#mistakes abound probably but i'll find them eventually

[kokkoro]

Violet Blue (11/15)

General wolf rules for life: Eat. Rest. Rove in between. Render loyalty. Love the children. Cavil in moonlight. Tune your ears. Attend to the bones.  Make love. Howl often.     Clarissa Pinkola Estes

or

being moms is hard, being werewolf moms in the suburbs is even harder. (read here on ao3)

August 26, 2015

It’s dark when Clarke gently shakes you awake. You shift in that small bed, sheets twisted about your legs as you attempt to blink the sleep from the corners of your eyes. The lack of presence beside you is immediately noticeable, but through the haze you see Clarke next to by the side of the bed.

Her hair is a mess, haphazardly pulled from her face in a bun situated on top of her head. Strands escape, curl around her cheeks and near her chin, but the circles under her eyes are hard to miss. You probably look much the same.

“Lily?” you ask, voice rough. Her cold has refused to cooperate and with the unnaturally strong heat this far up in the Maine wilderness it’s been even tougher. The past week you had hoped it was on its way out, but--

Clarke shakes her head, her voice soft. “No.”

Your brace yourself on your forearms, pushing yourself up. You move the sheets aside, pulling your legs over the edge of the bed and positioning Clarke between your legs. Clarke doesn’t move as you reach out to cup her cheeks in your hands, tender and gentle, and you dip to press your lips softly to the crown of her head.

“Are you okay?” quiet, for her. Your forehead bumps hers affectionately and you linger. “Is it the pup?”

“No, Lexa, I’m... I’m fine. It’s…” And she inhales, lets it out. You feel it across your skin and you lean in to kiss the corner of her mouth. “It’s my mom.”

“Is Abby alright?”

“She’s fine.” Clarke says, and there’s a slight smile that puts your heart at ease when you pull away, but her eyes don’t meet yours.

“What’s the matter, Clarke?”

You hear her exhale. “She needs our help.”

-

It’s well past midnight by the time you have Lily and Aden bundled up in the backseat of the car for the drive to the hospital. They sleep through most of it, but Clarke doesn’t. She stares out the passenger window while you drive, this little bit of tension held between her eyes that you want to kiss away, but you simply hold her hand tighter in your lap.

An ambulance lingers near the front entrance when you pull into the small parking lot closest to the main entrance. It’s shifted into park in the emergency lane with the lights flickering but otherwise the area is quiet. You can see people through the glass doors as they walk past, the  fluorescent lights bright as it bleeds out onto the sidewalk.

You unbuckle Lily from her booster seat, tucking her close to your chest and she burrows into to your neck despite the heat. Her bare feet dangle, her breath warm over your skin and when you round the car to check on Clarke, you find her helping Aden down from the backseat. He reaches for her once his feet are on the ground, arms outstretched and a small half-hearted pout.

“Up?” Clarke says, and Aden nods. Clarke situates him on her hip and he rubs his left eye with a closed fist, the other hand curled into Clarke’s wrinkled t-shirt.

When you enter, a lady in a flower print shirt smiles at you from behind the check-in desk. She must remember you, or maybe the kids. “Abby expecting you?”

Aden wriggles and Clarke places him down. You look back at the receptionist. “She is.”

“I’ll page her down. Feel free to take a seat, it shouldn’t be long.” She gestures to the chairs behind you and you look back at them. A few are occupied. There’s a woman on her phone and a man with his fingers splinted together and Clarke moves close beside you, shoulders to elbows flush against one another. Compared to the heat outside, it's cold in here with the air conditioning and you feel the goosebumps along her arm. She presses a kiss to your shoulder and your lips find the center of her forehead.

Aden perks up at the sight of Abby when she enters through the doubles doors to your right a few minutes later, still in her white coat and scrubs, and at the sound of her brother’s excitement, Lily lifts her head from the crook of your neck.

“Hello there,” Abby says as Aden rushes forward and happily wraps himself around her legs. She rubs his back affectionately and Abby reaches out to pull her daughter closer for a hug,  trapping him in between. You can hear Aden’s giggles from here.

It’s a few seconds until someone lets go and you step close with Lily. Abby kisses both of you on the cheek in greeting before pulling away. “Follow me, please.”

