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The streets were rarely quiet in downtown Polis. There was always something to tickle the ears: the wind humming in the narrow alleys; the fights of stray cats over overfilled dumpsters; the coughs of the homeless on every corner. Downtown was always overcrowded and still poorly lit. Tonight, the walls of one alley were washed in red and blue as Clarke and her officers made their way down the path with the practiced footsteps of a team on a mission.
The anonymous tip had come in just an hour ago: a crackled call that the Commander was on the move. It had been weeks since a breakthrough and Clarke had jumped on the opportunity. Still, she was uneasy, but not because of the grimy location or the open space above them, where anyone with a gun could easily pick them off one by one. No, she was forgetting something important. It had started gnawing at her in the car on the way over, and now it was rattling around in her mind.
But she couldn’t let it distract her. There were people behind her and surrounding the perimeter who were counting on her steady leadership. She approached a steel door—the very one that had been described in the call. Clarke motioned to her partner, Murphy, and the three officers behind him before posting herself at the door. She banged on it three times.
"PPD! Open the door!"
When nothing came of it, she looked back at Murphy and exchanged a nod with him. She gripped her gun tighter and tried the doorknob, expecting it to be locked. It wasn't. The door opened with a creak and Clarke quickly aimed her gun inside.
The room was empty; windowless and impeccably clean. Not even a dust ball on the floor. Bleached and scrubbed from corner to corner and floor to ceiling—this much Clarke knew from experience now. She also knew that the newspaper articles pinned to one wall were mere distractions. The Commander was too smart to leave clues. The ones anyone found were pure amusement on her part—her way of wasting Clarke’s time. Clarke still had to bag everything. Still had to have every piece of paper examined. It would come clear as it always did, an absolute waste of time and resources.
All at once, the adrenaline pumping in her body morphed into crushing disappointment. Another dead-end. She pointed her gun down and looked at Murphy. He rolled his eyes and turned to the others:
“Clear.”
The team relaxed, but Clarke saw the fatigue on their faces. How many empty rooms had they cleared in the last month? Was it the sixth? Seventh? And still no leads, no evidence, not a scrap or a crumb. It wasn't so much that the room hadn't been occupied by the Commander or someone in her Alliance, but rather that it hadn’t been the case for weeks. Morale was low.
When two officers scoured the tiny room to bag the clippings and search for strands of hair, Clarke stepped out and looked up at the clouded moon. When she’d left the precinct, there'd still been a hint of sun in the sky.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Clarke fished it out and all at once felt her heart fall in her stomach. She remembered what she’d forgotten.
She brought the phone to her ear. “Oh my god, our date. I’m so sorry. There was a last minute tip at work and-"
“I figured. Are you okay?” The voice on the other end asked softly.
Clarke made her way toward the end of the alley, away from prying ears.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered quickly. “Where are you?”
“At my place. Turns out that restaurants are allowed to kick you out if you don’t order for two hours. Who knew?”
Clarke could’ve slapped herself. “Babe, I'm really sorry. I’ll come over in a bit, if that's okay?"
“Of course it’s okay.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
"Don't worry about it. I love you."
"I love you, too."
Clarke clung to her phone until the line went dead. She cursed under her breath, hating herself for forgetting. She should've sent a text. Shouldn't have wasted time getting a team ready. Fuck.
"Detective?" A voice behind her asked.
Clarke slipped her phone back in her pocket. "Yeah?"
"We found this."
Clarke frowned as she was presented the baggie.
"It was lodged in a crack in the floorboard. Nearly missed it."
Clarke examined it closer. It was a single sky-blue paperclip. An unusual color, maybe, but not exactly the evidence she had hoped for. They couldn't even get a partial fingerprint from this. Still, it was something, and definitely more than what they'd had for months.
"Thank you, Max. Let's make sure we get everything we can from it."
* * *
It didn't take too long to make it to the South Lakeside district. Clarke didn't care for the neighborhood at all, just a block away from Polis' dirty river, the banks of which were strewn with garbage. But it was the access points to the sewers that worried Clarke the most. The worst scum of Polis came and went through them, connected to an underground network that was far too dangerous for anyone without knowledge of it to know where to go.
Too many police officers had lost themselves or been brutalized inside because of Mayor Dante Wallace's impulsive orders to do uninformed sweeps. Clarke knew the Commander controlled a part of the network, having taken a chunk of it from Nia Queen. The Commander was just as rotten in Clarke's mind, but her rise was more recent and, unlike Queen, she had so far only targeted and terrorized the rich. Still, she was a criminal, and Clarke had sworn to Captain Jaha that she would stop her.
Clarke knew that she had become more razor-focused since dating her girlfriend. She hated that she lived here and that she liked living here, justifying that being a Professor of Political Science at the community college didn't exactly afford an apartment in Brownstone Heights. Clarke could understand her point-of-view, and accept her choice, but if she could, she'd patrol these streets day and night. For now, she had to settle on swinging by every other night they didn't stay at her own apartment.
After going up the creaky staircase to the fifth floor, Clarke knocked on the familiar door of apartment 51 and waited with her hands in her pockets. The door opened and her girlfriend leaned against the doorway with a smile.
"Hmm. What am I going to do with you?"
Clarke put on her best pitiful face. "Lexa, I’m so sorry. I've been such a shit girlfriend."
Lexa straightened up and chuckled, stepping aside to let Clarke in. "Just come in already.”
Once inside, Clarke took off her leather jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall. She wrapped her arms around Lexa's neck. "No, I said I wanted to do better by us—by you—and I meant it. I hate that you sat alone in a crowded restaurant."
