your hand in mine (clexa)

Chapter 14

She tells her dad everything. It's not something she has any control over, not after her run-in with Finn. Words spill from her, hurried, stumbling, and she knows she wouldn't be able to stop if she tried.

When she's done, the room is almost completely silent, save for the steady whirs of the machines. Her dad hasn't moved. Neither has she. Her eyes sting from unshed tears. It doesn't take long for them to start falling, and when her father doesn't try to wipe them away, they just fall harder.

She's contemplating standing up and quietly leaving the room when Jake finally speaks. "It's... it's a lot to take in," he says in a scratchy voice. She helps him sit up when a coughing fit takes over his body - he must've gulped on too much air.

He doesn't push her away, and, even though she already knew he'd never do something like that, it still makes her feel a little less numb. "I'm sorry," she blurts out, grasping his hand.

He doesn't shake her off. He only sighs and covers her hand on his with his other palm, large and warm. "Clarke," he starts, and his voice is sad. "You did what you thought was right, but..."

It wasn't. She knows it wasn't.

Jake sits up straighter, obviously trying to gather his thoughts. "When are you going to tell Lexa everything?" He asks casually, searching her face. 'When' , of course. Never 'if' . She knows what he's doing.

She agrees. "Tonight," Clarke whispers, finally finding the courage to look her father in the eye. There's no disappointment. No anger. Only deep, endless sadness. Somehow, that's even worse. "I'll tell her tonight."

"I guess I'm a practice run?" He tries to smile.

"You could say that."

Jake is silent for several long, painful moments, and Clarke takes that time to slowly breathe in and out, willing her tears to stop. Crying's never helped anyone. Well, maybe it did. Maybe it's a healthy response she should work on. But not right now.

Right now, she realizes with startling, unsettling clarity, right now she needs to find Lexa. The urge to run to her and tell her everything is suddenly overwhelming.

Everything inside her jumps when her dad speaks again. "Do you love her?"

"Yes." It hurts that he has to ask. Lexa would have to ask, too. Lexa would have a hard time believing that, just like her father right now.

He nods. Purses his lips as he mulls something over; and his next words have her grabbing at the chair, sitting down.

"Does she love you?"

She feels - stuck. Searching for words that won't come. Her mouth opens and closes as she helplessly blinks at him.

Does she love you?

Does she? Lexa's proved herself to her over and over again. Helping her father. Being patient with her. Being so, so gentle with her; never once asking for anything in return while taking care of anything she could need. Choosing her over her friends and fancy dinners.

'But,' her inner voice muses, 'how can you be sure she's only like this with you?'

They never discussed their exes. She has no idea what Lexa was like with them. She only knows she showered them with jewelry and fine clothes and then, a month, two months, half a year later, they were gone, hanging on the elbow of another. She could be --

No , she tells herself. Doubting Lexa's feelings would be doubting Lexa, and she's done with that.

"Yes," Clarke whispers. "She does."