She leads you to the elevators, waiting until the lot of you file into the space before entering last, and after pressing the appropriate floor button she steps back and waits for the doors to close. “I’m really glad you could make it.”

“Are they okay?” Clarke asks. The doors slide shut and the elevator begins it's ascent to the third floor.

“They’re a little banged up,” Abby says, absently straightening her coat. She inhales this deep breath and centers herself. “More tired than anything. With luck they’ll forget, but their family--” and at that she pauses, staring at the closed doors, struggling to find the words in the presence of Aden and Lily. She doesn’t seem to find them. “Let’s just say that they’re a long way from home.”

“Where…?”

“Canada.” Abby gives you a small smile. “We’re lucky they fell into the right hands.”

A soft ding sounds and elevator doors slide open. Abby leads the four of you down the hallway, doors numbered by a letter and a number, names scribbled on a small whiteboard beneath.

“What are their names?” you ask, voice soft as you adjust Lily as she begins to slip.

“Danny and Jack.” Abby responds, glancing over her shoulder. She looks front and the sound of your shoes echoes in the hall. It’s like she’s reading it from a file. “Danny Grace and Jack Kennington. Two years old. Grew up together. Their parents were close friends.”

Sure enough, near the end of the hall, Abby halts at the door labeled C3, Danny and Jack written out in red dry-erase marker that hangs, attached by a string. For a moment she is still

“Two entire packs laid to waste.” Abby breathes quietly into the empty space in front of her and you watch her hands curl into fists by her side.

“Mom.” Clarke starts, touching her mother’s elbow. “You did what you could.”

Abby shakes her head. “It never seems like enough.”

“I know.”

Gathering her bearings, Abby takes a deep breath and curls the errant strands of her hair back behind her ears. “I know I don’t need to tell you to be gentle, but they’ve been through more than enough.”

Clarke nods. “We will.”

It takes a moment for you to spot them huddled by the chair in the corner of the room.  Curled into each other, you see the glint of their eyes, that flash of yellow, and then, the colorful cartoon printed band-aids, the bruises. They look clean despite the batteredness. Tussled, as if someone managed to squeeze them into mismatched articles of unwanted (though hopefully clean) clothing left in the lost and found with varying amounts of success.

Tufts of fur signify a shift not fully settled, the hint of tiny claws and a cautiousness that is more than well placed -- their eyes. The little girl’s knuckles are white, bunched and clutched at her companion’s shirt, and the boy tries to hide his hiccups into his sleeve rather unsuccessfully. You manage to stop the empathetic noise before it manages to escape from the back of your throat.

They shrink further into the corner when you try to get closer and you stop immediately a few feet away. The little boy’s whimpers seem to louder now that you’re closer and even with the shadow cast by the chair you notice the still damp tear tracks over flushed cheeks and you shift Lily on your hip so you can squat down, resting her on your thigh and her bare feet brush the tile floor.

“Hello,” you say, your voice this soft lilt, and both pairs of eyes find you. Lily watches your face intently, gaze flickering back and forth between you and the two by the chair.

“Puppies,” Lily says, gurgled but soft from having woken up ten minutes ago. You feel the tight grip her left hand has on your shirt and you glance at the pure curiosity on her face. Her hold tightens as she points to the two little ones in the corner by the chair. She looks back at you expectantly for confirmation.

“Yes, Lily, pups.” You poke her belly. “Like you.”

The statement seems to ignite something in her and she squirms until you reluctantly let her go. There’s an instance of fear that settles in the pit of your gut as she hobbles over clumsily towards the pair, but when she gets close, she crouches down and whispers, “Hello.”

What follows is a gurgle of words and made up vocabulary. You hear Lily say her own name, repeatedly, and maybe it's for emphasis, pointing to herself like Clarke does when she has her in her high chair back at home, sharing applesauce and giggles with a spoon.

It’s not long before Aden pulls at Clarke’s hand and she lets him go. He scampers over to Lily’s side, pressing close and eager to be a part of the conversation.

You stand as Clarke steps up beside you, free of her tether, and you glance over at her and her eyes are soft and her shoulders have lost their tension. You know she’s already in love and honestly, so are you.