"Alone? Pff, you've got it all wrong. The piano player and I are best friends now."
Clarke sighed, knowing Lexa rarely voiced her frustrations. Her patience was boundless, but sometimes it only made Clarke feel guiltier.
"Hey, come on," Lexa said, gently lifting Clarke's chin. "You have a lot on your plate. I knew what I was getting myself into on our first date and it's not going to change now."
Clarke pressed her head against Lexa's chest and closed her eyes, slowly breathing in and out for what felt like the first time today.
"I don’t deserve you."
"You deserve the world," Lexa countered, kissing the top of her head.
"The world has really been kicking my ass lately," Clarke mumbled into Lexa's top.
Lexa hummed in understanding. "Do you think that's something a Joni's cheesecake might help with?"
Clarke lifted her head. "You didn't."
"Didn't think to buy a second one? Guilty."
Clarke suddenly looked toward the kitchen like a pup on high alert. "Where?"
Lexa laughed and pressed another kiss to Clarke's cheek before moving toward the kitchen. She pulled out a box from the fridge and opened it, revealing the perfection that was a Joni's cheesecake. Clarke could swear a halo of light shone from it, and from her angel of a girlfriend who still thought to spoil her when she forgot their date.
"Oh my god," Clarke whined, her mouth watering at the sight of the creamiest, smoothest cake known to this world.
Lexa grinned as she cut a slice and lifted a spoonful up. Clarke bit her lip before shaking her head.
"No. I don't deserve it. I've been the worst girlfriend and this is my punishment."
Lexa sighed dramatically. "Pity. I ordered it extra creamy."
Clarke groaned before grabbing the spoon and shoving the bite in her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut and she was all too aware the moan she let out was obscene.
"God, this cake could stop wars."
Lexa arched a brow. “Should I advise Joni to change the shop’s tagline?”
Clarke grabbed the plate and walked toward the couch. “You do that. I’m going to finish my slice.”
"Oh it's your slice now?"
Clarke looked over her shoulder and smirked, "Why don't you come and get it?"
* * *
It had started to rain when their movie ended and the screen offered them their next batch of options. Clarke stretched out her limbs, pressing against Lexa who sat behind her with her arms loose around her waist. Lexa let out an exaggerated “oof”, though she didn't mind being used as the surface upon which a woman like Clarke Griffin decided to stretch her limbs. Satisfied, Clarke leaned her head back on Lexa's shoulder and let out a small sigh of satisfaction.
Lexa smiled at the sound. "As hard as you try, you’re still not a house cat, babe.”
Clarke didn’t laugh, instead turning her head to take in her girlfriend's loving expression. She didn't know how she'd managed to keep her around. How she'd stumbled upon a woman so kind and passionate and hadn’t screwed it up—yet. It was a known fact that Clarke rarely found the answers to those questions. In general, she was poor with words and even poorer with explanations when she didn't have the concrete evidence to back them up. Words, no, but actions, actions she could do, and she could do well.
She leaned forward and claimed Lexa's mouth, ending the kiss with a teasing swipe of her tongue against Lexa’s bottom lip.
"Let's go to bed."
* * *
Sometimes, when Clarke was straddling Lexa, when Lexa had two fingers pumping inside her and her other hand gripping her ass, keeping her in place while she sucked on her breasts, Clarke felt on the verge of tears. If her life was all about control, this was the only time where she relinquished it, and the weight lifting off her shoulders thanks to her girlfriend's very capable hands allowed her to soar to unimaginable heights.
"Fu-uck," she stuttered, mouth hanging open when pleasure surged throughout her body.
She felt Lexa smile against her breast and then kiss a way up her neck, her fingers slowing inside her and her thumb brushing against her clit, pressing down and teasing.
"You come so hard like this," Lexa said between her kisses below her ear, like an observation that she would always be proud of.
Clarke rocked forward again, not ready to let go just yet. She loved feeling Lexa's body so close to her own, sweaty and hot and like they'd never manage to untangle themselves. Sex wasn't like this before Lexa. She'd never wanted the aftermath—never wanted to cling to a sweaty body or hear dirty words meant to make her ache for more. Sex was just the release before. The build-up was quick and to the point. The talking after annoyed her. But Lexa knew and embraced every dark desire inside her. Lexa let her take over when she needed it, too, when the day had felt like everything spinning out of her control and she needed some semblance of it back. Only ten months of this bliss and yet Clarke felt like they had known each other for years. She had become a walking cliché, she knew, spouting things like that to her friends, but Clarke couldn't deny herself that happiness.
She hadn’t known that being so vulnerable could feel so liberating. She hadn’t imagined she would ever cling to Lexa's voice like a buoy. She ached when she wasn't close to her for long stretches of time and she prayed the sun would take just a bit longer to rise each morning. She knew it wouldn't accommodate her, but it didn't stop her from trying to beat the clock.
She opened her eyes and noticed Lexa was looking up at her, still sitting up with her hands on Clarke's hips now, like she had patiently waited for her to recover. Clarke felt so overwhelmed by her gaze that she cupped her neck and kissed her hard, ravenously, suddenly feeling a renewed throb of desire.
Lexa leaned forward so that Clarke fell on her back, pulling Lexa atop her. They must've kissed for ages, or at least until Clarke tried touching Lexa, eager to see her flush with pleasure.
"Not yet," Lexa told her with a teasing smile. Then, she flipped Clarke over on her stomach, kissed her spine and uttered the words that might’ve been the reason for Clarke's downward spiral into crazed lust, "I want you like this first."
