your hand in mine (clexa)

Chapter 1

Clarke meets Lexa on a stormy winter night in an empty coffee shop. (Clarke is supposed to meet Lexa at an expensive gala dinner, but life has other ideas, and winter supports them.) She thinks she's never looked worse, with her make up running and her hair wet and her attitude sour. (She looks nothing like she planned.)

(Later,she'll find her plans always collapse in on themselves where Lexa's concerned.)

Lexa is a sharp contrast against horrible snowstorm outside. She's quiet. She's nothing like Clarke imagined. It makes her heart squeeze in her chest, once, painfully and sharply. Lexa's straightened hair is back to its natural curly state because of snow melting on her head, and her green eyes are soft and calm.

Clarke's face is scrubbed raw and clean, and she's loud in her fuming. She's terribly late, and the only person she's attending this gala for is probably long gone by now.

Clarke storms into the coffee shop glaring at people unfortunate enough to be stranded with her, and the only person she was attending the gala for walks inside the coffee shop exactly twenty minutes later.

But. No. She is getting ahead of herself. She wants to start from the very beginning.

As much as she'd like it to, the story doesn't start with Lexa.

//

Jake Griffin's body looks small on a hospital bed, with tubes attached to him.

"Life support," Clarke says into the phone as she stares at her father, lying lifeless behind the glass. "They had to put him on life support."

"Jesus. I'm so sorry. Do you want me to come get you, or – what should I do? Is there anything I can do?"

She shrugs, but then remembers Finn can't see her. "No," she says. "It's -" she wants to say it's okay, it's fine, but, "there isn't. We wait now."

"And hope," her boyfriend says on the other line, determined but soft. "Mister Griffin is tough. I should know."

Clarke laughs. The sound is hollow. "He never did like it when you called him Jake. I don't think he liked you all that much." She imagines Finn shrugging at her words, hair falling onto his face with the gesture. He's either in the supply closet or bathroom, hiding from his co-workers to take this call.

"I'll let him punch me when he wakes up." Clarke pretends not to notice Finn uses when, and Finn pretends not to notice she uses the past tense when talking about her father. "Then again, he isn't one for physical violence. Shit - in a minute!" Clarke winces when Finn yells to someone, too sharp and too loud for her right now. "I'm sorry, babe, I gotta go," he addresses her again,regretful. "I'll come over tonight, okay? We will talk and-"

"No." She clears her throat when she realizes she might have sounded too harsh. "I don't - I would like to be alone tonight."

"Oh. Okay." Finn doesn't push. He never does. She likes that the most about him, she thinks. "Well, just let me know if... I'm sorry, I really need to go."

"It's okay. Miss Woods will have you lynched if you don't." she imagines his half-smile, gentle and easy. It doesn't help the heaviness in the pit of her stomach. "Bye, Finn."

"Bye. I love you," he tries. When she doesn't say anything, he only lets out a small sigh she's sure he doesn't realize she's heard, and hangs up.

She continues to stare at her father.

//

In the end, she still calls Finn, high on wine and sorrow. He's at her place five minutes later, almost as if he's been waiting for her. She doesn't want to think about it right now. She just wants to feel just a touch less miserable. A little less empty. She wants to feel as though her father will walk in any moment now, full of life and disapproval at her choice in men. As though he's never slammed his brakes in a desperate attempt to avoid head-on collision with a truck, wheels screeching on black ice. As though-