit and her eyes meet with Clarke's who is walking along the corridor in her direction. The woman immediately picks up on the dread in her expression, speeding up her steps.

"Lexa?" the blonde calls out. "What's wrong?"

Before she can reach her, Lexa recovers her senses and slams the door shut.

"Lexa!" Clarke shouts from outside. "What's going on?"

Right this moment, all Lexa is capable of doing is sliding down the wooden barrier.

Chapter Text

Clarke stopped blinking about ten minutes ago. She is watching Lexa via a video call, afraid to break the contact. Like if she closes her eyes for a second too long, she'll open them to find her bleeding out to death. Clarke is sitting on the floor in the corridor, leaning on the door of the room where Lexa is. With a man, most likely dead from some kind of weaponized virus that they were developing probably in the very same room. Where Lexa is.

On some level, Clarke is aware of the high degree of activity surrounding them. Her team is walking around, busy examining the house, she assumes. People in yellow hazmat suits arrived a few minutes ago. Somebody moved her then, as Clarke started loudly protesting, a thick sheet of plastic was attached to the wall, and then she was deposited back in her waiting place. The agent didn't even register whose hands were managing her body. For the past ten minutes, her focus has been zeroed in on the small image of Lexa on her phone. The brunette is looking back at her intently, like their eye contact is the only thing keeping them afloat in the stormy ocean.

"Clarke?" A voice breaks through her trance.

The blonde doesn't move her gaze, but she recognizes it nevertheless.

"I made a call to the CDC. Their scientist is going to be here shortly. The hazmat unit is working on containing the scene. I moved the team downstairs, but you can stay here for now," Anya says.

So that's who took up the command. Clarke only manages a humming sound of understanding in response.

"We're canvassing neighbors and trying to identify Tsing's partner. So far, we can only confirm that she has been coming to the house regularly in the past month. Raven and Green are working on decoding more information from the drive as we speak. I've got it under control, don't worry about anything right now."

Clarke clears her throat and is able to push a hoarse "thank you, Anya" past her lips.

"Lexa," Anya tells the woman on the other side of the screen. "I'll scream at you later once you're out of there."

Once you're out of there. As if her confinement is simply a temporary inconvenience. Nobody is saying anything about the glaring peril of the situation out loud. About the awful chances of Lexa having contracted the virus already. It's basically the only thing Clarke has been able to think about. It's like she's stuck in an echo chamber, all her fears feeding on each other in a constant cycle. Lexa is trapped with the infected man. The man is dead. Lexa is in danger. Lexa can die too. Again, and again, and again.

"Can't wait, sis," Lexa says with a tiny chuckle.

And the woman's voice is like a beacon pulling Clarke out of her fear-induced daze. She needs her brain to work, there is no use in sitting here frozen in panic. If Clarke can't storm her way into the isolated area, it doesn't mean that she should allow herself to drown in her dark thoughts.

"How are you feeling?" she asks Lexa.

Clarke doesn't remember if she said anything to the brunette past shouting her name through the door and accepting the call on her phone. 

"I'm okay, no unusual sensations," Lexa replies.

Clarke's gaze wanders around the woman's face, studying her closely, searching for even a minuscule change in her appearance. But she does look fairly normal disregarding her slightly wide-eyed expression.

"Don't be afraid, Clarke," Lexa says softly. "I will be alright."

Lexa appears calm and fearless, a month ago Clarke would've believed the image she's projecting. Now though, she's able to see far beyond the cracks in her composure, reading off the dread and worry in her deep greens.

"I'm sorry, Lex," Clarke sighs. "I should be the one calming you down, not the other way around."

"It's okay," the brunette reassures. "Everything is going to be okay."

If only things were that easy. Clarke would give up a lot to be able to will this simple truth into existence. Just for Lexa to be fine, and walk out of there unharmed and healthy. To be able to hug her now instead of powerlessly staring at her phone.

"Guys?" Octavia is walking along the corridor, followed by a black woman with short hair and no-nonsense expression. "This is Dr. Forester from CDC."

"Call me Indra," the woman offers as a greeting. "This kind of virus is not my primary expertise, but our main specialist is already en route. Until she comes here, you are with me. I can assure you that I am more than capable of handling the situation."

Her introduction sounds a bit monotone, but Clarke doesn't care about niceties today. All she needs is Lexa safely out.

"I'm Agent Griffin," the blonde says, getting up. "In there is Agent Woods."

"Your colleague briefed me over the phone. How are you feeling, Agent Woods?"

Clarke moves the screen so that both Indra and her are visible to the camera.

"As fine as I can be under the circumstances, I guess."

"Any aches or pains?" Indra asks. "Dizziness? Fatigue?"

"None."

"That is good," the doctor comments. "Now, can you tell me what you observed about the deceased? Obviously do not come anywhere close, tell me from your memory."

"His face was completely covered in blood," Lexa states. "I initially assumed that he'd been repeatedly hit on his head. There is a substantial amount of blood covering the floor and his hands as well. I didn't see any other obvious traumas."

"Do you think it's hemorrhagic fever?" Clarke asks Indra.

"From the description and the information I was given, yes. It appears so," she agrees.

"In English, please?" Lexa asks.

Clarke's words are stuck in her throat. She doesn't know how to share this terrifying piece of information. Indra seemingly doesn't have the same problem.

"Basically, it is a virus that makes the infected individuals bleed out to death," the woman states.

Lexa's reaction to the news is mostly subdued, she only swallows, presses her lips, and gives a small nod, as if she's anticipated that much. Clarke did as well, but hearing the words out loud intensifies her fears tenfold, and she has to actively fight down the urge to scream.

"And the vaccine?" she asks.

"As we have no idea what strain of the virus we are dealing with, finding the exact vaccine is impossible, considering it actually currently exists. But I did order the one developed for a similar virus, it will arrive soon," the doctor explains. "We also do not know how this particular strain spreads, but based on the general pathogenesis, in all likelihood it is via bodily fluids. Did you touch the deceased, Agent Woods?"

"I didn't touch him, or anything inside for that matter. And I'm wearing gloves."

"That was a good call," says Indra. "As long as you avoid any contact, you should be relatively safe. Right now, you should closely monitor any occurring symptoms. I presume you know what to be on the lookout for, Agent Griffin?"

"Yes, I do," Clarke confirms.

"We cannot determine the incubation window for sure, but from practice, weaponized strains tend to have shorter ones within a 12-hour period. As soon as you get through that, we are going to transfer you to the CDC for testing, further observation, and treatment if necessary. Do any of you have any questions?"

"I don't, for now," Lexa says.

"Me neither," Clarke agrees.

"Alright, I will be nearby working with your team. Let me know if anything changes," the woman says before nodding and walking away.

Clarke settles back on the floor and returns her gaze to the woman on the screen. Lexa is looking at her with a stoic expression and Clarke's heart breaks, she's never felt so utterly useless in her life. Even freed from her initial paralyzing shock, she is left with no possible help to offer besides watching Lexa's vitals. Well, that, and maybe providing some comfort or at least a distraction. For starters, the blonde has to pull herself together enough to be able to hold a conversation.

"I'm kind of mad at you," are the first words that come out, which is not exactly helpful.

"I can imagine," Lexa replies matter-of-factly.

"And it's really unfair because you did nothing wrong."

"Well, the timing is rather terrible."

"I don't think there is a good moment for this sort of thing," Clarke says.

"Not sure," Lexa counters with a smile. "I wouldn't mind being temporarily dead for the tax season."

Clarke can't help an eye-roll and a small smile the words cause. "Do you ever joke about anything other than your death?"

"Sometimes." The brunette shrugs.

Lexa is right though. After all the shocks and shots of potent grief she's encountered during these past two months, Clarke's body is rapidly approaching its full capacity for heartache. She simply doesn't know how not to be scared out of her mind right now. What Clarke does know is how to compartmentalize, she had way too much practice over the last five years. This is not about her anxiety, she'll deal with it later. At this moment, it must be all about Lexa.

So Clarke starts talking. About everything and nothing at the same time. The words and questions are flowing out of her, fueled by a turbulent stream of nervous energy. She's trying not to be too engrossed in observing any possible changes in Lexa but also pay attention to her words because she doesn't want to miss a thing about this woman. It's a rather bizarre juxtaposition, listening about Lexa's disaster of a school prom while she's quarantined in a room with a deadly pathogen. Anyone who spent some time with them would be able to see their overly animated babbling for it is, a cover-up for the shaky nerves. But it is working. Clarke can read it in the smoother slope of Lexa's shoulders, the slower pace of her words, and the absence of that unwavering eye contact she keeps when she puts on the Commander's mask.

Time is crawling at a torturous pace. But slowly the sun begins to set, limiting natural light coming into the room. Soon the space is only colored in the bluish tint emitted from the fridges and white lamps, creating a gloomy atmosphere. As minutes tick by, Clarke starts to wonder how long they have before Lexa's phone runs out of battery. They can hear each other well enough through the barrier, but the ability to see Lexa's face is quite helpful for quelling Clarke's anxiety. And she requires all the assistance she can get in her position. Lincoln comes up a couple of times to check on Lexa. His positive demeanor feeds Clarke's reserve a bit too.

Another hour passes, and the chatter begins to slow down. The blonde's throat starts to ache with dryness after all the non-stop talking, but at least her brain has quieted down somewhat, so that's a good sign. So far, there have been no changes in Lexa's condition, and they haven't received any updates from the team. But Clarke is not sure if the latter is due to the lack of progress or if Anya ordered everyone not to bother them with the case for the time being.

Lexa's using the lull in the conversation to think something over. Beneath her slack expression and vacant stare, the blonde can practically see how she's stringing the words together in her mind. Even before she says a thing, Clarke already knows she's not going to like whatever it is.

"Clarke," the woman starts solemnly. And she doesn't have to continue for her to understand where this is going to lead.

"No." Her reply is almost a whisper. But a hard one, full of conviction.

"Clarke, please," Lexa repeats in a soft patient tone.

And Clarke just can't say no to that. She swallows the lump in her throat as her eyes start to burn. She really doesn't want to talk about it, but she'll do it for Lexa. Her words will probably tremble, so Clarke nods instead.

"If anything happens to me," the brunette says carefully like you'd do approaching a skittish creature. "You must know that none of this is your fault."

Clarke is clenching her jaws so hard her teeth are hurting. She's looking straight ahead at Lexa's face on the screen, but the image is getting blurry with all the moisture trapped in her eyes.

"If anything happens," Lexa goes on. "I need to know that you will be okay. Not right away, but one day, I need you to be okay. Please, Clarke. Can you promise me to be fine?"

How the hell is she supposed to do that? Because the thing is, after everything she's experienced, Clarke is left with a simple truth that she can sense deep in her bones. The fact is as certain as a sunrise coming after a long night. If Lexa doesn't leave this room alive, it's going to wreck Clarke. Destroy her far beyond repair. A mere idea of that is enough to suck all the oxygen out of her lungs. It's a completely unattainable promise, the one Clarke would never be able to keep. But she gives it anyway because it's what the brunette needs to hear.

"Okay," she says in a voice stained with tears. "I promise, Lex."

Clarke doubts it sounds even slightly convincing, but the woman doesn't comment on that. The mood drops significantly. The bubble of their pretense burst like it was made of crystal, the shards digging deep into their skin, drawing blood. If Clarke thought that time was moving slowly before, it's nothing compared to the glacier pace it adopts now. Any attempts at resuming mindless chitchat don't last long. The agents switch to their personal phones when the batteries on the duty ones die. But those only give two extra hours of call before following the same fate. Eventually, they have to resign to talking through the door which crashes Clarke's already weak spirit even further. She should feel better with the time passing without Lexa getting sick, but instead, without her green eyes to focus on she only grows more scared as her mind is running wild with terrifying scenarios. She's hanging by a thread, having to remind herself every five minutes that Lexa is alright, and she will continue being such.

Eons later, steps join them on the deserted floor. A person in the full hazmat suit, who she assumes to be Indra, is walking in their direction with Octavia trailing a few paces behind. Clarke tells Lexa that and pushes herself up to a standing position. She's stiff as a board after sitting for hours in one pose and shakes her limbs to stretch the cramped muscles.

"Okay, Agent Woods," the doctor says. "It has been nine hours since the exposure, and as you are not exhibiting any symptoms, I am fairly optimistic about your chances. Still, an antiviral medication that showed promising results at containing the disease was delivered, and I would like you to take it as a precautionary measure."

"Clarke?" a voice seeks confirmation from behind the door.

The blonde runs through the list of pros and cons in her head, coming to a swift conclusion. "I think you should take it."

"Okay." Lexa's response is as simple as that.

"Agent Griffin," Indra addresses her. "Please step back to the end of the hall."

Clarke complies and joins Octavia near the landing, her eyes nevertheless glued to the door. Indra peels off the flap of plastic and reaches for the knob. When she turns it and Clarke's gaze lands on Lexa again, a shred of pressure is released with her haste exhale. The brunette offers her a soft smile. She makes a small step towards Indra, offering her arm for the injection, but her sight remains fixed on Clarke. Her deep greens convey the reassurances wordlessly. I'm alright, safe and breathing, they say. The only thing Clarke desires is for her to remain that way.

"Done," Indra says. "An ambulance will soon arrive to take you to the CDC headquarters. We are going to perform some tests and have you under observation for twenty-four hours. You will be soon out of here, Agent."

"Wait," Clarke says before the doctor ushers Lexa back inside and turns to Octavia. "Give me your phones."

Her friend does so without any questions, and Clarke walks closer to the door, stopping midway and putting one of the phones on the floor. "Give it to her, please."

Indra picks up the device when Clarke's back at a safe distance and gets it to Lexa, then the woman steps back into her entrapment, and the door is closed again. Indra nods sympathetically as she passes the blonde and continues her way downstairs. Clarke can hear her talking to some unfamiliar voices when she reaches the first floor. Octavia lingers on the landing and Clarke exchanges a meaningful look with her before coming back to her designated waiting spot and starting yet another video call. She squirms a bit, searching for a position that will kill her already sore shoulders and back somewhat slower.

"See, Clarke," Lexa says as soon as her face pops on the screen. "Not much longer. Soon it will be just a memory left behind to tell at gatherings."

"Doesn't really seem like a fun party story," Clarke scoffs.

"Agree to disagree. Who can ever beat the mortal virus story in—" The brunette stumbles over her words and draws in a labored breath. "In never have I ever game."