Clarke groaned at the prospect, eyes screwed shut as she heard Lexa shuffle around for something, and then making the mattress dip again when she positioned herself behind Clarke.
She leaned forward to kiss the back of Clarke's neck, and then started rubbing the length of something hard against Clarke's core and belly, back and forth to drive her mad, surely.
"Lexa…" Clarke begged, her hips moving in tandem with Lexa's toy, needing to feel the pleasurable stretch inside her.
Not before long, she felt the tip part her open and felt Lexa's hands grip her ass. "I want to see if you come harder like this," she said lowly, her wicked smile growing when Clarke gripped the rumpled sheet beneath her and let out a long moan.
* * *
Mornings after nights like those were never pleasant, no matter what romance novels would have one believe. Clarke was satisfied but sore, elated but exhausted. She downed two cups of coffee in a mater of minutes, staring at her corkboard like she couldn't even understand a thing anymore. She was elsewhere, she knew, still in Lexa's arms or nestled against her back. She was so damn tired she couldn't even remember how she'd woken up, or if she'd slept at all.
"Hey," Murphy said as he entered the room. He dropped a stack of new files on the already crammed desk and stared at her.
"Clarke?
"Hm?"
He sighed. "We got five more complaints about the Siren club. I really think we need to stop by."
Clarke shook her head. "Siren isn’t the Commander's territory."
"How the fuck would we know?"
"She only likes the rich assholes, remember?"
"Okay well, Siren's still clearly a hotspot for RedPill."
She finally turned to him with a frown. "That's on the Narcs Bureau."
His expression tightened. "You're kidding, right? RedPill is on all of us."
"No, it's not."
"Clarke. We went over this."
"And I overruled you."
"So that shit just happens to start when the Alliance forms."
"Yep."
“Don't you think it's at all possible the Commander is getting greedy for Queen's territory?"
Clarke rubbed her temple with a sigh. "RedPill is Queen, and Queen belongs to Kane. We have our case, he has his."
"Kane agrees with me that it's not Queen."
"He might've been my mentor, but he's wrong on this one."
"It's cases, by the way," Murphy said. "We have cases. Remember those? Remember what we were working on before you became obsessed with a practical ghost?"
"I've seen her," Clarke insisted.
"You saw the tip of what you think was a cape disappear in the sewers." He picked a list of wanted criminals from their desk, "These guys? Still out there because we're too busy busting empty rooms."
Clarke swiveled around. "What the fuck do you want from me, Murphy?"
“I want you to focus on the shit we actually see! RedPill is circulating in every street, politicians are getting on their knees for scumbags, and kids are dying in fucking crossfire while we tail someone that the people look up to!”
"Just because angry teens spray-paint a symbol on the walls doesn't mean she's not a criminal." Clarke felt her jaw start to hurt from how hard she clenched it. She knew he was right, that they had other priorities, but he didn't know the true depth of it. He didn't know there was rot in their precinct, too. He didn't know what Kane had told her once, in the shadows of his office.
The Commander's Alliance was precisely more dangerous because it inspired the people to rise up. And once the movement caught fire, Clarke knew it would burn the city to the ground. People like Queen needed the city to remain in power. People like the Commander needed a city in shambles to seize power. Clarke was certain it was her plan. To first get the money from the rich and then get the people fed up with injustice to join her ranks. She was building an army, and one day Queen would pale in comparison.
Kane had convinced Captain Jaha to keep Clarke on the Commander's case, and she wouldn't disappoint him. Stopping her was key to sending a message to the rest of her kind. Crime didn't go unpunished, no matter who it targeted. The law couldn't be broken. If they allowed people like the Commander to make their own laws, this world was a lost cause.
* * *
Not even a month later, a tip-off from one of Kane's insiders had everyone both excited and on edge. Clarke was on friendly terms with the team working on taking down Nia Queen’s empire once and for all, but Queen was a distraction she couldn’t afford. If she and the Commander had ever crossed paths then Clarke would have paid more attention, but she’d figured out some time ago that the two operated in different circles. If anything, Clarke wouldn’t be surprised if Queen wanted the Commander dead. She had after all taken over a part of her territory.
Clarke was relatively removed from the Queen case, so it was a surprise to her when Kane requested her presence at the factory where Queen was confirmed to be cutting an important deal with foreign ambassadors. Kane had high hopes that the operation would lead to a major win for their precinct and the city. He needed the extra reassurance that the best of the best would make this a success, and well—Clarke was one of them. Some of the officers like Jordan and Monroe were already too jittery, and Kane needed steady hands and sharp minds.
Clarke couldn't refuse her old mentor.
* * *
When Clarke got home that night, it was with some amount of trepidation. She wasn’t nervous about the operation, perhaps even jealous that it was happening at all. Where was her breakthrough? How long until the Commander made a mistake? And what if her Alliance was so airtight that Clarke would spend her life being the mouse in this game?
She was so caught up in her thoughts that it was Lexa who had to bring her down with a peck on her cheek.
“Hey. I made quiche.”
Clarke blinked. Lexa always came over on Thursday nights, their tradition of sorts, at least until Clarke worked the nerve to just ask her to move in already, but it still surprised her when Lexa greeted her with the smell of whatever fancy meal she’d made this time.
“Quiche,” Clarke repeated, looking toward the dish. “I didn’t even know that was a thing normal people made.”
“But we established last night that I’m godly," Lexa said, not without pride.