“Would you mind looking after them?” Abby says, and both you and Clarke turn in unison. “I’m working on finding a permanent home for them, but they could use a little bit of love right now.”

You find Clarke’s attention elsewhere, focused on the little pack of children now huddled by the chair. “Do you even have to ask,” Clarke says, not looking away.

Abby’s smile is soft and wistful as she watches her daughter, and you don’t know what it is that tips her off. A mother’s intuition maybe, or perhaps it's the way Clarke lingers on the pups--your hand closer to her stomach than her hip--but you’d blame it on the heightened sense of smell. It’s just a second, and then you see Abby’s jaw fall slack.

“Clarke are you pregnant?” It's soft, full of awe and wonder and you watch as Clarke takes a minute to let the question sink in.

(Sometimes it feels like fluke. A dream too good to be true--that you’ve managed to find yourself a family like this. To have helped make it and to want to see it grow. And here you are, in the middle of it, and when you look at where you’ve come from nothing has ever made more sense)

Clarke lifts her shoulders, lets them fall. She breathes in slowly, runs her fingers just under her eyes, and you lean over and kiss her cheek. You give her space though.Abby reaches out and you stand back and watch the embrace, Clarke’s face tucked into the crook of her mother’s neck.

“We’re not going to have enough room,” Clarke jokes with this happy, watery laugh--one that Abby shares. She lets go after a moment, but not before pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“You need anything at all, you give me a call.”

Clarke laughs. “You sound like Lexa,” she says and you take the opportunity to move close again and press your nose against her temple, breathing in the scent of her. “But this isn’t my first rodeo.” Clarke brings up a hand to cup your cheek, absently brushing her thumb over your skin, and you kiss the inside of her wrist before her hand falls back down to her side. You don’t want to move.

“I’ll sit in the back with them,” you say, muffled into Clarke’s neck. You pull away after a moment, finding Clarke’s eyes, and she leans in to press her lips to yours.

“You just don’t want to sit in the front.”

“Who does?” you tease softly. “Especially when the alternative is crushed under four pups in the back seat.” It earns you a small chuckle and another kiss, but when the seconds tick by and Clarke doesn’t move away you whisper, “Are you sure?”

“As if you already haven’t made up your mind.”

“We’re a team first,” you say to her.

For a moment Clarke just breathes, takes a moment there in your space to gather her thoughts in peace. How easy distraction is as she glances over your shoulder at the little ones and their conversation makes it to you only in bits and pieces. Mostly Aden and Lily’s voices, and when you turn you  understand her captivation.

She looks up at you. “I can bring the car around back?” she says and you hold her stare, smiling faintly, but the longer you watch her the further it spreads. You know that look in her eye, and after a split second decision Clarke turns to her mother. “Is the loading dock busy this time of night?”

“Not particularly,” Abby answers. “Most of our shipments come in during the day.”

“Is it alright if we use it?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Clarke turns to you. “I’ll meet you there?”

You nod a confirmation and she kisses you briefly on the lips. She’s out the door seconds later.

“Thank you,” Abby says after a beat of silence. “If I had known about Clarke…”

You shake your head. “What?” you respond softly, mindful of the potential listeners. “You would have sent them back to Canada? You know we’re more than happy to look after them.”

“Four is a big commitment, even for the two of you. And with one on the way--”

“Clarke is more than capable of setting her limits. If she says she’s comfortable then I trust her to tell me if she isn’t,” you say and Abby falls quiet, looking away to watch the pups. “I will be there for her every step of the way, and I know so will you.”

You let out a breath, the sudden stiffness of your muscles lessening and you follow Abby’s line of sight towards the kids. For a moment you’re not sure how to approach them. You see Lily curled up against Aden, practically asleep, her little fingers curled into her brother’s sleeve while Aden, unbeknownst of his dwindling audience, continues his story about the rabbit that got away. The other two watch you with tired eyes, tiny heads bobbing as exhaustion threatens to take them. They don’t flinch this time though, most likely accustomed to your scent through Aden and Lily, and when you crouch down in front of them you see the hope in their eyes.