Clarke notices the color draining off her face and her unfocused gaze. "Lexa, are you okay?"

Lexa blinks. Takes another shaky breath. "I don't... Can't—" Then she starts shaking.

No, no, no, no, no.

"Lexa?" Clarke yells through the door as the image on the screen goes black. Lexa must have dropped the phone. "Lexa!" No response comes from the room. Oh god, this cannot be happening.

"We need a medical team on the second floor, stat!" Octavia shouts in the earpiece, instinctively coming closer.

"No," Clarke shouts back. "Stay where you are, Octavia."

"What? Why?" The agent is confused but reaches an understanding in a matter of seconds. "No, Clarke! You aren't wearing the protective gear."

But Clarke has already made up her mind. There is only a single course of action she can take. By the time Octavia's words reach her, she's already ripping off the plastic cover. As she yanks the door open, Lexa's limp body drops to her feet. She stopped seizing and now looks lifelessly still. It's like all of Clarke's nightmares came back knocking. But she doesn't have a second to waste so she pushes all her worries aside, concentrating. Never has Clarke been more grateful for the countless hours she spent studying because her body knows what to do, effortlessly switching into medical mode.

She tugs Lexa out of the room into the corridor so she can have more of safe space to work. She checks her breathing and pulse. Finds none. Lexa appears to be in anaphylactic shock.

"I need epi here, right now!" Clarke yells over the coms.

She places her hands on Lexa's chest and starts compressions. Good steady rhythm. Strong deep pushes. Clarke is on total autopilot. Performing well-rehearsed movements. All the while the only thought is screamed in her head at top volume in a constant loop. Please stay alive. Please stay alive. Please. Stay. Alive.

She can't say exactly how much time passes before three people in yellow suits are sprinting towards them. Must not have been long because her shoulders have barely started to feel the strain of compression. One of the people moves her aside, cutting Lexa's shirt off and placing the defibrillator's electrodes on her skin. Another one places an ambu bag over Lexa's face. The third person sticks an EpiPen in her thigh. Meanwhile, Clarke is sitting on the floor nearby, holding her breath as the mantra continues its rounds in her mind.

Ten seconds pass. Twenty. Thirty. Clarke strains to see the cardiogram on the monitor. Lexa inhales sharply. Clarke's heart can beat again.

"Oh, thank god," she murmurs under her breath and sags down on the floor.

"That was very irresponsible," Indra chastises her.

But Clarke can't bring herself to care one bit about that. She watches Lexa open her eyes, they dart disoriented for a moment, before her gaze locks on Clarke. Lexa's eyebrows shoot up and she looks genuinely scared. Somehow Clarke's willing to bet that she's more concerned for the fact that she's outside rather than her going into a cardiac arrest. The blonde takes her outstretched hand and squeezes it.

"It's okay, Lex," she whispers gently. "You're going to be okay."

Lexa keeps staring at her shocked but relaxes slightly after hearing her voice.

"We are taking you to the hospital right away," Indra announces in a hard voice. "Both of you."

Clarke doesn't complain. Waits for more suited-up people to bring a gurney for Lexa. They break their contact only for a moment as she's placed on it, getting a hold of each other the next. The group is walking along the corridor and when they approach the landing Clarke sees wide-eyed Octavia still rooted in place there.

"Everything is going to be fine, Octavia," Clarke says, and for whatever reason she actually believes it this time.

"Oh my god, Clarke," her friend sighs.

"Don't worry, O, really. And sorry, I'm stealing your phones for a while."

Octavia lets out a nervous laughter. "Just be fine, Griff."

By the stairs, on the first floor, they find Lincoln and Anya, struggling to stay away at a safe distance. Lincoln is holding Anya's arm in a firm grip as if she can bolt any second without it.

Clarke sees that Lexa's attempting to speak, so she shakes her head looking at the woman, and beats her to it. "She is going to be fine. It was a reaction to the drug. Not infected as far as we know."

"Thank you, Clarke," Anya says, clearly shaken. "We will get to you as soon as they let us, Lexa."

As they are walking beside some other members of her team, Clarke is projecting an air of confidence, silently communicating that everything is okay. Everyone seems worried despite it though.

They are packed in an ambulance and Clarke asks what hospital they're driving to. Lucky as ever, she receives the answer in the form of the too-familiar name. Ten minutes later they are in Arkadia General and the most boring twenty-four hours of her life begin.

Lexa and she get separated but regardless of her internal groaning at the fact, Clarke is well aware that arguing is useless. Gladly, she has Octavia's phones to keep tabs on the brunette. She gives one to Lexa and offers a sure "see you soon". Not actually being inside the exposure zone doesn't spare her from a decon shower, unfortunately. After, she's deposited in a lovely room in the isolation ward. Bare pale-blue walls, no furniture besides a small bedside table and the bed. Scratchy sheets, stupid hospital gown. Clarke scores a place with a window at least. Nurse Lucy, who she met when she was just a baby, is assigned to her, which is hardly a coincidence, brings her a ton of fun foods to brighten her stay.

Soon after her arrival exhaustion hits the blonde like a truck, and the next ten hours are spent in slumber. When she wakes up, Clarke is tested multiple times and is given some medications. Doesn't go into anaphylaxis after. A win. A huge miracle happens when it turns out that the powers of quarantine are enough to keep her mum away for now. No lectures are definitely doing her some good. Slowly but surely Clarke is unwinding. She texts Lexa a lot. Having a constant stream of messages helps her calm down even more.

Time doesn't fly exactly, but Clarke finds that the day passes at a bearable pace. She's surprised to see Indra upon her release. The doctor is certainly unhappy with her, but Clarke isn't particularly remorseful about her actions.

"I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble," she says. "But I did what I had to."

"It was foolish," Indra huffs. "I hope you recognize how incredibly lucky you were not to get exposed. Anyway, I am off this case, our primary expert is going to work with your team from now on."

"Thank you for your help, Dr. Forester."

Indra responds with a curt nod before going away.

Clarke signs all the necessary forms and shoots a quick text to the group chat, telling everyone that she's safely out, and leaves the ward as soon as everything is sorted. She can't wait to get to Lexa. Lucy told her that the brunette was transferred to the patient's floor after her all-clear, they wanted to monitor her condition for a while longer due to her adverse reaction. Clarke comes up to the elevator and presses the button to the correct floor. Her body is buzzing with anticipation. She called Lexa, heard her voice. Logically Clarke knows she has been alright this whole time. But only after seeing the woman in person, will she be able to allow herself to fully believe that and relax.

The doors open with a ding and Clarke is half running along the corridor to Lexa. The smile on her face goes a bit crooked when she reaches her room. The door is open, and she can see a woman with curly red hair sitting on Lexa's hospital bed. The women are chatting and smiling. The redhead chuckles about something Lexa says and playfully pats her thigh over the covers, leaning closer into her personal space. Clarke is unable to deny a pang of jealousy that she gets in her chest. This is stupid. They haven't discussed their relationship in plain terms, but she's sure that Lexa would never do anything remotely unfaithful. Still, the feeling is there, spoiling her joy.

Lexa raises her gaze, noticing Clarke and her smile instantly grows brighter. "Hi."

"Hey." Clarke can't help but respond with an equal grin. She steps inside, coming closer to the bed.

The woman stands up and offers her hand to Clarke. "Hi, I'm Luna."

"I'm Clarke."

"Oh, I know," the redhead says with a smirk. Whatever that means. "Well, I won't bother you guys. Lexa, I'll talk to you later." She gives the brunette a goodbye hug and leaves the room.

"Luna is the CDC expert Indra was talking about. She's also a family friend," Lexa explains.

Clarke arranges her features and tone in a neutral state before replying, "She seems nice."

Lexa is looking at her curiously for a few seconds, then her smile transforms into an even wider smirk. "Yeah," she agrees. "Her husband thinks so too."

The blonde is slightly embarrassed at how obvious she's apparently being, but Lexa only laughs and pats the vacant space on the bed. That's all the invitation Clarke needs, she closes the distance in two big strides. It takes a couple of seconds, and they meet in a life-affirming kiss. I'm alive, her lips whisper a gentle melody that is sipping in deep through her skin, I'm okay. And Clarke is pouring all her feelings into the kiss, everything she is yet afraid to express with her words.

Before the kiss can grow, someone clears their throat by the door. Clarke turns, keeping her hand in Lexa's, to see who the intruder is. Miracles do have a tendency to end because the woman in a white coat standing in the door frame is her mother.

"Hey, mum," the blonde sighs.

"Hey, honey. Agent Woods," Abby greets the women, coming inside.

"Please, call me Lexa," the brunette is seemingly unfazed by being interrupted by Clarke's mother.

"So, Lexa," the doctor says. "Are you the woman for whom Clarke put herself in mortal danger at her already risky job?"

"Mum!" Clarke groans loudly. She had no choice but to accept the inevitable upcoming round of grilling from her mother, but she detests subjecting Lexa to that.

However, the agent doesn't crumble under the loaded question. "I guess, I am. And though I hate that it had to come to that, I'm exceptionally grateful to Clarke for saving my life."

The reply appeases her mother for the moment, but Clarke can easily see in her eyes that her near future holds another serious talk. "How are both of you feeling?"

"I'm totally fine, mum. Zero harm done, only bored to death by the quarantine ward."

"I feel alright," says Lexa. "Thank you for asking, Mrs. Griffin."

Clarke wonders if Lexa is intentionally trying to score some points with her mother with this polite girlfriend routine. It's strangely adorable.

"Well, that is certainly good to hear. Your news worried a lot of people out here."

Clarke resists rolling her eyes. Her mum's fishing expedition is not the least bit subtle. "Mum, you're totally aware that we can't share any details about the investigation that aren't released to the public."

"But, Clarke," Abby protests. "We are medical professionals, we have to understand what to expect. If what I hear about the virus is true, the whole city can be in danger."

"That is why our team is doing everything possible to eliminate this risk," Clarke says, pressing her lips. "Please stop the hunting."

"Okay, okay," Abby says defensively. "I'm only concerned."

"I know you are, mum," Clarke replies.

"Well, you two should rest. Don't want to add to your exertion. Get better soon, Lexa." Just like that, her mother's visit predictably gets cut short.

"Thank you, Mrs. Griffin."

The next moment Abby is in the hallway. And Clarke isn't at all surprised about that. Lexa notices her soured expression immediately and scooches over to the right. Clarke takes the offered space without a question, lying down and molding herself into Lexa's side. The brunette's left arm comes to hug her, pulling her closer. And Clarke's body truly relaxes for the first time in the last forty hours. She breathes in Lexa's familiar sandal scent not changed by the hospital stay.

"Thank you for staying with me there," Lexa murmurs in her hair. "Even if it was very hard."

"Well, your sister would have decapitated me if I'd had to tell her that you'd died from a mysterious virus on my watch."

"Technically, I was the senior agent on sight, so..." Lexa lets out a light laugh. "But really, Clarke. I can't express how thankful I am for you saving my life. But I also really don't like that you took that huge risk."

"I would do it a million times if it meant that you'd be safe," Clarke turns into the embrace to look directly into the green eyes. "There is no other choice for me, Lexa."

She hopes her confession expresses the feeling she's not yet ready to put into words. By the way, Lexa's gazing back, smiles and hold her closer, she thinks it does. 

Chapter Text

When Lexa persuaded Clarke to take her out of the hospital on the day of their release from the quarantine, promising to stay clear from any strenuous activity, she made a huge miscalculation. That'll teach her to think over deals she makes with pretty blondes more carefully. Who knew that Clarke would create a recovery regime that could make Lincoln jealous of its unwavering efficiency? Well Lexa should have known honestly, it's not that unexpected, looking back. But she was fairly distracted. Almost dying from a bloody virus will do that to a person.

Half lying on her living room couch and not yet strong enough to literally get away from the situation, Lexa was thinking about escaping the regime in a different way. Didn't even get to do that either. Because Clarke, clearly not oblivious to her intentions, flashed her sky blues at her and said in a soft tone of voice, "Please, Lex, let me take care of you" and Lexa didn't stand a chance. Not really.

Her compliance must not have instilled too much confidence in Clarke though, because she made a call and half an hour later Reyes was on Lexa's doorstep with a duffle bag of Clarke's things. The blonde informed her that she'd requested a leave as well, obviously having decided to control the enforcement of the ground rules in person. No activity indeed, all Lexa's permitted to do around the house is to help cook their meals and receive guests. Anya and Lincoln have come for dinner a few times, so happy not to see her dead that her sister remembered her threat of scolding only on their second visit. But it didn't spoil her eagerness or the volume of screaming. Linc was more than content to simply listen and nod his agreement at the appropriate times. Clarke ignored all Lexa's looks pleading to rescue her, just shrugging from near the kitchen sink where she was doing dishes when the brunette mouthed traitor after yet another failed attempt.

Clarke has been very thorough, watching her every step like a hawk, but Lexa doesn't argue, she understands that a part of her strict schedule is due to Clarke working through her residual fear after the incident. So she keeps the protests inside when the blonde doesn't allow her to lift anything heavier than a book or move around for too long. Even kissing has been limited because Lexa got too handsy once or twice and sex is definitely on a no-no list until she's off medical. What a bummer. Basically, Lexa is locked up in her house prison with a very beautiful warden for an agreed week and a half.

At least her morning routine hasn't changed that much. Running is of course off the table, but Clarke deemed long walks perfectly safe. To Lexa's complete surprise, on the next day after her hospital release, when she woke up at her normal early hour Clarke was already in the kitchen, yawning like crazy but up. And despite the somewhat maddening lack of any action, the brunette knows that she'll miss the routine once they are back at work. She got used, unfortunately too swiftly, to their walks through the park under the rising sun, meals outside on the porch, reading her books in the sunroom as Clarke is usually drawing something in her sketchbook, watching random films on TV while curled up on the couch together. She loves Clarke in her space, loves seeing her in the house after turning a corner. An insane thought of asking the blonde to move in flashed in Lexa's mind on day three. It is way too early for that. But nothing can stop her imagination now. Lexa's been struggling to keep her mouth shut and not spook Clarke with moving too fast ever since.

But regardless of how much Lexa enjoys spending time together, on the tenth day she begins getting stir-crazy. She's lying in her bed alone, having opened her eyes only a moment ago, but her mind is already running wild with the ways to cut her house arrest short. Due to the seriousness of the case, the rule of no work has been lifted, and both of them have been receiving regular updates on the progress, so she can use that.  