Clarke blushed. “No. We established that you're skilled at making me call out for a god."
Lexa chuckled before allowing Clarke to kiss her with a soft sigh. She took off her shoes and moved to the kitchen.
“Tomorrow is going to be a long day,” she said as she washed and then dried her hands. “I need all the food I can get.”
Lexa started cutting into the quiche with a large knife while Clarke set their plates and utensils.
“What’s tomorrow?” Lexa asked distractedly.
Clarke took a seat. “You remember that Kane's been working on Nia Queen?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, we’re busting her in a factory.”
Lexa’s knife dropped out of her hand, landing on the side of the dish with a loud clink.
“Shit,” she said.
“You ok?”
“Yeah, yeah, I—what do you mean you’re busting her?”
“Their undercover guy finally had a breakthrough. We’re stretched too thin, so Kane's asked me to be there.”
Lexa sat down. There was an edge to her. “But you didn’t work the case. They can’t just pluck you from your own work.”
Clarke poured water into their glasses. “The break might do me some good. Besides, stopping Nia Queen means more resources on other cases—like the Commander. And I’ve missed working with Kane.”
Lexa seemed to be tense, which puzzled Clarke. She didn’t usually question what Clarke did at work. It was the dynamic they’d settled on. She was interested and curious when Clarke brought it up on her own, but Clarke knew that if she went into the details of the dangers she faced every day, Lexa worried too much and her own work was affected.
“Babe, I’ll be fine.”
That seemed to snap Lexa out of tensing her jaw. “I just—imagining you near that… monster, after everything we hear about her everyday.”
“I understand. But this is also a part of my job.”
Lexa swallowed thickly. “I know.”
Clarke reached out and squeezed her hand. “I'll be safe." She waited patiently until Lexa nodded and squeezed her hand back.
"Can we dig into this fancy quiche?" Clarke asked more lightheartedly. "Because I’m starving and that crust is making my mouth water."
Lexa smiled weakly.
* * *
The day passed quickly enough that by the time Clarke watched Kane's team and SWAT fill up their vans, she was feeling like something was off. Rushed, maybe. This was far from the discreet operation she'd imagined, but it was backed by the mayor himself and Kane had years of experience on her. Not to mention a thirst to get this over with once and for all. She couldn't question him.
She opted to drive with Murphy, trailing at the end of everyone with their lights off. It was eerily quiet in the streets toward the factory district, a thirty-minute ride that had everyone on edge.
Murphy wasn't tense as he drove, but Clarke could tell he wasn't particularly happy to be here. They had deployed so many men and women for this single mission that he believed it was open season for other criminals. He had a point, though Clarke had a feeling that Queen wouldn't go down without a fight.
They were twenty minutes away when her phone lit up on her dashboard. She paid it no attention.
Until the calls continued.
A second one.
And then a third.
The same feeling as before, that something was wrong, came back. Before the screen could go dark again, she grabbed her phone on impulse.
"You kidding me?" Murphy asked her. "We're undercover."
"Griffin," Clarke quickly said into the phone.
"It's a perfect night to talk, don't you think?" the voice said. It sounded distant—hard to hear.
Clarke sat up, her heart speeding up. "Who's this?"
"You know who it is. Meet me at corner 44. You're not too far."
"I need a name," Clarke insisted, though she knew. She knew.
"It's now or never, Clarke."
The phone went dead, and Clarke felt adrenaline course through her again. A surge of it go down her spine. This was it. This was what she had been waiting for for months.
"Murphy, stop the car."
He glanced at her in confusion. "What?"
"Stop the car! I'm meeting the Commander. Now."
"The hell you are!" Murphy exclaimed. "We're on a fucking mission."
Clarke took off her seatbelt and grabbed the handle of the car. Murphy pressed hard on the breaks.
"Clarke! Fuck!"
She checked for her gun and stepped out of the car. "Drive!" She told him.
"Are you insane? This is clearly a set-up!"
"No, no it's not. I don't know how I–I just know it isn’t."
"How the hell are you going to explain this to the Captain? To Kane?"
"The Commander is my priority—"
Murphy slammed his hands on the wheel. "Fuck, Clarke! I can't deal with this shit anymore!"
"Then get the hell out of here!"
"I can't fucking believe you!" He started the car again and drove off, leaving Clarke on the curb with a fast-beating heart.
Clarke turned around and made a run for it.
Corner 44 was close. She didn't know how the Commander had known. She didn't know if she was being watched. She needed to see her. She needed a break—more of her voice, more of her intentions. She couldn't let this slip through her fingers.
* * *
Her mouth was dry and she was nearly out of breath when she stepped into the dingy alley of corner 44. It wasn't well known, but nobody with sense would venture into the alleys of this neighborhood at night. They were quiet until they weren’t, like how Clarke imagined the ocean until a shark leapt out of the surface to catch a seal.
She felt observed, but every time she looked back it was only shadows that stared back. Her heart felt like it might hammer out of her chest. Her hands gripped her gun so tightly that she thought it might shatter.
This was so foolish.
So goddamn stupid.
An instinct of survival kicked in hard, creeping over her resolve to see this through. What the hell was she doing?
She'd abandoned Murphy. Her partner. Her friend.
Abandoned Kane. Her mentor.
She was putting herself in danger without thinking of the people in her life who would suffer from it.
Her mother.
Lexa. Lexa waiting for her, maybe cooking something nervously. To keep herself busy. To stop worrying.
Why had the Commander's request compelled her to obey so quickly?
"Stop."