Lily rouses at your proximity, reaching out with insistent hands until you pull her close to your chest. She wraps her arms around your neck, squirms a bit to get comfortable, and sighs. The two watch the situation unfold.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” you say. You know the moment the words leave your mouth that you mean it. More than anything. “I promise.”

They don’t move, and you hear this quiet whine, from one or both you can’t tell but it makes your heart ache. But their are eyes open, hopeful, and you whisper, “How ever you’re comfortable.”

You wait a moment and then look over your shoulder, catching Abby’s attention. You gesture to Lily. “Abby could you?”

“Of course.” She comes close and takes Lily from you. Aden looks back at the both of you, and Abby gestures him over. “Come on.”

You watch as he goes, and once he’s close enough he grasps Abby’s hand with his own. “What’s the quickest way to the loading docks?”

“I can show you,” she says, the hand Aden holds swinging between them. “It’s been dead in here since ten o’clock.” Abby smiles. “In the good way.”

You nod with a smile of your own, and you focus on that warm feeling and let the wilderness take you. It’s quick and once your form settles you shake yourself of your clothes, tugging at your shirt until you manage to slip free of it. There must be some comfort in the form, for when Danny and Jack see you, the shift is close behind

They’re less skilled in coordination, but it’s to be expected. They trip and stumble, clothes half falling off but they could care less, and when they make it to you on their own accord, you help them with the rest. Holding gently to the loose hems with your teeth so they can wiggle free. You hear their soft whines, heads low but tails wagging between their legs as they inch as close to you as they think they’re allowed.

You nudge each of them gently with your nose, a greeting. They smell of hospital and its disinfectant, the cleanliness a bit overpowering, but thankfully you know it's superficial and only temporary. There’s the scent of the earth in them, underneath the dark brown and reds of their fur. Worldly and rich, even for ones so small. That indescribable puppy smell, as Clarke and yourself have have likened to call it over the years.

You gather the clothes in your mouth before following Abby out the door, looking both ways in the hallway out of habit and Abby’s laughter echoes. You check to make sure you’re being followed and you find the pups closer than expected, sticking to you like glue.

Thanks to Abby, you steer clear of the busier sections of the hospital, using staff only elevators and the routes Abby knows like the back of her hand. You run into one person, a man dressed in scrubs who you recognize and Abby nods to, hands full with your children. He chuckles, stepping aside to make room and watch you pass.

“Heda,” he says with this small bow of his head and you stop and acknowledge the sentiment before continuing on.

It’s a good five minutes before you make it to the loading docks on the first floor. Clarke is waiting out on the platform for you with the back hatch of the car already open, the back seats folded down. When she spots you she rolls her eyes.

You meet her by the car, pressing your head into her stomach. She cards her fingers through your fur, behind your ears, and ruffles until you let out this content rumble. She takes the clothes from your mouth, tossing them into the back with the blankets and then nudges you away to take Lily From Abby, Aden pressing close to her leg.

Her sight lands on Danny and Jack just behind your heels and they come up to her slowly when she crouches down, moving from behind your heels to lick at her outstretched hand, nudging into her palm. They whine pitifully when she moves away to buckle Lily into her booster seat but she doesn’t even manage to turn around before the complaints amplify, Lily mumbling insistently as she reaches out behind Clarke towards you.

Clarke groans, shoots you a look, and you tilt your head. “Don’t,” she scolds. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You let out this low bark and Clarke sighs, setting Lily down on her feet. Her body is full of wiggles and muttered laughter as she pads those few feet to where you are and you tell she wants to shift, but at the moment lacks the concentration to fully commit. Her ears are pointed, skin a little furrier, and when she presses her face against you you hear her answering woof deep in her chest.

Clarke shakes her head when you catch eyes with her, instead moving to give her mother a hug goodbye.

“You need anything,” Abby starts, Aden looking up at the both of them, Clarke’s hand on his head.

“I know.” Clarke presses close, just for a moment, before stepping away. “Thank you.”

“I need to get back to work, call me tomorrow with an update please.”

Clarke nods. Abby kisses her forehead and then steps away, offering a wave to you that you acknowledge with a dip of your head. She disappears through the doors back into the hospital.

“Do you want to sit in the back with momma too?” Clarke asks and Aden’s affirmation is immediate. “Alright. Go on.”