Is bribing someone in the office to fake an emergency is such a bad idea anyway? Wells seems understanding of her predicament, he may agree to help. Considering her options, Lexa throws away the blanket and walks outside towards the stairs, following the muffled sounds coming from the first floor. She finds Clarke in the kitchen, standing near the cat's bowl, pointing her finger at Titus.

"Listen, pal, I know you hate me," the blonde whispers. "But right now I'm the one you get. So you either make your peace with it or starve, your choice."

Titus is looking at her with all the disdain his wrinkly face can muster. Clarke doesn't avoid his eyes, the two of them are engaged in some kind of staring contest. Lexa is curious about the possible winner because both of them are too stubborn for their own good, but her money is on Clarke as she's not the one who will be left without food in any case. In the end, Titus hisses at the woman rather loudly, but when that gets him no results, changes directions, moving closer to his food instead. Clarke grins with the joy of winning.

"Hey," Lexa says, coming closer and hugging the woman from behind. 

"Hi," Clarke murmurs relaxing her head on Lexa's shoulder with closed eyes. "You woke up late today."

The brunette catches the time on the digital clock in her oven, it's 9:34, actually late by her standards. Maybe her brain was so bored by inactivity that it decided to sleep longer instead.

"Clarke," she begins, testing the waters.

"Nope," the blonde says with a pop on the 'p' without opening her eyes.

"You didn't even let me finish," Lexa groans.

"Was it going to be something along the lines of 'Clarke, I'm so sick and tired of sitting at home, let's go to work', by any chance?" 

When Lexa doesn't reply, Clarke laughs and turns to look at her. "I thought so."

"Our deal was for only three more days," Lexa is whining. Lexa doesn't whine. See how far she fell.

She can hear in Clarke's voice that the blonde finds her complaints amusing. "Exactly. Just three more days. And then you are free from your shackles." 

"Come on, Clarke. Let's get to the office, there must be a ton of paperwork I can do." Judging by her expression, the woman is considering it, so Lexa adds. "I won't leave my desk, I promise."

"No field work?" The blonde narrows her eyes.

"No field work. I swear."

"Fine, let's go to the Bureau," Clarke agrees. "But breakfast first."

Hardly ever has Lexa been so excited about the prospect of sitting at her desk.

⠀

"Out on good behavior?" Luna chuckles when she finds Lexa in the break room making her tea.

"Something like that."

"How are you feeling? Everything alright?"

"I've been completely fine for a week already," the brunette says.

"My god, I can't believe somebody actually managed to make the scary Commander stay at home for ten days," Luna laughs. "You're whipped, my friend."

"Quit it, will you?" Lexa drawls, rolling her eyes.

"No really, what kind of powers are those? Is there any sexual seduction involved?" Lexa hates Luna's ability to see right through her. "Ooh, the opposite? Sexual restriction?"

"Can you please stop saying the word 'sexual'?" Lexa grumbles.

"Why? Touchy subject for sexually starved you?"

"Who is sexually starved?" asks Octavia, coming inside and Lexa groans loudly.

"Nobody," she cuts the agent off and adds mustering her best authoritative voice. "Why don't both of you hurry up for briefing?"

"Sure thing, Commander," Luna offers her fake salute, grabs a scone from the tray, and strides out of the room.

"Of course, Ma'am," Blake says, mixing an ungodly amount of sugar in her coffee. "Griff said we start in five."

As both of them are back, Clarke decided it's time to share some updates and get more information from the CDC on the case. After a short talk with Kane, both of them got a distinct impression that the brass is on the brink of renewing their insistent harassment for results, especially considering the magnitude of the possible threat. Lexa's near exposure didn't help to calm anyone down either.

Lexa takes her cup of tea and a coffee with one cream and walks to the big briefing room. She takes a seat near Clarke, placing the cup in front of her, and looks around. Everyone is here besides Collins, what a surprise.

The blonde apparently doesn't care about his attendance because she starts speaking, "Alright. I know for the past week you've gathered some bits and bobs of information, so now we need to get everything that you have so far in one coherent case. Dr. Rivers, could you give us the gist about the virus?"

"Sure," Luna says and steps to the front of the room. "For those who I haven't met yet, my name is Luna Rivers, and I'm an epidemiologist with the CDC. And the kind of virus we are dealing with is my specialty. According to data from the file and the performed autopsy of the known victim, Dr. Tsing has been developing a strain of hemorrhagic fever with incredibly high mortality. If she succeeds in reaching her target numbers, we are looking at a rate of approximately 85%."

There are a few uneasy exhales around the room. Then Anya asks, "For those of us who didn't go to med school. What does it do?"

"In simple terms, it damages organs and blood vessels in a way that affects clotting and causes people to uncontrollably bleed to death." More nervous murmuring. Lexa is grateful that the speech isn't accompanied by a photo demonstration because she'd very much like to forget the sight.

"Where are we with vaccines?" Clarke asks. 

"I went over everything that Agents Green and Reyes decoded about the development process and chose the one that most likely can be effective for this strain. Mind you, this is still very experimental, and we don't have nearly enough doses to use on the wider population. So preventing outbreak is our only option here."

"Is there any kind of, I don't know, an antidote or a cure?" the older Blake asks.

"There is some data in the file about an antiviral to stop the progression of the disease, but the information is incomplete," Luna answers. "Whenever it was copied, Tsing didn't reach any working formula by then. We are using her research to come up with a possible drug, but it is quite a slow process, so don't rely too much on that."

"Isn't it like your actual job?" a voice says from the door. Of course, the late asshole would question anyone's work but his own. "To control the diseases? It's right there in the name."

Someone, probably Raven judging by where she's seated, hisses, but Luna remains completely unfazed. "You need to understand, Agent...?"

"Collins."

"Agent Collins, that it's a whole diverse group of diseases. It's unfeasible to attempt to develop vaccines and treatments for each, that not taking into account the strains weaponized on purpose. So we will provide each of you with vaccination and PCR tests, and it's the best we can do for now."

"And how does it spread?" Winters asks. "Agent Woods remained not infected even after spending hours with the dead guy."

"Through bodily fluids and mucous membranes, so under no circumstances should you touch or come in close contact with anybody you suspect to be infected," says Luna. "Tsing was doing models on different forms of transmission, but unfortunately we still have no idea how they're planning to spread it among the public."

"So you're saying it can be airborne?" he asks, concerned.

"If aerosolized, via droplets, yes."

"Fucking fantastic!"

"Octavia!" Clarke scolds.

"Sorry, boss."

"Okay, what do we know about the dead man in Tsing's house?"

"Matthew Thorpe," Anya says. "Infectious Disease Doctor that studied with Tsing on a pre-med track. We confirmed with the neighbors that he was one of the people frequently visiting the house lately. No living family, no criminal record, no obvious connections to the Mountain besides the link to Tsing either. The coroner determined his time of death to be around twenty hours before Lexa found him."

"I just don't understand," Octavia says. "How do you get from being a highly educated doctor from a good family to killing people with weird viruses?"

"Psychopathy, greed," Lexa replies. "Your guess is as good as any."

"Any hit on his finances?" Clarke asks.

"No," says Agent Spencer. "His bank account is almost empty. Plus he has substantial amount of dept, his career in science hasn't been very lucrative so far, so he does some odd jobs from time to time. If the Mountain were paying him, it was in cash."

"Any other leads from the house?"

"I ran prints from the scene," says Wells. "Besides the ones that aren't in our base, they matched Emerson and a couple of other Mountain men. So we can say for sure, that they're involved. The rest of the house is clean, literally. Everything is so pristine that I couldn't even pull any fibers or DNA samples from anywhere."

"Monty, Raven, how is decryption going?" Clarke asks. "Is there much left?"

"A chunk," Reyes admits, sounding exasperated. "It's still going slowly, but we give everything to Doc here as soon as we get it."

"Okay. Does anyone have anything to add?" the blonde checks. Nobody says anything. "Alright. Then our goal for now is to figure out their next steps. They're likely aware that we know about the virus, so let's assume that they're going to strike soon. We need to find out what the target is as fast as possible. Agent Winters, I want your team to continue examining Tsing's financials, and have another go at Thorpe's as well."

"Copy that," the agent says.

"Octavia, Bellamy, do a deep dive into Thorpe's history. See if he and Tsing have any other links, maybe you can find more potential scientists involved in the project."

"Got it, Griff."

"The rest, I want you to go over everything we have on Cage's and Tsing's histories again. Search for any conflicts, adversaries, or personal vendettas. Anything that can point us in the direction of their strike. No detail is too small."

"Yes, boss," sounds in different voices throughout the room.

"Okay," Clarke says. "You are dismissed."

All around the room agents start standing up from their seats. Luna is walking towards the two of them.

"Why don't we go to the bar tonight and catch up? Dad has been complaining that you haven't come for ages since I told him who I'm working together with." She turns towards Clarke. "We can invite the whole team? I'm sure everyone will be happy to unwind a bit after working this horrendous case."

Lexa turns her gaze to Clarke as well, wondering if a bar night counts as a violation of the regime.

"Why not? No drinking while on medical," she says looking at Lexa. "But otherwise, sounds fun."

"Great, I'll text Dad."

⠀ 

⠀

It's dark outside when Clarke takes a break from studying files, searching for anything to give her a hint as to what the target of the attack could be. She walks past Anya's desk, where the woman is intently staring at the screen.

"Got anything interesting?" she asks, coming closer.

"Maybe," Anya replies, smiling when her eyes find the blonde's. 

Ever since Clarke got Lexa home last Tuesday, her sister has been looking at her with gratitude, and truth be told, she finds it kinda unnerving.

"Don't smile at me like that, it's weird." This of course only produces a bigger grin and Clarke huffs. "What did you find, Anya?"

"Something Blake said stuck with me," she says. "About how a person from a good family ends up a terrorist. Do you remember Tsing's aunt and uncle?"

"Yeah."

"So, they were college professors, active members of the community and all that. But since they adopted their niece, she ended up in a hospital with various injuries multiple times."

"Do you think there was abuse in the family?" Clarke asks. These kinds of things definitely can leave a huge mark on a developing brain. 

"After one of the incidents, a CPS investigation was launched. According to the report, they didn't find anything, just a family of highly respected people. But hospital visits stopped after that as well."

"Interesting coincidence," Clarke muses. "So you suggest the target can be related to them?"

"Unlikely," Anya disagrees. "The uncle was killed in a lab accident a while ago, the aunt died of a cardiac disease of unclear genesis. Seems safe to say that Tsing may have got her retaliation on that front."

"Huh," the blonde says, scanning the file on the screen. "Looks like you're onto something. It's a pity that it doesn't bring us much closer to discovering the target, though. But we can look into it more thoroughly once we get Tsing in custody."

"I'll make a note on that."

"So, are you coming to the bar after work?"

"Of course," Anya laughs. "Never miss out on seeing Gus."

"Lexa told me that he's a family friend."

"Yeah, we've known him our whole lives."

"So, a close friend, then?" Clarke asks, hoping that Anya doesn't pick up on the slightly anxious tones of her voice.

But if her searching gaze is any indication, Clarke's out of luck. "Why? Are you scared, Blondie?"

"Of course not." Her denial sounds weak even to her own ears.

"Don't worry." Anya's predatory grin is back in full force. "He won't do to you anything too permanent." 

"Oh, stop it." Clarke flicks her hand, sighing and moving away from the desk.

"He may interrogate you about your intention towards Lexa, though," Anya throws at her back.

⠀

When Clarke parks on the curb by a one-story building illuminated by a couple of lampposts and fairy lights hanging from the canopy, Lincoln's car stops nearby, he and Anya exit a moment later. The blonde opens the door for Lexa and follows the group to the entrance. As soon as they step inside a tall bearded man scoops the three of them in one big hug.

"It's been too long," he complains, pulling them tighter.

"Yeah, Gus, we missed you too," Anya replies slightly breathless. "Don't squeeze the life out of Lexa though, she's fresh out of the hospital."

"Shit, kid, I'm sorry." The man instantly loosens the grip.

"No harm done," Lexa reassures and turns to the blonde. "Clarke, this is Gustus. Gus, this is Clarke."

"Nice to meet you, Gustus."

"Clarke, huh?" the man asks, looking her up and down in a quick fashion.

"Why do you say my name like that?" the blonde asks him.

"No reason," Lexa is the one who answers instead. But Clarke doesn't miss a silent exchange that suspiciously seems like a request not to say anything on the matter.

"Smooth," Anya whispers on her left.

"Okay, you all can give our guest a tour. I put up a big table for you guys in the corner, a lot of your friends are already there. I'll be at the bar, have a nice evening, Clarke," Gustus says.

"Thank you," Clarke replies before he goes away.

The blonde takes a moment to study her surroundings. The place seems spacious enough to fit a lot of customers at once. The zone on the left is some kind of podium full of booths. Opposite that on the right is a bar, a free area, probably for dancing, and a bunch of smaller tables for two or three people. Pretty much everything is made of natural materials: dark wood, glass, and metal, and the whole space is cast in a warm dim glow. There are a few big framed photos on the walls, and when Clarke examines them closer, she sees that they show the same views as the ones in Lexa's green guest room.

"Linc took them," Lexa explains when she notices Clarke's gaze lingering.

"You have a great eye," Clarke compliments. "They are from the cabin, right?"

A surprise flashes in his features for a second before the man agrees, "Thank you. They are."

"Beautiful place," the blonde comments, running her finger along the tree trunk captured behind the glass.

"Should I get you something to drink?" Lexa asks when the blonde is done studying the room.

"Yeah, thanks, some cocktail would be nice," Clarke says.

Lexa gives her an 'okay' sign and pulls Anya towards the bar. Clarke trails behind Lincoln to their assigned table, finding most of the team already there.

Octavia stops arguing with her brother when she sees them approach and pulls her boyfriend into a kiss instead. Bellamy huffs and turns his attention to Wells, Jasper, and Monty who are discussing something in excited voices. Clarke takes an empty seat opposite the four of them and looks to her right, finding Raven and Anya, who must have fixed their issues, considering their rather suggestive dancing. Before her eyes can travel around the space in search of Lexa, a tall glass with amber liquid appears on the table in front of her. But the person who places it there isn't the one she expects.

"I was asked to bring you this," says the tall man on her right, motioning towards the bar.