Clarke's body froze, but she still managed to lift her gun toward the shadows ahead. She thought that maybe she saw some crimson fabric. Like the tip of the cape she had once sworn she'd seen. It wasn't a cape after all. Maybe something around the Commander's shoulder, she couldn't tell. She could only see the hint of a body there.
For all the things she had imagined telling the Commander, Clarke found herself speechless.
“Looking for me?” the Commander asked.
It wasn’t her natural voice, Clarke knew that much. Maybe an octave higher or deeper. The Commander thought everything through. Still, Clarke had hope she had made this crucial mistake. That she had thought somehow Clarke wouldn’t bring her gun. One single mistake to bring her down, like they often did for people like her. Masterminds too preoccupied with what was ten steps ahead rather than an arm’s length away.
Clarke found her own voice again. “Come out of there."
"No."
Clarke felt sweat bead on her forehead. "What do you want?"
"I want you to listen."
"I'm listening."
"Your captain, your mayor—they have a vested interest in Nia Queen. Stopping her is not in their plans."
"They're stopping her right now."
The Commander was quiet for a few seconds. "I want to help you."
Disbelief washed over Clarke so suddenly that her tongue finally unloosened. "Is that what this is? You want to bribe me?"
"We want the same things. To make this city safe."
Clarke felt bold enough to step forward. "No. You've been terrorizing this city for a year."
"Yes, I know what the mayor says; what your captain and the media say. The media controlled by Wallace. It's all very cyclical, don't you think?"
"The law is the law."
"And who writes these laws?" Frustration colored her tone. "You're fighting the wrong people."
"I know exactly the kind of person you are. You think you're above it all—rules, laws. You think that makes you smarter, but it doesn't. And I am done talking. I am done chasing you."
"I understand, Clarke."
Clarke waited a moment for anything more, but when nothing came she felt more nervous. "That's it?"
"Yes."
"Why aren’t you running?"
"Because I don't need to."
Clarke frowned before she heard a controlled explosion behind her and threw herself to the ground on instinct. She hid her face but turned around when nothing more came. She watched as dark smoke filled up the already dark alley. A fucking smoke bomb. She turned to look toward the Commander but found only darkness.
"No."
She got up and tried moving around in the smoke, feeling for the walls. It was a dead-end, but how could the Commander have—
Clarke looked down and found a manhole.
"Fuck!"
She was caught between her impulse to follow and a more rational line of thinking when she heard her phone again. Thinking it might be the Commander, she quickly answered. It was Murphy, but he was breathing oddly and his voice cracked a few times. The noise behind him was loud; chaotic.
"Clarke…"
"Murphy. What? What is it?"
In the distance, Clarke heard the loud sound of sirens. She pressed he phone closer to her ear, but she realized the sirens were on Murphy's side.
"Murphy?"
“There’s been a—it was a setup.”
Clarke stopped in the alley. "What are you talking about?"
“The factory. When our team got there, it—everything blew up. They—Everyone's… Miller, Jordan, Monroe… They're all gone. Queen knew, Clarke. She knew."
Clarke felt a lump in her throat. "And… and Kane?"
Murphy was silent for a moment. "One of the guys who stayed back says he saw him leave the scene. He said he ran before the explosion."
"What?"
"I don't know what it means," Murphy said, voice raw. "I don't know if he—"
"No. No, not Kane. He couldn't have."
"He bailed, Clarke."
"I bailed, too."
Murphy's voice came strained. "Yeah."
Clarke reached out for the wall, listening to the sound of sirens that wouldn't stop wailing. She felt her entire body tremble until her phone slipped out of her hands and fell to the ground.
* * *
The mayor was alerted immediately, and within twenty-minutes every news channel was showing images of vans burning and the fire from the factory rising high in the sky. Within the hour, Clarke's precinct had received a phone call saying a mere four words: Long Live the Queen.
Clarke hadn’t been able to say anything after Murphy had picked her up. He'd driven her to the hospital in silence, and briefly she wondered where he had been when the explosion happened. If he had seen it. If he had stayed behind for her after all. She was glad if he had. It meant he was still alive, even if as quiet as she was.
The waiting room of the hospital had quickly become cramped, but the halls were a carnage that Clarke couldn't face. Officers wounded from the blast. Her colleagues with burns bone deep. Their screams of pain. The panic of family members slowly trickling in, demanding to have information, or news, any news on the bodies.
Clarke and Murphy waited like the rest of them, neither knowing what else to do. There was no word from Jaha. No orders on what to say; how to act. Clarke could hear the police cars and military helicopters outside, crowding the skies and blasting harsh lights everywhere. This was beyond them. Beyond anyone. Mayor Wallace had unleashed their forces against this monster, but Clarke knew it wouldn't be caught. She looked toward Murphy, sat in a chair, and watched as his knee bounced up and down.
Both of them should have died tonight.
Clarke couldn't wrap her head around it. Couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt. Guilty she chose her selfish pursuit rather than working with her colleagues to stop a dangerous woman. Guilty that they were gone or horribly wounded and she hadn’t been there to help. Queen had finally gotten to the men and women who had fought to dismantle her empire for years. She was the real poison in this city.
And Kane. Had he known? Planned for this? Was that why he had convinced Clarke that the Commander would become more dangerous? Pushed her to focus all her energy on her? To keep her away?
Clarke felt sick, and angry, and full of so much hate that it felt like it might consume her. Like she was minutes away from a blind rage.
"Clarke?!"
Lexa had to make a path across the waiting room between the tight groups of families and friends. Her face was paler than ever, her eyes in tears. When she finally got to Clarke, her knees looked like they might buckle. She was pulling her into her arms just a second later.