You herd them all into the back of the car, careful of limbs and tails. A couple of blankets and a few travel bags you keep in case of emergencies are spread out, plenty of room even for the five of you. They all find a spot around you, Lily spooned against your front, Aden with his head right next to yours, and finally Danny and Jack tentatively pressed up along your back. You try to ignore the fact that you feel them shaking.

“Everything good back there?”

Your answering woof is muffled, but Clarke seems to get the idea. You hear the jingle of the keys as she inserts them, then the rumble as the engine starts, and you let out a sigh.

The ride is long though far from unpleasant. Clarke rolls the windows down and the cool, night air swirls through the cabin of the car. You like the peace it brings despite the thoughts that sit in the back of your mind, not quite able to sleep. You breathe deeply, eyes closed and focused on the smells as the woods change and the air goes clearer. There’s little you can see from your spot laid out on the bed of the car, the tall stretch of trees and the night sky, and when the tires crunch onto the soft gravel road about an hour or so later, the car veering as Clarke takes a right, you know.

Ten minutes pass and the car finally pulls to a stop and you pick your head up to watch Clarke as she takes out the keys and hauls herself from the driver’s seat. Her footsteps are soft in the dirt of the driveway and when she opens the back hatch, the fond smile that steals it's way to her lips at the sight of you curled up with the pups makes your tail thump giddily against the blankets. It hasn’t even been long at all but you still miss her terribly.

“I’m not coming in there,” she says, resolute even in spite of the amusement tilting her lips, and you let out this barely audible whine. The pups don’t stir. “Lexa, no. I’m tired and I’m not sleeping in the back of the car no matter how soft you are.”

You exhale loudly through your nose, shaking your head. Standing, you stretch out the aches from your limbs, careful of the pups spread out around you, and looking at them now you realize both Lily and Aden must have shifted sometime during sleep. Aden yawns wide and it ends in a squeak, little puppy canines glinting in the dull light. He seems to notice you’re missing a second too late after you’ve already hopped down from the car, watching your form until his sleep addled mind understands and he quickly attempts to follow despite uncooperating legs and clothing.

Clarke picks him up before he falls, peeling him out of his now unfitted pajamas and setting him down by your paws. “Keep and eye on him, Lexa.” And you do, though he seems content to plop down beside you, hind legs sprawled in front of him and a tad drowsy.

Clarke reaches in for Lily next and repeats the process. Your daughter barely even registers the movement and Clarke hands her off to you and you gently take her scruff between your teeth. She dangles limpy, doesn’t stir, and you figure it's the small miracles in life.

“I’ll meet you inside,” Clarke tells you in this hushed voice, running her hand over your head, and you watch her a moment before nudging the side of Aden’s head with your nose, and he teeters to the left before catching himself. He scampers off towards the front steps then, and you take one last glance at Clarke and the open hatch before following your son inside.

The house is dark, but it smells like home. The front door opens up into the kitchen and the mismatched chairs that surround the kitchen table, the legs gouged with tiny teeth marks. A vase of half wilted flowers picked from the garden sits in the middle and old mugs of coffee you and Clarke brewed before leaving sit collecting condensation. There’s the scent of dinner, almost faded, and the old wood floors creak as you pass over them, the walls and windows drafty, and there’s bits of dirt and dust you and Clarke can’t seem to keep clean.

Out in the woods though, you can hear the trees, the peepers loud but not unpleasant, and at the sound of the door you glance around. You see two small pups clamber up the front steps inside, tripping over the lip of the door, and behind them Clarke picks up the rear, shifted, the white of her fur an iridescent glow in the night.

She prods them gently onward and their first hesitant steps into the kitchen are taken with considerable care, ears folded back along their scalp and cautious. You watch the twitch of their noses, pressed to the floor, and the movement of their eyes as they take in their unfamiliar surroundings. They look smaller among your things, never too far from Clarke, and quick to check for reassurance. They whine when she looks away, sticking close to Clarke’s heels as she wanders over to you.

Clarke licks at Lily’s face, who wags her tail and yips, nipping at Clarke’s jaw, and you place her down.