"Thank you, Agent Winters," Clarke says, following his gesture to see Lexa sitting on a bar stool and chatting with Gustus.

"Call me Roan," the man says and inclines his head to the seat near her. "May I?"

"Sure," the blonde says, scooching over.

"She's not what I expected, you know," Roan comments. "We didn't have a chance to work together while Woods was in TonDC, but I heard enough stories about the heartless Commander."

"Disappointed?" Clarke asks curiously.

"Glad actually," the man counters. "Especially after what happened to her, you know, nice to see a person smiling. Plus, she's still quite the fierce legend if locking herself with a dead body to prevent the spread of the virus is something to judge by."

"Oh yeah, you can say that," Clarke sighs. "Can't wait for this case to be over."

"You and me both," Roan agrees.

"What's your issue with it?"

"It just can seem to fucking end," he complains. "The only thing I've got since joining it three years ago is a constant headache. Also, sorry, by your ex is a shitty company." So he is aware of her past then. "Honestly, Griffin, I have no idea how you agreed to marry the guy."

"Yeah," Clarke laughs bitterly. "I've been seeing lots of things in a different light lately."

Her most recent conclusion is that she was young and naive, unable to see Finn for who he was behind the shiny charm he was projecting. How his confidence was actually arrogance, or that his ambition was enough for him to trample over her without a second thought. A part of Clarke is embarrassed by her previous lapse of judgment, and she has to firmly remind herself that there is no use in regretting the past, she's learned her valuable lesson.

"Let's hope we catch them soon and can move on to something new," the blonde says.

"Cheers to that." Roan raises his glass.

Clarke takes a sip of her drink, enjoying the spicy sweetness that coats her tongue. Her gaze shifts to the dance floor again and she notices that Anya and Raven stopped dancing, the former joining her sister and Luna at the bar, the latter is sitting not far from them, typing something on her electronics.

"Excuse me," the blonde says, standing up and squirming past Roan. "I need to go steal somebody's tablet."

⠀

 ⠀

Lexa's listening to Luna's story about her last vacation when she catches a glimpse of blond hair moving towards them in the distance. Her eyes lock on Clarke on their own accord. The woman throws her a smile before walking towards Raven, snatching her iPad and starting some kind of argument with the woman.

"Pick up your jaw from the floor," her sister says, swatting her arm lightly.

"Right?" Luna chuckles. "As I was telling her in the morning, utterly whipped."

Lexa presses her lips, but honestly, she doesn't have anything to counter the statement with because it's painfully close to the truth. "I don't like you two teaming up."

"But seriously," the redhead continues. "I'm happy for you, Lex. With all that smiling you're doing these day. And she seems really nice."

Lexa snorts upon hearing that, Clarke's jealousy-tined words from the hospital ring in her head.

"What?"

"Nothing." Nothing she'd like to share anyway because if she gives these two even a shred of information about her and Clarke's relationship, she's bound to suffocate beneath an endless sequence of Luna's questions.

She's saved by the blond woman approaching and asking, "Dance with me?"

Lexa takes her outstretched hand and goes with Clarke to the floor. The blonde locks her hands behind Lexa's neck, leaving her to place her own arms around Clarke's waist. Compared to the last time the two of them danced together, this one is much closer and more intimate. As they are swaying in the tack of music, Lexa's eyes quickly roam along the blonde's outfit for the millionth time today. She looks phenomenal in simple tight light-blue jeans and a black sequin top with a low V-neck cut. Lexa's been trying to keep her eyes off the woman's cleavage for the best part of the evening with an admittedly poor success rate.

Clarke follows her line of sight and whispers with a grin, "You can look, Lexa. I chose it especially for you."

Lexa's internal groan of frustration somehow becomes audible and falls from her lips. "No one is going to take me seriously at work if you keep at it."

"Why?" The blonde continues smiling wildly. "Because the fierce Commander has desires just like the rest of us mere mortals?"

Clarke's hands slowly travel down along Lexa's back muscles and she momentarily forgets the question. "Also," Clarke says when her grip stops a sliver above Lexa's butt. "I think I deserve to feel up my smoking hot girlfriend when I want to."

The woman keeps on the gentle rhythm of her hips, seemingly oblivious to the catch in Lexa's breathing. Girlfriend. She actually was yarning to ask herself but was afraid to rush things. Looks like she could have spared herself some worry. The words buzz pleasantly under her skin, settling deep inside. Her breath catches again when fingertips leave light touches at the top of her backside.

"Clarke," Lexa warns uselessly because she'd never be able to resist the blonde. She wonders if the no-sex rule has been lifted as well for the evening but before she can ask, Clarke's lips meet hers in a rapidly escalating kiss. The brunette forgets to care that they're in the middle of a dance floor, that the man that basically helped raise her and a dozen of her subordinates can be watching, she kinda forgets her name as well. Luckily, she does remember the layout of the bar quite well, so without breaking the kiss she pulls Clarke to the adjacent corridor towards the event room she knows is empty today.

Clarke eagerly follows her directions, locking the door behind them. She blindly moves around the room until her back is pressed to the wall and Lexa's kissing her way down her neck. Clarke lets out a moan that reverberates in each bone of the brunette's body. Lexa moves her mouth to the other side, lightly touching it with her teeth. Now that she knows how easy it is to leave a mark on the fair skin, the woman hangs back on using much force.

Clarke notices her hesitation and murmurs in her ear, "Do it."

Lexa doesn't need to be asked twice. She bites with more intention this time, licking the red spot left behind the next moment, and then moves a bit lower to repeat the actions. All the while, Clarke's breathy moans fill up the room, heating up the brunette's insides. 

"Don't forget that we had a deal," Clarke says when Lexa's mouth finds her collarbone under the fabric of her top. Lexa's a bit disappointed that the blonde still remembers, on the other hand, she doesn't sound all that insistent about it. "Also, you are loud as hell. If we start anything the whole neighborhood will know that we are fucking in here."

"Please," Lexa scoffs indignantly. "As if you are ever quiet."

"I can be tame," Clarke counters.

"Tame," Lexa snorts in response. "Right." While it's true that Clarke is not much of a talker during sex, that doesn't make her quiet in the slightest.

"Wanna bet?" the blonde asks in a challenge.

"And what do I get when I win?"

"How about a wish?"

"A wish?" Lexa raises her eyebrow.

"Yes," Clarke confirms. "One wish for whatever you like."

"Deal," Lexa agrees. Who would pass on a chance to get a wish? Especially when it's such an easy win. She returns her lips to Clarke's neck, pressing on the bite mark and earning another moan. Such an easy win.

Lexa's hands move to the hem of Clarke's top, tugging a bit, and the blonde immediately helps her to get rid of the thing. Under it, Lexa finds breasts clad in intricate black lace. Her eyes are instantly glued to the sight.

"Like what you see?" Clarke asks with a cocky grin she sees in her periphery.

"Very," Lexa replies, placing a kiss beneath her collarbone. "Very." Another one an inch shy of the lacy frame. "Much." One more mirroring the previous one on the other side.

Clarke preens under the compliment and Lexa loves to fuel her confidence, telling the blonde how incredibly beautiful she is. The brunette whispers compliments in her ear while cupping her breasts, enjoying their weight in her palms. Clarke gives up a little whine when Lexa rolls one of her nipples between her fingers, and bucks her hips into the woman. The blonde's hands move down to the top of her jeans to unzip them, but she can't pull the tight fabric down without Lexa stepping aside which she is not going to do for now. Instead, Lexa bows her head and takes a nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it through the delicate lace before biting it slightly. Clarke leans her head back to the wall and lets out another pretty sound. Lexa knows for a fact that she will get the unrestrained moans out of Clarke soon enough.

The blonde resumes her faculties as Lexa switches sides and returns the grip to her jeans again. This time she pushes the brunette away, tugging the material down her legs before stepping out of it and pulling Lexa back as soon as she's free. When their eyes meet, Lexa easily recognizes the frenzied hungry look in the blues. A surge of power is coursing through her veins while she marvels at the stunning woman at her mercy. Soft curves and marble skin, the most irresistible creature she's ever laid her eyes on. Lexa resumes her exploration, sucking on another nipple while her short nails dig into Clarke's sides. She feels drunk even without so much as a drop of alcohol touching her lips today. It's all simply Clarke. Lexa's hands are shifting at a deliberately unhurried pace, barely a ghost of a touch.

Meanwhile, Clarke's movements underneath her get more jerky, which is a tell-tale sign of her increasing pleasure. Just as Lexa gives her a kiss on her sternum while her hand travels down to the swell of her thigh, squeezing, the woman responds with a noisy exhale. Apparently, she had enough of it. 

"Lexa, if you don't stick your fingers inside me right this second, I'm going to hurt you," she threatens, swaying her hips into Lexa's, chasing some friction. "And I'm not the one to break a promise."

"How crude," Lexa laughs as she comes back to kissing the blonde's neck while her hand lightly travels to the inner thigh and not an inch further, not relenting.

Lexa's lack of reaction must have prompted a change of tactic because next Clarke whispers an unbearably sweet 'please' and she knows that the brunette has always been weak to her pleading. Today is no exception. Lexa finds a chair standing nearby and shoves it closer to Clarke, the woman immediately understands her intention propping her foot on it, spreading her legs wide.

"Please, Lex," she repeats, hardly audible, and Lexa's beyond her typically stellar self-control.

She moves the lace out of the way, and her fingers glide inside without meeting any resistance. Clarke moans loudly enough for Lexa to win the bet right this moment, but she has already forgotten all about it. The only thing that exists in her universe now is Clarke. Lexa sets a fast pace, moving her fingers in powerful thrusts, curling them in a search for the spot that will make the blonde's knees buckle. The woman is already trembling in her arms, squirming around as Lexa is lavishing her chest with attention.

"So close," Clarke whispers out of breath. "Don't you dare stop."

"So beautiful. So authoritative," Lexa replies, increasing the pressure. "That's why I l— that's why you're you." She barely catches the traitorous words breaking free, but her stumble goes unnoticed. Clarke's too far gone to pay attention to her phrasing.

"Please, Lex."

Lexa twists her hand so that her thumb meets Clarke's clit. A couple of circles and Clarke's whole body shudders. The brunette's arms go around to catch her in a tight embrace as all of her muscles go lax like they usually do after she comes. Lexa murmurs sweet nothing in her ear until Clarke regains her control, lifting her head off Lexa's shoulder. She smiles at her, bright and satisfied before pulling her into an insistent kiss.

Later, when her clothes are back on, Clarke looks at Lexa, her gaze still blurry with post-orgasm bliss, and promises, "You're so getting lucky when we get home."

And Lexa can't deny a spike of excitement that runs through her after hearing the words. She's already imagining fair skin against her black sheets and more of beautiful sounds escaping Clarke's lips. But even a perspective of more sex can't distract her from instantly noticing Raven's alarmed expression when they exit the room and meet her standing further down the corridor.

"Guys, we have a problem," the woman says, waving the confiscated iPad that she somehow retrieved.

"What is it?" Clarke catches up on her worry as well.

"If nothing has changed, the initiation phase is in three days."

Chapter Text

"Ugh," Clarke grumbles when the loud sound of her alarm cuts off her very brief sleep. "I'm so booking us a goddamn vacation when this case is over."

"Can't wait," Lexa mumbles from the vicinity of Clarke's chest where she's been using her boobs as a pillow.

They're lying on the couch in Clarke's office which is far too small to fit two people, leaving Lexa's legs half dangling over the edge. Most of the team came to the headquarters straight from the bar last night. If the information from the drive is still current, they have literally no second to waste. However, their midnight working spree produced no results besides tiring the agents out, so Clarke ordered everyone to go home and get at least a short rest before they reconvened early the next morning.

Clarke wanted to look over one more file before leaving, but when she finished her examination a whole hour had passed. Little use in going home just to return a couple of hours later. So Lexa suggested they stay in the building, and Clarke offered her couch as a temporary sleeping arrangement. The decision that her stiff back is thoroughly regretting right now.

Lexa sits up in the cramped space and takes eye drops out of her pocket. "Shall I bring you a coffee to wake up?" she says, blinking the moisture away and rearranging the post-sleep mane of her hair up in a loose bun.

"Yeah, thank you," Clarke replies, still staring at the ceiling. She allows herself exactly sixty seconds to moan about being awake at the ungodly hour before switching her brain to work mode.

The brunette is already gone by the time her reprieve is up, so Clarke pulls herself into a vertical position, searching for the shoes she kicked off in an unknown direction yesterday. One of her trainers is by the couch, but another one somehow ended up as far as under her desk. She puts them on and swings her arms around for a bit in an attempt to relieve some tension from her muscles. Then she takes her hoodie from the chair and throws it on as well.  It feels weird to be wearing her gym clothes in the office, but a breach of dress code is the least of their issues right now.

Providing that the timeline is correct, they have roughly forty-eight hours to find the target of the attack, and they're nowhere near to figuring it out compared to where they were a week before. Worry starts creeping in, Clarke can just imagine the city under the outbreak, actual blood covering the streets. She has to physically shake off the picture so helpfully provided by her sleep-deprived brain. They must prevent the strike. Whatever it takes. But they have to locate the fucking mark first.

Clarke walks out of the room into the quiet bullpen, nobody is in yet at such an early hour. But then she notices the lights on in the conference room and a figure with a laptop sitting behind one of the desks. When she comes closer, she sees a big pyramid made of white paper cups stacked up high near the person.

"Raven, did you stay up here all night?" Clarke asks concerned.

Her friend sluggishly moves her gaze up from the screen, blinking to concentrate on her face. Clarke knows that Raven has been barely sleeping as it is after the incident, irrationally holding herself responsible for the delay with decoding that she thinks landed Lexa in the hospital. No matter how many times the blonde tried to explain that none of it was Rey's fault, the woman still stubbornly refuses to hear her. When Clarke took away her tablet yesterday, Raven already looked half-dead on her feet, she can only guess how she's holding up now.

"She did," a response comes from the door in Anya's voice. The woman is carrying three more paper cups and places two of them beside the opened laptop. "And before you ask, I did my best to persuade her to leave, but she didn't budge. I figured better she's typing here than drag her around in the car and back in any case."

"Did everyone stay?" Clarke asks.

"Nah," Anya says. "Everybody else left as you said. Octavia tried to resist, but Linc took her home anyway. They're on their way back though."