"I saw the news, I—I tried calling, I was so afraid you were-"
"I'm okay," Clarke tried saying before she burst into quiet sobs, clinging tightly to Lexa and hiding her face against her chest. "I wasn't there, I couldn't help them-" she cried, eyes squeezing shut, trying to make the nightmare end.
Lexa held her closer, and for a moment Clarke stopped hearing the cries of other families and the chaos of an understaffed hospital amid a crisis.
* * *
It took weeks for the news cycle to slowly move on and for Polis to grieve.
For all the city's faults, Clarke saw the way people held each other's hands amid trauma. During the vigils, she saw as strangers embraced and cried together. She saw children light each other's candles and groups mingle to share stories. She saw unity.
Until it was gone again.
Until life went on.
Even the precinct became busy again. There were new recruits and cases already redistributed. Jaha advised Clarke to take time off, to speak to the counselors they had brought on, but every minute spent wallowing was a minute that Nia Queen spent free.
A minute that Marcus Kane enjoyed.
Jaha insisted that the soldier who had seen him flee had been delirious. That the blast had messed with his thoughts. Officially, Marcus Kane had died inside the factory as a hero.
But Clarke and Murphy knew better.
Clarke had never felt such constant anger before. She could barely sleep, not even with Lexa by her side, and because of it she felt sluggish and drained. Eventually she couldn't refuse Jaha's order that she take time off, but the thought of her empty apartment just made her body feel heavier.
She headed toward Lexa's university on instinct, ending up at her office door one late morning.
When Lexa opened the door, her neutral expression softened immediately.
"Oh, Clarke."
She stepped aside to let Clarke in and closed the door before embracing her tightly, lips pressed against her temple. Clarke simply breathed for the moment that Lexa held her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't tell you I was stopping by."
Lexa shook her head. "Don't be. I have a class, but I can cancel it." She pulled back and brushed a tender hand against Clarke's forehead, pushing a strand of hair back. "I'll cancel it," she decided.
Clarke held her wrist. "No, wait. Your students need you. Can I wait for you here? I just need… I need a break."
Lexa seemed unwilling to leave her alone. "Are you sure?"
"Please."
"Okay. Of course. My class ends at four; I'll come straight back. Or… if you want to leave, text me?" She requested, almost hesitantly. She didn't want to overstep; didn't want to push Clarke to do anything she didn't feel like. It was a sweet sentiment, but Clarke didn't want to be handled like porcelain.
"I will, but I think I just want to sit here and fall asleep on your desk."
Lexa smiled sadly. "You're more than welcome to."
Clarke kissed her before resting her forehead against hers. "I love you so much," she whispered.
"I love you, too," Lexa answered softly. "Try to get some rest."
After Lexa closed the door behind her, Clarke crumpled into the chair behind the desk. She focused on her breathing for a few minutes, in-and-out, trying to give her body a break.
She looked at Lexa's desk and smiled at the two pictures she had framed; the first an absurd selfie they had taken in front of the living-room window one night, fully dressed for a date but pulling faces because of the torrential rain outside; the second a photo a friend had taken of them on a couch during a dinner party. Clarke still remembered that night; feeling that nothing mattered more than being surrounded by her girlfriend and her friends.
Lexa's desk didn't have much space left but it was well organized, with her stapler aligned with the file divider and her box of tissues right by her box of paperclips.
Clarke paused on it, frowning.
The paperclips were an unusual color. Sky-blue.
She sat up and took one, examining it closer, turning it between her index and thumb. She put it back, chiding herself for—for even thinking about old evidence when she was supposed to be taking a break.
Her brain was just desperate to make connections these days. She wanted it all to be over and she wasn't being rational. It was just a stupid paperclip and Lexa was a professor. Of course she'd have some handy. And they probably sold those colors in bulk at the office supply store. Lexa spent more time there than at her own apartment.
Clarke sat back and brushed a hand over her eyes. God, she was so tired.
Besides, the Commander was… Clarke had never seen her out of the shadows, no, but she'd seen her frame. It didn't fit at all. She was… wider in the shoulders. A bit taller. And her voice… no, Clarke would recognize her girlfriend's voice anywhere, altered or not. She would.
"Stop," she told herself aloud, as if trying to force her mind to cease pestering her. The Commander or the Alliance had not made the news since the explosion and Clarke wanted nothing to do with any of it right now. Not here, in Lexa's office, where she was safe and far away from anything to do with the Commander.
She put the paperclip back in the box and rested her head on the desk.
* * *
Clarke thought of the paperclip again.
Sometimes in bed, when she couldn't sleep.
Other times at her office, staring at the baggie pinned up on the board.
* * *
She'd spent the day looking over a case on RedPill at Murphy's request when she came home that night.
It was a normal night, or should have been.
Lexa had gone to Joni's to surprise her, been eager to have dinner together. They ate while sharing their usual news and banter, but Clarke still felt like there was a weight on her chest. She had started looking at Lexa differently and she hated herself for it.
She washed the dishes while Lexa set up the living room for their movie. She was humming to herself while she did it, making Clarke smile in the kitchen.
"Ok, movie's started, cheesecake's ready, lights are off," Lexa announced as she sat down.
Clarke chuckled while she finished scrubbing the last knife. "Be right there."
"It's now or never, Clarke," Lexa said in a falsely threatening tone. She was being playful. Trying to goad.
Clarke's hands stopped what they were doing while the faucet still ran. Her spine straightened and her heart clenched.