There’s a wordless exchange between the two of you. Held between the eyes, hers blue and warm, and you nudge her with the tip of your nose before leaving her with the pups. You head up the stairs near the back door, and then down the short hall to your room, fitting your snout between the open crack of the door and pushing it open.

You head towards your bed, take the sheets between your teeth and tug. It takes a bit of wrestling, a few firm shakes of your head until the sheets slip from the mattress. A few of the pillows tumble off and a couple others you tug with the blankets down the hall. The excess trails behind you, and you’re careful on the stairs so as not to trip and make a fool of yourself. It gets stuck however, and at the bottom you have to readjust, finding a better grip with your teeth and tugging forcefully. The blankets eventually slip free.

Jogging the rest of the way, you drag the blankets into the middle of the den and in front of the couch, ignoring to the best of your abilities Aden as he latches onto a corner and plants his feet. You pull him across the floor, these little growls rumbling in his chest, but he stops when he realizes you’re not interested in playing, and instead trails close behind.

You make a makeshift bed out of the blankets and the pillows stolen from the couch, pawing at them until you have this nice comfy clump of fabric you can sink into. Much of the space you leave for Clarke and the pups, lying down on the edge and sighing, watching them, waiting. Lily wastes no time, bounds over and collapses half on top of you, snuggled as close as possible. Aden is next, followed shortly by Clarke, and they find their space around you.

Danny and Jack are last, stuck a few feet away as if they think they’re not allowed, but you don’t let them linger. You haul yourself up again and take them one by one, picking them up and depositing them into the middle of the pile. It’s only when they’re settled, noses pressed into the blankets, that you relax, curled up behind them.

For a few moments it’s blissful peace, the wind and the familiar draft and the comforting way the woods seem to talk. The rustle of the leaves, the far off sound of the nighttime birds and the bugs... And then an odd sensation you’re being watched. You wait to see if it passes, but it doesn’t, and when you open your eyes you’re not that surprised to find Danny closer than expected.

She blinks, but doesn’t move away, exhaling this short puff of breath that sounds like a squeak and worms her way forward on her stomach. You lift your head up from your paws, and your instinct tells you to clean away the stench of the hospital, so you do. It’s small licks to the side of Danny’s face, and her eyes droop as she inches forward, enough to curl up between your front legs near your chest.  You do the same with Jack, just off to the left side of you, take comfort in the fact that his trembling subsides. He picks himself up not seconds later after you stop, curls right next to your side.

You take a moment to watch them. In the dark the others snore, aden kicking in his sleep and Lily nearly invisible against the white of Clarke’s fur. Clarke watches you from across the folds of the blanket, exhausted, but there’s this unmistakable smile in her eyes and it makes you feel at ease.

August 26, 2018

“Do you have your crayons?”

Danny doesn’t look at you, distracted by the tiny backpack she attempts to sling over her equally tiny shoulders. She misses a few times, fruitlessly waves her arm behind her in search of the pesky strap, and you wait a moment before helping her with it, adjusting the give so it doesn’t hang too loosely.

(Out of the corner of your eye you see Lily and Madi peeking from around the corner of the living room--the glint of their blonde hair in the early morning light)

“Snacks?”

Danny nods, head bobbing. She pushes her hair back when it falls in her face, clumsy hands and tiny fingers, and looks up at you there in the hallway. She doesn’t say anything, merely watches you with her big brown eyes and you know now how hard it's going to be to let them go.

You bump your nose against hers, your eyes closing briefly at her giggles and then press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

“‘ove you too, momma.”

“You and Jack need to look out for one another okay?”

“Mm,” she says, almost solemnly with a singular nod. You pull distractedly at the straps of her backpack, but they’re snug and comfortable and you realize you’re stalling.

“Are you excited?” you ask and your heart melts at the look on her face.

“Mm!”

“Are you going to see Chloe?”

Danny bounces. “Gonna see her lots!”

You cup her cheeks, plump and round in your palms, and kiss the tip of her nose. You want to bury the resulting giggles deep into your chest for later, for the years down the line that feel far away now but are closer than they appear.

Something solid collides against your back and you twist, catching sight out of the corner of your eye of Jack’s head. You scoop him up from behind, nip playfully at his neck until his cheeks go red from laughter and then place him back down in front of you beside Danny.