Raven grabs one of the brought cups and gulps half of the drink in one go. That prompts another of Clarke's concerned requests. "Rey, you need to sleep, at least for a couple of hours."

"I'll sleep on Tuesday when it's over. Or when we are all dead," her friend mumbles. Well, that's dark. It seems that lack of sleep is messing not only with the blonde's brain. "I need to decipher the rest of the file."

"I doubt Tsing added there a map with a big red 'we are going to kill people here' dot on it anyway," Lexa says coming inside with two cups of her own.

"But there might be something we can use. I must find it. I can't leave any more surprises in here. I need to decipher this fucking file," Raven rants without a break in her typing.

"Okay, okay." Anya pats the woman's shoulder and throws the other two a look best described as see what I have to deal with here. 

Despite her increasing uneasiness about her friend's condition, Clarke is also too well aware that there is little to do to change Raven's mind when she's in her hyper-fixated state. So she makes a mental note to check in on her from time to time for now, but she trusts Anya to take care of her too.

Another person appears in the doorway, his figure mostly covered by a stack of pizza boxes topped with some pink containers and plastic plates.

"Wells!" Clarke says approaching the man to help with his load. "You are a god-sent."

"It's all Dr. Rivers," he replies, putting down the remaining food on the nearest desk. "I just help carry everything up from the parking lot."

"It's Luna," says the redhead, appearing from behind him. "And I figured a ton of sugar is exactly what we need to feed our brains today."

Clarke opens one of the pink boxes to find an assortment of desserts. She takes a chocolate donut and chooses a cinnamon bear claw for Lexa. Anya picks up a lemon scone and places it near Raven who immediately snatches the dessert from the plate without interrupting her work.

They assemble in a half circle with their improvised breakfasts of caffeine and sugar, pulling out the tablets full of research, starting from where they left off yesterday. Before they finished for the day, Monty compiled a list of big events scheduled on Monday, the problem is the thing is huge and without searching criteria, it's impossible to determine what can be in danger.

"Why do we have so many things going on?" Clarke groans in frustration looking at the never-ending list in her hands.

"Blessing of a big city," Anya replies. "I think taking into account the Mountain's profile, it's safe to assume that they're going to choose something government-related."

"Yes, but what?" asks Lexa, scrolling down her copy. "We have everything from Board of Police Commissioners Meeting to gathering of Bureau of Land Management and tens of other events in between."

"Probably something with high officials to inflict serious damage?" Luna suggest. "Isn't the mayor speaking at the Council Meeting?"

"She is," Wells confirms, looking through the notes. "And there are many other big figures in attendance, it can be it. Infecting a lot of officials will affect the functioning of multiple systems, not to mention the panic such an announcement can cause."

Fearmongering does sound right up Cage's alley, and this kind of move would make a lot of sense. But Clarke can't get rid of a nagging feeling that she's forgetting something.

"You don't agree, Clarke?" Lexa catches on her reservations.

Before she comes up with a response, a part of a document flashes in her memory. The blonde stands up and strides towards the exit, throwing a quick, "Hold on a second."

She comes to her office, sorting through a pile of files on her desk, grabbing the one she's interested in, and walking back to the waiting agents.

"Did you say the Bureau of Land Management meets on Monday?"

"Yes," says the brunette, checking her tablet again.

Clarke opens the folder to look for the document she remembered.

"Don't you guys have digital files on everything now?" Luna asks, watching the blonde flip the pages.

"Blondie here is an old soul," Anya jabs.

Clarke ignores her and continues her search, then she says with the document in her hands, "Ten years ago Dante Wallace wanted to expand the compound territory but was denied the purchase of government land by the BLM. Cage has spent his whole life in his father's shadow. He'd love nothing more than to prove his seniority by subjugating the very same people who denied his father."

"It's a good theory," Luna agrees, studying the information on the meeting. "But there are going to be only seven people in attendance according to the program. And considering a short incubation window they'll want to infect a lot more people to cause an outbreak. We are looking for something on a much bigger scale."

"Not if they hit many targets at once," says a new voice as Octavia comes into view, followed by Lincoln. She looks slightly disheveled with her hair sticking out everywhere as if she jumped into the car straight out of bed. But Clarke thinks it's not really a fair to judge as all of them are hardly a striking picture of professionalism right now.

"How do you mean?" the blonde asks as the woman takes three donuts and devours the first one in two bites.

"So I was inspecting Thorpe's history yesterday, nothing too unusual. Then I saw that he was working for Polis Solutions, some kind of maintenance company, not exactly a typical occupation for his background, but I figured the guy had huge student loans, so maybe it was just a side hustle, you know, like Spencer said. The company is legit, a lot of clients all over the city."

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming," Anya comments.

"But I thought about it again when we woke up today, something in there jumped at me. That's why on the way here I checked their employee records. Turns out a bunch of the Mountain men work for the company as well. And it does maintenance for municipal structures too, including the city hall."

"I'm sorry." This new information catches Raven's attention, finally distracting her from the drive. "Are you telling me that a bunch of terrorists service one of the main buildings in this city?"

"Pretty much, yes," Octavia says. "So the question now is where your meetings are held."

"The Land Bureau one is in the city hall," Clarke exhales, an uneasy anticipation of Octavia's next words appearing in her gut.

"Just like the police and council ones and another five from our potential list," Lexa confirms.

"Okay, but why do we care about that maintenance company?" Raven asks, not getting the implications.

"Did you say that the virus can be transmitted through liquid?" Octavia checks with Luna.

"Yes," the doctor replies. "If the aerosolized form gets on your mucous membranes."

"Can sprinklers do it?"

"Fuck," Raven mumbles, now understanding where the agent's idea leads. "Oh fuck," she repeats reading off the clear expression of shock from Luna's features.

"I think so." The redhead swallows.

Everyone is stunned for a second. Octavia's features are split between the triumph of figuring out a difficult puzzle and the horrific truth of the discovery. The capacity of the city hall building is in the thousands. That's a fucking huge scale for a one-time contact. Assuming even half of the possible visitors contract the virus and spread it within the twelve-hour window, they're looking at a mass casualty event by the end of the day. It's getting that much harder not to picture blood-stained asphalt in an instant.

"Wells?" Clarke clears her throat. "What do you think? Can they do that?"

A wrinkle of concentration appears on the man's forehead and a few moments later he confirms, "If they change the water supply, yeah, completely doable."

A part of Clarke hopes that the safety protocols of the building would never allow such a thing, but she's learned better than to underestimate the Mountain. They absolutely cannot rely on wishful thinking at this point.

"Okay, so we need to check if they used their access to the building. Raven, stop with the decoding for now, I want you to check the logs, but we can't rely on them completely. So pull all the available CCTV footage and check for the Cage's known associates. Cast a wide net, a month at least."

"Got it," Rey says. "But even with facial recognition software, it will take some time to comb through all that footage."

"I understand," Clarke replies, working to keep her agitation invisible in her voice. "Meanwhile, let's cross-reference the company with all the events on our list and see if they service any other locations."

It's a necessary procedure, but her gut is telling that this is it. She's never wanted to be wrong so much. But then Clarke glances at Lexa, and she can see the mirrored confidence in her eyes. They are so screwed. Everyone immediately gets to work, Luna takes up a desk in Wells' lab instead of going to her own, wishing to stay close in case they need her. More agents walk through the door by the hour, receive the latest update, and get down to business as soon as they work through the initial shock. Kane comes to the Bureau despite his day off, and when Clarke goes to his office to give him the latest cliff notes, his face becomes so tense that she is afraid he is having a silent heart attack or something. His only response besides promising to get any and all resources the team can possibly need is a firm "keep me in the loop of all the current developments, Agent Griffin." But even through his monotone words, the blonde can see that he's freaking out. As much as people sitting in the deputy assistant director chair do. Clarke wonders if it's too much of a cowardly move to send someone else to provide the said updates to the agent next time.

Work is in full swing, amount of empty paper cups has tripled in the last hour just as the number of agents did. The overtime will certainly cost the Bureau a pretty buck at the end of the month. So far, no other locations on the list have turned out to be connected to Polis Solutions. And blonde can't decide for sure if it's a good or a bad thing. But she has a feeling that it is only a matter of time before her instincts prove to be right.

"I've got them," Monty yells two hours later and Clarke turns to find him beside Raven, partially obscured by the cup tower that has grown in size.

She walks up to where they're seated, followed by pretty much half of the team. The agent has to move Jasper's head out of the way to catch sight of the screen. On it, she sees a somewhat grainy image from an outside camera, where three men in worker's overalls are walking towards the service entrance of the building. On the right, a window of a program shows three pictures of a much better quality taken from some form of ID. The software identified the trio as Sgt. James Shaw, Sgt. Eric Lovejoy and Paul Tilling.

"When was this taken?" she asks, studying the brief dossiers for the men that Monty pulls up on the screen next.

"A week ago," the agent says. "I think you were right, Clarke. The city hall must be the target."

"Okay," Octavia's voice comes from behind her. "So now that we have the confirmation, should we evacuate the place and cancel all the events until we get them?"

Clarke is about to answer when Lexa steals her reply. "No, not yet at least. We still don't know where Cage and his group are."

"Also," the blonde adds. "If they're any good, they probably have someone staking out the place in real-time, making sure that everything is in order. If we get there before we have the command in custody, they can just switch the location to the plan B that they most likely have."

"So do we get there and wait for Cage to show up?" Octavia asks.

"No," Anya disagrees. "He doesn't seem like a guy who would put himself anywhere near this kind of danger."

"He wouldn't stay in some seedy motel either," Clarke continues. "Cage is all about big and flashy, so we need to search for some cushy luxury hotel nearby where he can feel in control and perfectly safe at the same time."

Monty presses a few keys and a map of the city center pops up on the screen. "There are four luxury hotels in the center. Two are in the near vicinity of the city hall: a Marriott and a Ritz." 

"Alright," the blonde orders Bellamy and Octavia. "Call both of them and see if Cage has checked in or is on the guest list for any of them. Asks for all of his known aliases as well."

"You've got it, Clarke," Bell responds.

"Lincoln, I want you to look over the blueprints of the city hall and develop the best evacuation plan. You and Anya are going to lead the team. Coordinate with the security and the uniforms. Kane has already made a call to the chief of police, so they're aware of the situation. Police Commissioner is personally monitoring the case, so keep that in mind."

"Copy that," the man confirms. "I'll have everything ready by the end of the day. Am I to assign the teams as well?"

"If you could, yeah," Clarke says. "But make sure Collins isn't in mine."

Lincoln nods with understanding and turns to Raven to ask for information on the building.

"Everyone else, continue working through the list, I don't want any last-minute surprises."

They have exactly one chance to get it right, so it's essential to cover all the angles. But the midday the agents begin to appear tired, but nobody complains, regardless that some of them had barely any sleep in the last twenty-four hours. Wells appears with another huge order of takeout which cheers the team up a bit, but everyone just takes some food and eats it in front of their computers not getting distracted from work even for a short time of a meal. Too much is at stake. Sometime around three o'clock, Clarke starts wondering how is it that she hasn't received any calls from the brass all day. She assumes that Kane is taking care of it, but turns out she's wrong. The answer appears in the form of a brunette woman bringing her yet another cup of extra strong coffee while talking on the phone at the same time. Lexa's been in and out of the room for the better part of four hours, and it makes sense because, between the two of them, she is a much better politician.

By the end of the day, they have a plan of evacuation for the city hall, the team planned, half of the law enforcement of the city on stand-by. Luna even goes through the team with a round of vaccinations. What they don't have is Cage's location. Turns out the bastard booked a room in pretty much every hotel Polis has to offer under a dozen of different names. This makes it a lot harder to get a warrant for the internal CCTV and luxury hotels aren't exactly what you call cooperative when you ask them for the footage without one. So while Monty is keeping an eye on all the available public cameras near the hotels, the Blakes arranged to receive a call from any of the places as soon as someone checks in the said rooms. All they can do now is wait and monitor, and it's eating at Clarke's nerves.

In the end, Lexa convinces her to go home and get as much sleep as they can because the next two days are sure to be taxing. It takes Clarke at least two hours to quiet the buzz of thoughts, she can't stop going over all the possible scenarios of the operation, keeping herself from constantly tossing and turning only by the thought of Lexa sound asleep on her right.

Luckily, Clarke dozes off at some point, but her rest isn't all that long. Hardly five hours later Clarke jolts awaken by the ringtone of her phone so violently that she accidentally elbows Lexa in the ribs scrambling to get it.

"Shit, sorry," she says when the brunette hisses beside her.

"Griffin," the blonde answers the phone.

"Clarke," Monty's voice on the other side sounds exhausted. "Cage and three of his men came to the Ritz ten minutes ago. Tsing is with them."

"Okay," Clarke says. "Thank you. Have someone arrange for an emergency warrant. We're going to be there soon."

"Got it," the man says and hangs up.

"Do we have them?" Lexa asks still half asleep.

"I think we do," Clarke confirms. "It's a go-time."

Chapter Text

"I'm pretty sure that's not a standard issue," Anya says as she walks into the room where Lexa is strapping a knife to her thigh.

"You're the one to talk," the brunette replies, gesturing to the unzipped bag her sister is carrying. Inside are various devices that she can only guess the purposes of.

"Yeah, Rey hooked us up with some of her best gear, just in case," the woman says with an unmasked warmth in her voice that she doesn't display so often. When all of this is over, Lexa thinks, they're due a conversation about her sister's relationship consisting of deeper things than the ones she learned in passing.

"How is everything looking?" Lexa asks.

It's an hour before go-time, and until they depart, Raven, Monty, and a couple of other agents on the newly formed support team are monitoring the city hall and the hotel for any movement. The plan is to hit both locations at exactly the same time, not allowing any of the Mountain men to escape and launch an attack. They held a multi-agency meeting two hours ago, making sure everybody knew exactly what and when they had to do down to the minute. There is zero margin for error at this stage, each little piece must slide right into place for this to work.

"All good so far," Anya says. "Cage and his team haven't left the hotel. And Griffin was right, cops spotted two men on the lookout near the city hall. The rest of their team are located in a motel nearby, guess Cage isn't all that generous when it comes to people doing the dirty work."

"And the remaining militia?"

"The local sheriff's department is ready to make arrests as soon as we give them a signal."