"Your slice is looking lonelier," Lexa sing-songed, unaware that Clarke had frozen up.
It's now or never, Clarke.
Clarke remembered the Commander's phone call like it had been at the back of her mind for weeks, desperate to break to the forefront again.
And tonight it had.
She turned with shaky hands, looking toward Lexa on the couch. "What did you say?"
Lexa's smile wavered slightly, confused by how tense Clarke was. Maybe she was just playing along. "Well you can't expect me to be satisfied with only one slice."
"No," Clarke said, rooted in place. "Before that, Lexa. What did you say before that?"
Lexa's smile fell completely then, and her face turned somber, like she had just realized what words Clarke wanted to hear again.
"It's now or never, Clarke," she repeated slowly.
Clarke felt like she couldn't breathe, and suddenly the anger she had accumulated over the weeks found its focus point again. She swallowed it back. It couldn't boil over here. Not like this. She forced a smile and wiped her hands on the kitchen towel, setting the knife down on the counter.
Lexa followed her every move, watched as Clarke walked toward her and sat down, picking up her dessert plate and turning to Lexa with her best grin.
"Well why didn't you just say so sooner, babe?"
Lexa's smile was one of relief. "I guess I should have."
* * *
It was a week before Clarke knew for sure.
Before her heart gave up the fight and conceded.
Lexa had grown up in Polis; knew it like the back of her hand.
Lexa lived near the sewers; the ones Clarke knew the Commander used.
Lexa had been a staunch activist in her early twenties, until it seemed like she had given up on it. Only, Clarke knew that her girlfriend didn't give up on anything. She just found a different way to approach her problems, until she found the one that stuck.
Clarke tried hard to keep a front, but every day it felt harder to breathe. Every night it felt impossible to fall asleep when Lexa came closer to her and kissed her gently. As if she wasn't using her. As if this wasn't all a game to her.
And yet a part of Clarke couldn't push her away. Wanted to savor the feel of Lexa's arms around her waist. Couldn't bear to end any of it.
To break her own heart.
But it had to be done. She had to let her anger win this time.
So Clarke kissed her on the last night. Came back from the precinct with hot tears in her eyes and kissed Lexa in the kitchen, pushing her against the counter with a fierceness she hadn’t felt in years. Lexa tried to slow it down, tried to be loving, but Clarke shook her head and pulled back with a firm grip on her collar.
When she looked into her eyes, it was with the venom she had felt boiling in her veins for weeks. The hate for her crimes. The agony over her betrayal.
Lexa stilled, her hands slowly falling from Clarke's waist, her eyes steady.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
Clarke shook her head and let go of her collar, turning around to grab her phone on the kitchen table. She sent the message she had prepared all day.
"Clarke-"
In a practiced move, Clarke took the gun strapped to her pants and pointed it at the woman she loved.
"Don't."
Lexa put her hands up. "I never meant-"
"Shut up! Just shut up! I don't want to hear you anymore!" Clarke cried, angered beyond belief. "You're a liar and a criminal and I-" her voice cracked, raw and pained, "I'm making sure you never hurt anyone else ever again."
"Let me explain. Please."
Clarke shook her head. "You can tell it to a judge. Murphy is on his way now, and after that I don't want to see your face. Ever."
Lexa's bottom lip trembled. "It didn't happen the way you think."
Clarke refused to listen. To let herself be affected by the tears in Lexa's eyes. "You know how long I've thought about this?" She scoffed at her own question. "Of course you know, you were the one I vented to. It must've felt so good to you—to take me to bed after I'd talk about hating the Commander; hating you."
"No, it was never like that," Lexa insisted. "I love you."
Clarke's anger doubled. "You used me. But I got what I wished for in the end: my gun aimed at you and you knowing it's over."
Lexa never looked away from her, still with that softness in her expression, but it was different to Clarke now—it made her feel like she'd never get over the pain of losing her.
"Is it over?" Lexa asked quietly.
Clarke snapped. “Everything you say—everything you are is bullshit."
“It’s not. I grew up in the Polis foster system. I worked nights to put myself through college-"
“I don’t care about your sob story. I don’t care!” Clarke repeated with a cry, as if to convince herself.
"But you know me. You know how much I want this city to be better."
“Nothing justifies crime. Nothing justifies how many people you used and discarded.”
“Don't you think I tried to color within the lines, Clarke? I organized rallies and charities and protests. I distributed flyers and I spoke to companies and I never once broke a law. And while I wasted my time trying to go through red tape, Nia Queen took over this city day after day."
"You're just as corrupt as she is if you think that way."
"I don't want anarchy, Clarke. I want justice. Peace."
"All you've done is make people more afraid."
"The only people who fear us are the people who know they have reason to. Men like Dante Wallace and his family. Companies that have poisoned our river and our water."
Clarke scoffed. "So what—you're the voice of the people now?"
Lexa shook her head. "The Commander might be a symbol for the Alliance, but I'm not their only voice. No one can speak for an entire city. It shouldn't work that way."
"There are good people in power. My mother works everyday to fight those companies. Murphy is a good man."
Lexa nodded slowly. "You're right, not all of them are corrupt. But enough of them are that this city is suffering from it."
Clarke refused to listen.
"Clarke… why do we have people freezing in the streets because shelters have been turned into hotels? Why have bank interests gone up? Why are judges giving out longer sentences to those whose crimes are nothing compared to the very people who own the prisons?"
“Right now you’re the danger.”
“You don’t believe that.”