All the details seem to be in place, they just need to execute the plan without any hitches, which is never the case. So Lexa has been going over a contingency plan in her head for over an hour. Alas, there are too many things in motion that can easily go wrong, even the power of prediction may not be enough here. The brunette doesn't need to voice her misgivings out loud, she can see in her sister's eyes that she understands what they're up against perfectly well. And Anya for sure has been working on the calculations of her own. Leading separate teams is the best bet from the standpoint of strategy, but both of them would prefer not to have to do it. Yet they also accept the reality of their work. Through the years of running towards danger and the sounds of gunfire, the sisters learned to trust each other to be safe. That foundation of trust is what helps Lexa feel a tiny bit better going into this insanely risky endeavor.

"No being a hero, Lexa." Anya looks at her with intensity, grabbing her forearm. "Stay safe."

"Likewise," Lexa says, giving her sister's arm a squeeze.

Anya hands her a couple of devices from her bag before going away to check on her team. Lexa continues getting ready, carefully inspecting her gear and weapons. A few minutes later she feels eyes on her skin and looks up to see Clarke standing in the doorway.

"Hey," Lexa says when the woman moves closer. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," the blonde replies, continuing to watch her with a searching expression.

Lexa gives her the time for whatever it is she's doing, moving along her mental checklist.

A moment or two later, Clarke says, fixing her gaze on Lexa's eyes, "I suppose there is no use in asking you to sit this one out."

The brunette huffs at the ridiculousness of the suggestion.

"So I won't," the blond agent continues. "However, if you so much as breathe funny, I'll cuff you to the nearest object."

"Kinky." The woman just can't help herself for some reason.

"Lexa."

"Clarke," the brunette drawls.

"I'm serious. I know that you care about people, but you cannot disregard your own well-being like that. No taking unnecessary risk, no pushing through discomfort. You literally died last week, and I prefer not to have to perform CPR on you ever again." Clarke's voice turns hard as if she's swallowing raw emotion clawing its way out.

And Lexa can't turn it into another joke. She takes hold of Clarke's hand, pressing it to her chest, and looks straight into the sky blues. "I will be careful, Clarke. I promise."

She seals her vow with a quick kiss, pulling their foreheads together when they break apart. They stand like that for a couple of seconds, simply sharing the air, savoring the last of the quiet before the storm. The unspoken words prickle the back of Lexa's throat, but before they have a chance to fly out, a knock sounds on the opened door.

"Sorry to interrupt," Agent Winters says from the hall waving towards the bullpen. "But a police sergeant is on the line with some questions he wants to go over."

"Tell him I will be there in a moment," Clarke answers, stepping out of the embrace. The man nods and turns to walk away, but the blonde stops him by saying, "Hey, actually, wait a second."

When Winters faces them again, Clarke fishes something out of her pocket and throws a small object glinting in the light, which he catches with ease. "Can you give that to Collins?"

The agent looks at the ring in his hand questionably for a second but then replies, "No problem."

Lexa wonders if Clarke is going to acknowledge the gravity of the gesture, but when the blonde returns her attention to Lexa, she simply offers her another peck on the lips. "I see you soon?"

"Sure," Lexa says, looking after the figure striding away to the hall, the words still hanging on the tip of her tongue. 

⠀

Fifty minutes later, a group of a dozen FBI agents accompanied by uniformed police officers are standing in front of the tall building of an upscale hotel. They're ready to move in, going through the last pre-op checks.

"Cage still hasn't left the room," confirms Green from his support team post back in the Bureau building.

"Do they have anyone in the lobby?" Clarke asks.

"Yes," comes Raven's voice. "Two men, identified by the facial recognition."

"Okay. Winters, Spencer, Jordan, they're yours," Clarke commands.

"Copy that."

The group of agents is moving closer to the building, halting at a safe distance so that they won't be prematurely seen through the glass panels on the first floor. They stop in a tight formation, prepared to enter through the front door.

"Team A in position," says Lexa.

"Team B in position," Lincoln announces from the city hall.

"Team C in position," confirms a police officer from the other part of the town tasked to make the arrest of the militiamen stationed in the motel.

Lexa exchanges a quick glance with Clarke before the woman nods and announces, "We are green and go."

As soon as their group charges into the building, Winters and Spencer stride towards the two men lounging on the expensive velvet sofas before they have a chance to get their weapons. "FBI! You are under arrest."

One of the men still makes a move to get his gun from under his jacket, but Jasper is faster, aiming his own weapon at the perpetrator. "Don't even think about it."

Lexa's gaze swiftly runs around, assessing the scene. Yet she doesn't locate the threat in time, as a bullet flies by on her right, barely missing her arm. The agent bolts to take cover behind a thick marble column. So much for the element of surprise. Panicked shrilled screams echo in the polished interior of the lobby, followed by steps of the agents dispersing all over the floor. No one fires back, trying to avoid the shots among civilians.

"It's three men," Lexa says over the radio.

"FBI!" Clarke yells at the top of her voice from the nearby column. "Everyone get down."

Luckily, it's still quite early in the day, so there aren't many guests inside. Just a group of three women whimpering from their hideout behind one of the couches. A man, who was getting his money from an ATM, and two receptionists lying low in the safety of their desk.

Lexa catches Clarke's eyes and gestures for the woman to cover her. The blonde nods and shouts, "This is pointless. There are a dozen agents in here. Put down your weapon and get on the ground."

The brunette makes her move, getting closer to the assailant. The man has no intention to give up apparently as he lets out another round of fire. Damn those self-righteous idiots deeming themselves invincible. Lexa takes position, covered by a shining black piano, and says in a loud commanding voice, "Last warning, surrender before it gets ugly."

That, of course, produces exactly the opposite effect, the man whirls around, turning in the direction of Lexa's voice, and aiming his gun at the agent. But she is much more swift, taking her prepared shot in his leg. The perpetrator cries out in pain and falls to the ground. Instantly, he is surrounded by the agents who were closer to him. The Mountain man is put in handcuffs, his gun taken away. Other officers help the guests out of their cover.

"Let the police deal with him," Lexa says to the agents, walking past him towards the reception. "It's safe now, you can get out."

The women stand up from the desk clearly shaken but somehow still able to retain professional composure, plastering stiff smiles on their faces. 

"We need to get to the top floor," Clarke says, appearing at her side.

"Of course, Ma'am," replies the older woman, typing a few keys and then holding out a plain key card with a shaking hand. "The penthouse floor is accessed through the VIP elevator." She motions toward the one on the left separated from the general ones.

"Thank you," Lexa says, taking the card.

Unfortunately, despite its status, the elevator isn't nearly spacious enough to fit their whole group. It's only suitable for five people.

"Okay, Winters, Spencer, Jordan, you are taking the first ride with us," the blond agent orders. "The rest of you, follow in groups."

"This is super fancy," Jordan comments, tracing his finger on what looks like real amber panels as they go up to the twentieth floor.

"I guess blood money gets you high up in this world," Winters snickers.

When they reach their destination, the doors open with a melodic ping. The agents exit the elevator, walking along the corridor in a single file. A door opens on their right, and a formal-looking man in a suit comes out of the room, as soon as he notices their group holding up the guns, he yelps in surprise and drops his briefcase.

"Federal Agents, Sir," Winters says. "Go back inside and wait till we tell you it's safe to come out."

The man immediately turns on his heels and steps back into the room without lingering to ask any questions. The agents continue their way to the penthouse. As they stop by the door, Lexa strains her hearing to capture any sounds coming from inside. There's no particular commotion, so maybe they're lucky and the unsub didn't think about warning his bosses before opening fire on the FBI.

The agents look between Clarke and Lexa waiting for the orders. They exchange a look, running over strategies in their heads.

"You think we should wait?" the blonde asks after a moment.

"Five of them, five of us," Lexa muses. "But a lot of ground to cover." Cage just had to choose the biggest room his money could buy, seems like a suite must be at least two-story to match his grandeur. "Looks like they're staying put, so why the unnecessary risk?"

"Then we stand by until one more team gets here," Clarke agrees.

The time is ticking at an unhurried pace and Lexa can see the blonde struggling to avoid fidgeting. All five of them remain rooted in place, their guns trained at the door, ready to act at the slightest development. A minute passes. Then another. And finally, the sound of the elevator breaks the tense silence. The second team reaches them in record time.

"Alright," Clarke exhales in, imperceptible to anyone but Lexa, relief. "Agent Miller, your team get the second floor, Spencer you stay at the exit, the rest we get the first floor."

"Ready?" Lexa gets out the key card and extends her hand to the lock.

After receiving confirmation from both teams Clarke says, "Go."

The green light blinks and Winters pulls the handle. The agents burst into the room, yelling. "FBI! Put down your weapons!"

Cage and his people appear to be more clever than their soldier downstairs. Though footsteps sound in different directions, nobody announces their location by opening fire. At least for now. The agents scatter around, advancing in a well-rehearsed manner. Clarke stays relatively close to Lexa, both women moving through space in beautiful synchrony. A few moments later, they find themselves in some kind of lounging area with floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows, big velvet couches, a bar, and a piano. What is it with luxury hotels and pianos anyway?

Lexa's eyes are constantly scanning the scene, searching for the smallest movements, her muscles coiled for action. The vast space appears to be empty, even though it's clearly not true. No sign of any activity, unfortunately, they're dealing with the military who know how to avoid getting caught. The brunette is delegating all her mental resources to staying vigilant, but she can't deny that this game of hide-and-seek is getting on her nerves just a bit.

The agents walk closer to the bar when suddenly Clarke turns around and shouts, "Lexa, duck."

Lexa's muscles react long before she has time to process the command. The woman plunges down as a shot rings over her head. A sharp sound of pain comes from behind, and she sees a man in a tactical vest over his white T-shirt falling to the ground and dropping his weapon. Lexa gets closer and kicks his gun away before he has a chance to recover and grab it. The bullet caught him in the shoulder, almost identically to the place where Lexa's wearing her own scar. But despite the pain, he is getting his bearings rapidly. Lexa can see in his calculating gaze that he is a moment away from charging at her with his bare hands.

She aims her gun straight at his head and hears Clarke stepping a little closer behind her, covering her back, no doubt the man in her crosshair as well. "Don't even think about it." The lieutenant keeps his eyes locked on her, still going through his options, regardless of being at a disadvantage on the floor. "Do not," Lexa repeats with all the conviction she's got. "There are two of us and only one of you, unarmed. Give it up. Turn around and lock your hands behind your back."

He stares for a few more seconds. Then it looks like he reaches a conclusion, finally getting on his stomach. Lexa gets out her zip ties, bounding his hands before cuffing him to the sturdy-looking leg of a cabinet to be sure he stays there until they get every one of them.

"Carl Emerson," Lexa says. "You are under arrest."

"You shot me, you stupid blond bitch," the man spews.

"How original." The brunette almost rolls her eyes.

Her attention is focused on the man on the ground when a soft sound of distress coming from behind, makes her look up and turn. Her heart misses a beat at the picture she finds. In front of her stands a familiar man in an expensive-looking suit.

He is holding a knife to Clarke's throat.

In an instant, all her instincts are screaming at her to act. To shoot him. To run up to Clarke. Even to shout at him. Knowing that it's futile and won't help the situation doesn't really make resisting the urges any easier. Lexa orders herself to stay still, to think. A gunshot sounds from above, but she doesn't even blink at that. First, the agent makes a few steps closer to them to get at a safe distance where Emerson can't possibly reach her. 

"Make one more step," threatens Cage. "And the pretty agent won't be so pretty anymore."

"Did you take that line out of some cliché villain rule book?" Clarke scoffs.

"Shut up, bitch!" Cage presses his knife harder and a few drops of crimson blood appear on the fair skin.

Lexa tightens her jaws. She keeps holding the man at gunpoint, assessing his every breath. His stance is completely wrong, and it isn't the movies where you can slit someone's throat in one clean cut. Yet the cold steel is too close to Clarke's delicate blood vessels for her comfort. The blonde probably has the same idea because though she doesn't look scared, only mostly irritated, she doesn't make a move to free herself either.

"Think about this, Cage," Lexa offers. "You're surrounded, the building is filled with federal agents, you have nowhere to go. Let the agent go."

"I'm not going to prison," the man yells, on edge. His frantic eyes are darting around, cooking up some passable plan.

Meanwhile, Clarke and Lexa are having a silent conversation.

"I'm okay, don't worry."

"I'll get you out of here, I promise."

The shouts come from the second floor, but no one is paying attention.

"Here is what we are going to do," Cage says. "You are going to put down your gun, and the three of us are going to walk out of this building nice and slow or your pretty agent dies."

"Just kill the bitch," Emerson throws.

"Shut up," Lexa and Cage reply in unison.

"I'm not going to do that," the brunette says. He is clearly delusional if he thinks that not only her, but a whole division of the FBI agents would ever allow him to get away from this place.

"Then her blood is on your hands." The man pushes the knife deeper again. Clarke doesn't make a sound, but her eyes squeeze shut in pain.

Lexa forces out a slow exhale, fighting the anger bubbling inside her chest. "Okay, okay." She bends down to place her weapon on the floor and kicks it away. Judging by the intense blues, Clarke doesn't approve, but the woman doesn't express her disagreement aloud at the risk of getting hurt further.

"Now you are going to tell all your little friends to let us pass," Cage orders.

"Alright," Lexa raises her left hand to her ear while imperceptibly slowly relaxing the right one on her thigh. She is staring right into Clarke's eyes, praying her silent message is clear enough. Cage hasn't paid much attention to her ammunition, but she really hopes Clarke did. She hopes the woman understands the unspoken signal of the slightest tilt of her head.

Thank gods, she does. Three things happen at once. Clarke stomps at the man's foot. Cage gets momentarily distracted. Lexa grabs the knife off her thigh and lets it fly in a precise throw. Cage howls as the sharp tip digs deep into the meat of his upper arm. His grip on his own knife comes undone, and it drops to the floor with a clink. In one fluid motion, Clarke escapes his hold, turning the man around and twisting his arms behind his back. He screams again as the agent pulls his arms together to secure them with cuffs before pushing him down to his knees.

"Two men in custody," Lexa says over the coms.

"Two in custody upstairs," Miller checks in. "The floor is clean."

"The first floor clear."

"I need medical attention," Cage wails in pain.

"Requesting RA," the brunette says. "Two knife wounds and one GSW." 

Lexa shortens the distance, fighting really hard to resist kicking the bastard or for example pulling her knife out. But as soon as she reaches the blonde all her attention zeroes in on Clarke.

"I didn't know you could do that," the woman says in a light tone. "That was really badass."

Lexa ignores the comment, gently taking hold of her chin and lifting it up.

"It's just a scratch, Lex," Clarke says but doesn't object to the attention. "You don't need to worry."

The wound doesn't look too deep, but the blood keeps oozing out. The sight makes her gut squeeze uncomfortably.

"It's fine, I promise," the blonde says lowering her head. She presses one of her hands to the wound and rests the other on Lexa's cheek in an attempt to reassure her. Her comforting gaze relieves a bit of worry, but Lexa continues to watch the woman closely.

Heavy footsteps sound nearby and a moment later Agent Winters approaches the four of them, followed by another group of agents who start getting the perps up off the ground and reading them their rights.

"Guys, we have a problem," the bearded agent says.

"Can we please stop saying that?" Lexa groans out loud.

"What is it now?" Clarke evidently shares the sentiment.

"Tsing isn't here."

Chapter Text

"How the hell did this happen?" Clarke asks, raiding an empty EMS car for some supplies. She's surrounded by a few agents from her team. "Had she left the room unnoticed before we arrived?"

The agent rinses the cut on her neck with some chlorhexidine solution, pats it dry with gauze, and slaps an adhesive dressing on top. She doesn't really want to be marked by a scar left by a terrorist, but there is no time for such small things at the moment. Not with a psycho doctor, potentially armed with a deadly virus, on the run.

"Unlikely," says Monty.

"We actually have a better idea. I looked over the footage from the lobby from the moment you came in. Once you guys left for the elevator, one of the receptionists immediately started typing something on her phone. I couldn't enlarge the image to able to catch what, but the timing seems too convenient."

"You think she warned her?" Lexa asks.

"Could have. I think it's enough to question her at least."

"Jasper, will you?" Clarke requests.

"Sure," the man replies before walking away towards the group of civilians from the hotel.

"But how did she get out?" Winters wonders. "Weren't you monitoring the cameras in the hall?"

"We were, but there are service areas for staff with less coverage. If she got access to them, she could have easily slipped out with the rest of the panicked workers."

"Great," Clarke mumbles annoyed. It's not that unexpected for things to go south, yet she should have anticipated more players behind the scenes. But the agent can chastise herself for the lack of oversight later. Finding Tsing is a much more pressing issue right now. "Could she be attempting to continue with the original plan?"

"No chance," replies Anya. "There are too many law enforcement agents here, plus we're almost done with complete evacuation. With only essential personnel left, there are not that many people to infect."

"Did you confirm that it was supposed to be the target?"

"Yes. The sprinkler system was tampered with, but we don't know for sure if the virus is there. The CDC guys are working at the scene."

"Raven, Monty, can you open up a map and search for the best targets for the attack within our perimeter?" Clarke can't keep herself from pacing around in a small circle.

"Do you think she'll go through with it?" Lexa asks.

"Tsing knows we're on to her, she may not have another chance in a long while, and I wouldn't peg her for a person who gives up her plans easily."

Agent Miller exits the hotel and walks towards the group. "We did a full sweep of the building. The doctor is certainly not inside."

"My team is looking for the possible location for the strike. Any input?"

"Train station seems like an obvious choice to me, and it's within our radius."

"Let's see," Raven's voice comes over the radio. "Tsing couldn't have got past our checkpoints, there are three places inside the perimeter we believe she will most likely choose: the train station, the Sanctum mall, and the pier. They attract large foot traffic over the weekends, so if Tsing still plans to infect lots of people at once, it's gotta be one of those."

"What do you think?" Clarke asks Lexa.

"Seems reasonable, she definitely didn't go away too far. Like you said, she's out of options at this point."

"Okay." The blonde nods, waving her hand to attract the attention of the police officer in charge. "Agent Miller, I want your team to take the mall. Sergeant Byrne, you're responsible for the pier."

"Roger that, Ma'am," the woman replies.

"And we." Clarke turns to Roan. "Are going to check out the train station. Gather the team."

"Copy," the agent says and steps away.

Less than five minutes later, Clarke is in the passenger seat of Lexa's SUV, driving towards their destination. The whole ride she can't stop tapping on her thigh. Something is bothering the agent, but for the life of her, she can't figure out what. Clarke stares into the distance, urging the murky idea in her head to gain some clarity. Their estimation appears logical, but some detail is refusing to fit in her mental picture.

"What is it?" Lexa asks after a few minutes of tapping.

"I don't know," Clarke exhales mindlessly.

"Do you think we are missing something?"

"I don't know," the woman repeats, her eyes still on the road in front of them.

The thing is, Clarke spent countless hours poring over the files, reading each paragraph over and over again. She likes to believe, that she formed quite a solid understanding of Tsing's behavioral patterns. And a train station or a mall, as reasonable as they may be, don't look like her types of targets. If she was the one solely making choices now, Clarke would guess the woman to want it be far more personal than that. 

"Well, we are three minutes away from the station," Lexa states.

"Okay," Clarke mumbles, lost in thought, continuing to look out the window.

With the day slowly shifting into the afternoon, the road is busy with families taking advantage of the time off work and people working through their weekend chores lists. Clarke's gaze catches on a group of college kids laughing on the sidewalk. And just like that, a memory jolts the woman out of her trance.

"Raven," Clarke's voice is full of urgency. "Anya told me Tsing's aunt and uncle had been college professors?"

"Yeah, in Arkadia."

"Is it within our radius?" Clarke catches sight of Lexa watching her in her peripheral.

"It is," Raven confirms.

"You think she'll choose it?" the brunette asks.

"Maybe," Clarke replies unsure. There is too much at stake to rely on guesses. But she's unable to get rid of the sensation that this is it. Still, Clarke is struggling to get through her doubts. She looks at Lexa who is seemingly rapidly conducting her own evaluation.

"Should we change course?" she asks.

Clarke is exasperated by her state of indecision, her mind running a million miles an hour. In the end, it's Lexa who makes a choice.

"I trust your instincts, Clarke," she says, making a U-turn.

"What are you doing?" Winters asks from the car behind.

"Agent Griffin has a hunch, we are going to check it out."

"Need backup?"

The women exchange glances. If Clarke is right, they'll definitely need more agents on the campus. On the other hand, if this doesn't play out as she expects, they will have taken out recourses from where they're needed.

"Yes, Agent Winters, follow us to the Arkadia college," the blonde says, deciding not to divert all the units. "Everyone else, remain on your assignments." 

"Roger that," Winters says, and Clarke sees in the side mirror his car change the course.

They arrive at the campus four minutes later to find it buzzing with activity. The lawn is covered with picnic blankets. Groups of students are walking along the stone paths between the buildings. A few professors are seen in the crowd.

"Why are there so many people here on Sunday?" Lexa wonders as they jump out of the car.

"Excuse me," Clarke flags the campus police officer nearby. "I'm Special Agent Griffin with the FBI. Have you seen this woman?" She shows Tsing's ID photo on her phone.

The man squints at the screen, studying the image. "I did actually, she walked past me about fifteen or ten minutes ago."

"Where did she go?"

"Towards the main building." The officer motions to the large three-story stone structures.

"What do we have?" Roan approaches, followed by Agent Spencer.

"Tsing is here," Lexa says.

"Attention, all units, the subject is located at Arkadia College," Clarke tells the team on the coms.

The police officer looks unnerved by the sudden intrusion of the FBI agents in his routine. "So is she dangerous? Should we begin evacuation? We have a warning system for the whole campus."

"No," Lexa retorts. "If we announce it over the speaker, the perp can be spooked into action."

"Yes," Clarke agrees. "Winters, Spencer, cooperate with the campus police and start getting people out quietly. Backup should arrive soon."

"And you two?"

She exchanges nods with Lexa before saying, "We are going to get Tsing."

The agents begin walking among the unsuspecting crowd, giving orders to leave the lawn. More officers join in to help. The students appear annoyed rather than alarmed, so everything is going fine for now. Clarke and Lexa are surveying the area, thinking over Tsing's potential way of attack. Such a big space provides too many options.

"Wells, Luna, are you there?" Clarke checks, following the groups leaving the premises with her eyes.

"We are," Wells replies. "What do you need?"

"Do you think Tsing could have returned to the original plan with the sprinklers?"

"Unlikely," the man says. "It required certain preparation, in spur of the moment she won't be able to properly set it up."

Fantastic. So now they have to figure out the evil genius's plan before the time is up. Judging by the whispering students, people are getting suspicious, it might not be long before panic breaks out.

"Assuming that she developed only one form of agent," Rivers says. "The transmission path will be the same. She'll have to keep to the liquid form."

"Can she poison drinking water?" Clarke asks when her gaze falls on a water fountain a few feet away.

"Probably, but if she does, it will get to the main water supply. The whole city might be in danger of contamination."

The blonde feels the adrenaline levels steadily rising in her body. "And where can she access the supply the best?"

"Plumbing systems are in the basement," Raven's voice is accompanied by speedy typing. "In the main building. Those pipes are PVC, she can easily cut into it with a knife."

"Raven, get us the blueprints of the underground level," Lexa orders. "Luna, where are you with the treatment?"

"Not ready yet, so don't get infected."

"Not very helpful."

Lexa's phone pings with a notification, and she opens the image of the basement plans. The women quickly study the blueprints before launching into a sprint towards the building. Clarke is breathing through the staccato beats of her heart. She can see in Lexa's features that both of them are too aware of the risks they're taking. Their chances aren't that great. An unhinged murderous woman is loose on the campus with a deadly virus, yet all Clarke is afraid of at this moment is something happening to Lexa again. Her regular calm during ops is nowhere to be found. Actually, she is pretty much freaking out. 

They reach the stone steps of the building and run up inside, moving in the direction of the elevators. Lexa pushes the button for the lowest floor and Clarke's gaze lingers on the green eyes the whole time.

"Lex," she utters, fear sticking to her tongue.

"Clarke, whatever happens, I'll always be with you," the woman says without breaking eye contact.

Well, that just works wonders in breaking through the fog of Clarke's panic, sparking another blazing feeling in her.

"This is bullshit, Lexa," Clarke says so loudly she might as well be screaming. Fuck it. If they're dying, she is not keeping the words inside any longer. "I'm in love with you, so don't you dare die, do you hear me? You are getting out of here alive. No other alternative."

Lexa's face lights up in reaction to her outburst. Her smile is way too bright for the danger they are facing.

"Did you hear a word I said?"

"Loud and clear." Lexa is grinning wildly. "I love you too, Clarke." The woman presses her lips to Clarke's in a quick but searing kiss that is swimming with painfully acute emotions: worry and fear mixed with joy and love.

The elevator stops, and the agents break away and race to the double doors in front of them. But when Clarke pulls the handle, the door remains in place.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me," she groans when she spots the digital lock on the wall. They absolutely do not have time to wait for someone with tools to breach in.

"Wait," Lexa says, going through the contents of her pockets and taking out a small plastic box. "Anya gave me Raven's unlocking device."

"God, I love your sister," Clarke exhales in a nervous chuckle as Lexa presses the device to hack their way inside.

A green light blinks and a soft click informs them that they're in luck. Clarke gets hold of the handle once again and when Lexa unholsters her gun and nods, she pulls the door open. The agents move in, with the brunette taking point. The corridor is cold and dark, barely lit by the dim overhead lights. They are looking around at the signs above the door frames, searching for room 307. It appears on their right at a juncture a couple of moments later. Clarke steps closer and peers into the room through the dirty cloudy glass at the top of the door. Inside is a dark-haired woman, hunching down near a pipe on the floor, no weapon in sight.

"We have eyes on Tsing," the blonde agent whispers.

"Good luck, guys," Raven says in a voice too different in its neutrality to her normal emotive pitch.

"You should go," Clarke tells Lexa. "I will approach her."

The room has two exits, one they're standing in front of and another one on the left side where the fork of the corridor leads. They need to cover both of them, not leaving Tsing any chance to flee. Plus, it makes for a good cover. However, even before Lexa replies, Clarke knows what she's going to say.

"I'm a senior agent," the brunette retorts. "I should do it."

Clarke anticipated this argument the moment she saw the blueprints. "Funny that you think I care about seniority right now," she says and goes on after the other agent huffs lightly. "You are a much better shot, Lexa. I know you are worried, but you need to let me do this."

Lexa looks like she wants to continue to argue her point, but she also understands the urgency of the situation. A few seconds later her eyes fill up with resignation. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"That's the spirit," Clarke says and ushers her away.

When a moment after that Lexa says "In position", the blonde takes a slow exhale, shifting all her focus on the mission. She raises up her gun, placing her right hand on the doorknob, and pulls it open. "Lorelei Tsing, I'm Agent Griffin with the FBI. Give up the virus and surrender."

The woman immediately jumps up to a standing position. Now Clarke can see that she's clutching a vial with a needle in her right hand. She looks much more weary than in her college photos, skinnier, dark shadows bloom under her eyes. The eyes, covered in a frenzied glaze.

"Don't move any closer," Tsing squeals. "Or I'll release the virus."

"Okay, okay." Clarke is eighty percent sure the doctor is bluffing, considering that the place where they are confirms the type of transmitter it needs, but she's not in the mood to play chicken with deadly pathogens either. Out of the corner of her eye, she makes out a cautious movement on her left. "You don't need to do it. I know what your uncle and aunt did to you, but they aren't here anymore. Harming people in this place won't mean anything to them."

"It's not about those monsters," the doctor giggles in a slightly hysterical manner. "They knew, they all knew."

"Who did?" Clarke keeps her eyes trained on the woman so as not to give away that she's watching Lexa's progress in her periphery.

"They all knew," the woman's voice grows louder as she's raising the vial, perhaps without even realizing it. "The whole faculty. They all saw what they did to me, and they said nothing!"

"I understand. You want to punish them but what about the innocent people? These students have done nothing to you." In the blank stare Tsing is giving her, the agent can discern that none of her words resonate with the doctor. The thing is, taking into account her kill list, odds are that Tsing is far beyond reasoning with.

"Why would I care about people?" The woman's tone sounds like Clarke asked the most ridiculous question possible, like she's genuinely perplexed by the notion of troubling herself with such things.

"Do you care about prison? Because that's where you're going. The only question is for how long."

"And how are you going to do that?" Tsing walks up to the wall that has multiple pipes going up and waves the vial threateningly. "You make one step, Agent, and the virus is in the water and all those people you are so concerned about will have a very disturbing twenty-four hours."