"I've been so fucking stupid," Clarke said, allowing her tears to fall. "I thought… I thought you were so perfect. I wished everyone would be like you."
Lexa's expression twisted into deep sorrow. "You see the good in people before you see the truth. But the truth isn't always all bad, Clarke. I wanted better for us. I still do."
"Don't you dare put your actions on me."
"I'm not."
“You change the system from within. You work with the laws that are in place to write new ones—better ones."
“And who is left to apply these laws, Clarke? When the votes of the people don't count anymore? Why do you think Wallace won't mention the explosion anymore? Ignores questions about Queen?"
At the mention of the explosion, Clarke's hold on the gun waivered. "You knew."
Lexa looked away for the first time.
"That's why you called me. You knew what Nia had planned."
"We suspected it, but we never imagined something like that. I... I panicked." Lexa looked back up, "I couldn't lose you."
When Clarke finally heard the siren from Murphy's car, she quickly wiped away at her eyes and gripped her gun tighter.
* * *
To his credit, Murphy said nothing. Clarke felt more in control driving, so he changed sides without questioning it, keeping a watchful eye on Lexa handcuffed in the back.
Clarke had told him earlier what to be on the lookout for. Told him to wait for her message. Now he barely said a word, and Clarke was grateful for it.
She felt like she might crumble at any moment.
Just ten minutes away from the precinct, Lexa broke the heavy silence.
“I love you, Clarke,” she said quietly.
Clarke's heart broke each time she said it, but she wouldn't allow it to get to her. She glanced out the window, noticing a factory truck in the next lane; an ugly thing with an even uglier logo. They were everywhere these days.
“I've seen you work tirelessly," Lexa continued, "put everything into making this city better. I've seen you get frustrated that it never seemed to work. I thought maybe you would realize it yourself—that this system is too shattered to be fixed. But you're stubborn, and you believe in the law… and I admire that in you. If only the laws hadn’t been written by the people who intended to break them."
Lexa seemed to have lost hope that Clarke would answer.
"I love you means I know you. I know when you overthink things and when you’re making plans.” She looked at Clarke in the rear view mirror. “I know when you’re onto something, or someone.”
For the first time, Clarke glanced up and their eyes met. There was a hint of doubt in Clarke's eyes. She looked away; noticed the truck next to them had switched on its turn signal. Sped up a bit.
“Maybe someday, you and I can fight on the same side," Lexa said hopefully.
Clarke scoffed, but she was startled by a loud honk. Murphy and her watched as the truck suddenly made a sharp right to block their car, forcing Clarke to hit the brakes with a screech. By the time she realized what was happening, it was too late.
Bullets started pelting the car and smoke bombs were thrown on the hood. The noise was deafening.
“Duck!” Clarke screamed, trying to reach for her gun. Murphy kept his head low and reached out for her, trying to cover her head as the bullets whistled all around them. Clarke knew she might get hit if she moved. They were being shot at on all sides.
When the bullets finally stopped ricocheting against their vehicle and the noise of explosions around them stopped, Clarke felt like she had gone deaf. There was smoke all around them, but it didn't smell like fire or gas. It was the same smell from the alley and Clarke knew what it meant. She turned to look at Lexa and found exactly what she had expected: her seat empty and the door wide open.
Clarke sat up, opened the door.
“It’s not safe!” Murphy protested.
Clarke stood outside with her hands clutching her gun, aiming all around her until the smoke slowly cleared. Cars beeped and drivers behind her coughed loudly, but the truck was gone and Clarke felt a sinking feeling in her chest.
She picked up one of the shell casings. Blanks. All of them. Lexa had needed a diversion and it had worked.
As police sirens started screeching far away and terrified passersby still scrambled to leave the scene, Clarke stood amid a sea of empty shells and the last wisps of smoke. The Commander was a master of controlled chaos, and Clarke had made the mistake of forgetting, for just the second it took to catch her gaze, that Lexa and the Commander were one and the same.
She looked at Lexa's seat and stopped, noticing a file left behind. Clarke opened it, staring at the single photo that she found inside: Mayor Dante Wallace, Thelonius Jaha, Marcus Kane and Nia Queen sat at the same table. Dated a day prior to the factory explosion. The day Kane had asked Clarke to join him. The day he had lied about a tipoff.
"We're screwed," Murphy said from behind her, staring at the photo.
Clarke turned to him and felt as empty as he'd looked since the factory. Drained of everything. Too tired to fight a monolith.
Lexa had known all along it wasn't just a branch of her precinct that was corrupt. It was the roots and the trunk, the very parts that Clarke had clung to for so long, thinking that as long as those people wanted justice, they would find a way to cut off the diseased branches eventually. But her own mentor had wanted her dead. Her own Captain. And afterward, had gone on to hire new people. The kind of people he wanted, no doubt. The kind of people who would close their eyes when Nia Queen made a move.
What was left to salvage?
"Buy you a beer?" Murphy asked her, throwing his badge inside the car. "I'm not really in the mood to explain this shit."
As the sirens got closer, Clarke thought fast. She didn't know the Commander, but she knew Lexa. It left a bitter taste in her mouth—that the woman she'd hated for so long now had the face of the woman she loved—but she'd have to reconcile the two quickly. Lexa had been a mile ahead because she had no one to answer to, because her Alliance had eyes and ears everywhere, and maybe… maybe there was some merit to that.
Clarke would have to know more about it all. Had questions Lexa had yet to answer.
"You go ahead. I'm going to the city hall."
"What the hell for?"
"I need a full map of the goddamn sewers."