Clarke doubts the needle is even strong enough to penetrate the thick plastic, but at the same time, she can't risk lives on her guess. The two subtle clicks in her earpiece are a balm to her nerves. Lexa's got the shot. "And what about you, Lorelei? Are you going to put yourself at risk of infection as well?"

"Oh, you can't be that naive, Agent," the woman tsks. "I'm immune, of course. Did you really think I would leave myself vulnerable to my own creation?"

So Tsing is done with the vaccine then. Well, that's at least reassuring. If it comes to worst, Luna might be able to recreate the formula, provided that they find the notes.

"You are out of moves, Agent. Whatever you do, poor innocent people will pay the price," Tsing switches to taunting, and Clarke is having a hard time following her mood swings. At this point, talking her out of deploying the virus doesn't seem feasible.

"Can't let you do that, Lorelei."

"I'm afraid there is nothing you can do to stop me, Agent," the doctor almost singsongs, moving the hand that is holding the vial closer to the pipe, gauging Clarke's reaction.

Actually, there is one thing that she doesn't know about. Another soft click in her ear and Clarke understand the signal. She takes a swift step back, shutting the door in front of her at the exact second a shot rings in the small space. The woman inside screams in agony. Through the window, Clarke observes the blood streaming out her hand where the ampule used to be. 

"I advise you to stay down, Dr. Tsing," Lexa commands. "Or I will not hesitate to shoot you again."

Tsing appears deaf to her words, her legs not providing enough support as she drops to the floor, hardly able to keep herself in a sitting position with the uninjured arm. She slowly shifts her head in Lexa's direction but doesn't give any other reaction, seemingly moments away from passing out.

"I think she's about to black out," Lexa mirrors her estimation. They don't have to wait long, witnessing the woman's arm giving up a minute or two later, then her body meets the ground. 

Clarke holds her breath, counting time in her head, but even after two more minutes, the terrorist remains motionless. "Tsing is down," the blond agent exhales. "We need the CDC medics in here, she's been exposed."

"And you guys?" Luna hurries with the response.

"We are safe," Lexa says.

"Oh, thank god!" If Clarke is not mistaken, it sounds like somebody is clapping their hands on the other end of the line.

Clarke wants nothing more than to run to Lexa, but just to be safe she can't leave her position until the specialists and more agents arrive, so instead she says, "Great job."

"You too, Clarke."

Though she didn't in fact accomplish anything with her negotiations, they both are alive, and the threat is neutralized. So Clarke will take the praise.

⠀

"You should have seen Collins, coming up to the mayor like they're old pals," Anya is telling Jasper and Monty how their leg of operation went.

"She was not impressed," Octavia chuckles.

"Glad we don't have to work with the dude anymore, honestly," Jasper notes.

Once again they're in Gustus's bar, the space is packed with FBI agents and police officers. All the drinks are on the house 'for saving us all', regardless of Lexa's insistent attempts to explain that there simply are too many people for such generosity, the man wouldn't take no for an answer. Even if he isn't privy to what exactly went down, Gustus said that everyone deserved some appreciation for their risky jobs, and how do you argue with that?

Having got plenty of offenders in processing and received preliminary reports from all four team leaders, Kane gave everyone the evening off. Last time Clarke watched Cage being brought into holding after his hospital release, he was screaming at the top of his lungs about having connections to Police Commissioner and immunity deals. Whether his accusations have any merit or it was just the biggest name he could think of is to be determined. And the agent already can perfectly picture how much headache this line of investigation is going to cause.

At least for now, the debriefing and paperwork, which Clarke expects to be big enough to take up her whole desk, can wait till tomorrow. Kane even promised to go through everything with the brass himself. And it was music to Clarke's ears because Jaha, who will undoubtedly insert himself into the aftermath of the operation, is extremely low on the list of people she's looking forward to speaking with.

"Should we get her to bed?" Clarke approaches her chatting friends and gestures with her glass towards Raven, who fell asleep right on the table.

"Nah," Anya says, glancing at the sleeping woman beside her. "I don't want to move her just yet. Let her have some rest first."

That might be wise, Clarke herself is ready to crash very soon, mostly sustained by surrounding energy that she has no idea where everybody is getting from. Big win and all, but after the last two days they had, two month really, nothing sounds more appealing than spending at least a week without doing a thing. She certainly must look into that vacation that is calling to her.

"You did well today, Blondie," Anya raises her glass over the sleeping body.

"Not too bad yourself, Woods." Clarke clinks it with hers.

The blonde leans back into the soft leather of the bench, surveying the occupants of the bar. Bellamy is dancing with Agent Martin, the curly-haired woman laughing and pressing her body so close into his that Bell is bound to have Octavia teasing him for the following week at minimum. Wells is chatting with a pretty woman that Clarke assumes is a police officer. Roan is playing pool with Spencer, a small crowd cheering around them. Winters must sense her eyes on him because he looks up from the table and gives her a salute. Lincoln is chatting with Gustus at the bar, only having left his girlfriend to get her a drink a short while ago. Speaking of Clarke's girlfriend, she and Luna are walking towards their table, carrying multiple drinks in their hands. Clarke scoots closer to the wall, freeing up space for Lexa.

"Hey, babe." The blonde can't help the dopey smile spreading all over her face.

"Hi, love." The good thing is that Lexa is incapacitated in the same exact way.

"I can literally feel my blood sugar spiking," Luna laughs, taking a seat near Anya.

"Shut up," Lexa chuckles good-naturedly, moving close to Clarke so that the woman can press into her side. "Should I remind you about the time when you started dating your husband?"

Clarke relaxes into the embrace, content to spend eternity in Lexa's arms. There is just one more thing she wants to check first. "What's the latest on Tsing?"

"We have her under observation in the CDC," the redhead says. "She has already started exhibiting symptoms. Seems like her vaccine formula isn't that efficient."

The blonde can't muster an ounce of sympathy for the woman. If she'd had her way, there would be far more people in the quarantine right now. Cage, Emerson, and two dozen of their co-conspirators are in custody. The Sheriff's Department is making arrests of all the known accomplices in the Mount Weather compound. Yet Clarke can't believe this case is almost behind them. It's surreal how many fundamental things have changed in the last two and a half months. Like it was in another life with someone different. And to be honest, that may be true. She surely feels like a different person. Lighter. Happier. In love. Clarke never would have guessed that her past rushing back to unravel her life could be such a wonderful thing.  

Chapter Text

three years later

They're curled up on the sofa in their living room, watching some kind of medical drama. Clarke's back is pressed into Lexa, the brunette's hands resting on her stomach. Lexa knows for a fact that the only reason Clarke picked this show is that the blonde finds it incredibly entertaining how riled up Lexa gets seeing these many inaccuracies.

"I'm telling you, there's no way anything like this would fly in a real hospital. First unsanctioned experimental procedure and any resident would be out of the program in a second." The problem is she just can't help herself.

"Babe." Clarke lightly taps on the brunette's forearm. "I'm going to tell you something, and I need you not to freak out."

"Okay," Lexa replies, her attention still mostly focused on the screen. "What is it?"

"It's time," Clarke says, attempting to get up. She struggles, huffing a little with the rocking motion and Lexa gives her a well-rehearsed push.

"What?"

"I've been having contractions since lunch, and they're getting kinda close." The blonde turns to look at her. "I think we should head out to the hospital."

"You've been having what?" Lexa asks again because there is no way she heard it right the first time.

"Contractions, Lexa." Clarke waves a hand in front of her stunned face. "The baby is coming. Please do try to keep up."

"Oh my god, Clarke!" The brunette straight out jumps off the couch. "Why on earth are we watching this ridiculous show while you've been going into labor? Are you crazy?"

"I told you not to freak out." The pregnant woman rolls her eyes. "They've been light so far, you haven't even noticed. Plus, you have chosen to marry me, so I guess it means that you're crazy too."

"Clarke, I swear, the baby isn't even here yet, and I'm already getting gray hair." Lexa glances up at the ceiling for a second as if the skies are able to grant her some mental strength. "Go to the car, I'm going to grab the bag."

"Dramatic as ever. Okay, I'm texting the group chat." Clarke stops her waddle to the door and turns to her wife. "Ooh, and grab me some parmesan cubes from the fridge on your way, please."

It's less than two minutes later when Lexa is sprinting towards the car, two bags on her shoulder. She puts them in the trunk, jumps into the driver's seat, and starts the engine. The hospital is relatively close to their house, only a ten-minute drive without traffic. And Lexa is torn between speeding the hell up and crawling at a snail's pace, avoiding each slightest bump in the road because her laboring wife is in the car. The baby is coming, is the only thought in her head, and she is more or less two intersections away from a nervous breakdown.

Meanwhile, Clarke is texting, completely unperturbed, munching on her cheese cubes.

"How far apart are the contractions?"

"Like five-ish minutes," the blonde throws casually.

"How are you so calm?" Lexa doesn't mean for it to sound so accusatory.

"Not my turn to panic yet," luckily Clarke only chuckles at her frantic state. 

They arrive at the hospital without any issues and get checked in quite fast, courtesy of the surname. Lexa arranges everything in the room to Clarke's liking and offers an arm to her wife to lean on. Together, they walk around the room, waiting for her dilation to progress. When the screaming starts, Lexa's heart breaks as she can hardly bear to witness Clarke's pain. But it also pushes all her own worries aside, her sole focus shifting to helping her wife. Who almost fractures Lexa's hand with her powerful squeeze. Not that she'll ever complain about it.

Madison Grace Griffin-Woods is born at three o'clock in the morning on October 21. And Lexa's heart is so full it can burst any second. She can't take her eyes off Clarke, damp waves sticking to her forehead, exhaustion painting her features. Yet still, she's the most stunning woman she's ever seen, literally glowing with their baby in her arms.

"You did so well, my love." Lexa presses a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Can't believe she's really here," Clarke murmurs.

Till the very last moment, they didn't know who they were having. Clarke didn't want to learn the sex of the baby, and though Lexa could do without more surprises in her life, you just don't say no to your pregnant wife.

"Here," the blonde says, lifting her arms up. "Hold her."

Lexa carefully cradles the baby in her arms. She had a major freak-out the first time she felt a flutter of tiny kicks under her fingers spread over the swell of Clarke's belly. They were about to bring a new life into the world that she knew from experience was filled with various terrible dangers. Now, holding the tiny bundle close to her chest, Lexa knows that there is nothing in this world she wouldn't do to keep their daughter safe.

"Oh my god, we are mums," she whispers, and Madi squirms a little. It all is finally becoming so real.

"Yes, we are." Clarke smiles.

A while later, Lexa quietly exits the room, leaving her sleeping wife and daughter inside. When she approaches the waiting room, she finds that despite the early hour, it's full of their family and friends. Pretty much half of the uncomfortable hospital chairs are taken up by the group. Everyone turns to look at her as the woman comes closer.

"She's here," Lexa says, beaming so hard her cheeks hurt.

People rush to congratulate her, offering bone-crushing hugs and warm words, asking millions of questions about Clarke and the baby. Lexa's never been happier in her whole life.

⠀

"Milk is in the fridge," Clarke says opening the white appliance's door as a form of proof. "If something happens to it, there is a backup in the freezer. I will have my phone on me at all times, so call if anything is wrong." She waves her phone in front of Lexa, and their selfie from Raven and Anya's wedding pops up on the screen.

"Clarke, for the hundredth time," Lexa chuckles without a hint of annoyance. "Madi and I will be perfectly fine."

"I know, I know," the blonde whines a little. "It's just I've never been away from my sweet baby before."

"I understand it's hard, love. But we will visit you for lunch. You won't even notice before we are there."

Clarke took the first portion of the maternity leave, staying at home with the baby. The three months flew by incredibly fast. Lexa can easily relate to how her wife is feeling right now. Every time she had to leave the house, her heart squeezed in her chest. She hasn't told Clarke yet, but she's seriously considering extending her leave beyond the usual period.

"Okay, yes. Goodbye, my precious baby" Clarke says, coming closer and placing a kiss on Madi's cheek, who is safely strapped to Lexa's chest in a baby wrap. Then she offers another one to Lexa. "Goodbye, my lovely wife."

"Goodbye mum," Lexa waves to Clarke with Madi's hand when she gives them the last air kiss from the door.

"So, Madi. Exactly how many minutes do you think will pass before mama calls to check on us?" The baby chirps happily, waving her tiny fist around. "Thirty? I bet you twenty tops. We'll see."

⠀

⠀

"Mommy?" A voice comes through the baby monitor, and Clarke stirs awake.

"Lex?" the blonde mumbles.

"Hmm?" the woman mumbles in return, half-asleep.

"Madi woke up."

"Your turn," Lexa slurs her words, throws the duvet over her head, and turns away.

"But she's calling for you."

No replies besides soft sniffles.

"Lexa?"

Clarke loves that her wife learned to be a bit selfish from time to time. But not when the time corresponds with her sleeping cycle. Having a toddler hasn't made Clarke hate early mornings even the tiniest bit less. The blonde lightly shoves the brunette's shin with her foot under the covers.

"Did you just kick me?" Lexa asks indignant, turning back to face her without opening her eyes.

"No?" Clarke says. Then she decides to employ her not-so-secret weapon. Begging always does wonders for her. "Please, babe, this case has me completely drained. I'll get two next shifts."

Lexa has never been able to resist her pleas. A few moments pass before she groans loudly but tosses the duvet off herself. Right as she swings her legs off the bed, sitting upright, little fingers lightly rap on the door before it squeaks open.

"Mommies?" Madi comes in, her dark curls in adorable disarray.

 "Yes, my sweet pie?" Clarke coos.

"I had a bad dream," their daughter says, rubbing her eyes with her tiny fist, and clutching her favorite stuffed raccoon closer to her torso with the other hand. "Can I sleep with you?"

"Of course, honey," Lexa says, and small feet drag closer to their bed. She picks Madi up, placing her between them, hugging an arm around her.

Clarke moves closer to the little body, extending her arm over the covers so that she has both Madi and Lexa in her embrace. It takes mere seconds for their daughter to doze off.

"Guess we won a couple more hours," Lexa whispers.

"Guess we did," the blonde yawns in response, her eyes already fluttering close.

The last thought she has before falling asleep is that lying right here, sharing her life with her wife and her daughter, Clarke's never been happier in her whole life.