Next to each other, you see the differences. Danny’s dark hair and her rounder face, the freckles along Jack’s cheeks and his hazel eyes. How he stands just a tad shorter than his adoptive sister, but you have a feeling the advantage won’t last for long. You fix Jack’s hair, slightly ruffled from when you picked him up, and then lean in to kiss his forehead.

“Where’s your backpack?” you ask him, and he seems to ignore the question until you notice the footsteps making their way towards you and his attention is lost. When you turn around again, eyes settling on Clarke in this pretty blouse, back-pack in her hand and Aden trailing behind her looking similarly done up, you can’t really blame him.

“What do you think?” she says, moving to stand beside you, her left hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. Lily and Madi pick that moment to come rushing from around the corner, feeling left out. They barrel into you one after the other and you curl an arm around them both. “I did pretty good huh?”

You look over at Jack, in his little pale orange button-down shirt and blue shorts--his freshly washed hair. “A masterpiece,” you say, though you’d think the world of him even if he was covered in mud and tracking it all over the house. Maybe a little annoyed, but still in love.

It’s the first day of school and suddenly you’re all too aware of how fast time moves and now more than ever, you want to remember what it's like to keep them close.

[kokkoro]

“quit it or i’ll bite.” werewolf AU or “okay it was me… so?” eflat

send me a prompt and i’ll write a thing!

“Quit it or I’ll bite you,” Clarke says underneath her breath as she sits forward, this subtle growl deep in her throat and your hand pauses there on her hip. You press your mouth to the slope of her shoulder where her loose t-shirt slips away and the skin you find is warm.

“What happened to teaching the pups proper manners?” you mutter, resting your hand over her stomach. Clarke shoots you a look over her shoulder, admonishing though slightly amused, and you lean forward and kiss the line of her jaw.

“Manners don’t mean anything when your wife is being–” Clarke’s lips spread into an involuntary smile and she swats at your hand, “–stop that.” 

You pull away, wrapping your arms around her waist and tugging her back against you. “Why? Because you’re exceptinally easy to tickle?”

“My skin is sensitive.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, sighing, and the hair in her face flutters at the exhale. she tucks the strands aside and settles reluctantly back against you, looking out across the backyard and the kids rolling around in the cool grass a few feet away.

You try again a few minutes later knowing full well what to expect and you relish in the laughter that follows. The undignified snorts and the way Clarke squirms in your hold until she manages to escape, turning around to pin you to the ground. The grass tickles the back of your neck, your arms, and Clarke dips her head and nips playfully at your neck. You feel just the hint of teeth along your jaw, in that slight sting of pain in your bottom lip as Clarke bites down only for her to pull away and kiss you gently afterward. 

You let out this breathy hum, picking yourself up and chasing the softness of her lips. You get nose to nose before she pushes you back down.

The corner of Clarke’s mouth is curled, and you look up at the mischief in her eyes. The silence lasts just a moment, stretched out beneath her and the sun haloed behind her. You push her over onto her back and Clarke’s laughter is infectious and bright, bubbling beneath your fingers. The kids must hear the commotion because they’re by your side within seconds, giggling and eager to be a part of the fun.

It’s an unfair fight you’re sure, but all is fair in love and war.

[kokkoro]

Violet Blue (14/15)

General wolf rules for life: Eat. Rest. Rove in between. Render loyalty. Love the children. Cavil in moonlight. Tune your ears. Attend to the bones.  Make love. Howl often.     Clarissa Pinkola Estes

or

being moms is hard, being werewolf moms in the suburbs is even harder. (read here on ao3)

November

1.  

You don’t know why Clarke wakes up with you, but she does. It’s still dark and you know she hates it (in a way so do you) but you hear her footsteps as she descends the staircase not two minutes after you, the wood creaking under the weight, before you see her appear around and into the kitchen halfway through a yawn.

The coffee pots gurgles, drips steadily into the pot as Clarke moves to stand pressed beside you, leeching a bit of warmth. You pour her a cup first when it finishes, sliding the mug over the counter towards her while she fishes through the fridge for the cream. A small amount dribbles over the top, spills onto the counter as the abundance of added cream causes it to overflow, and Clarke dips to take a sip before more is lost.

She adds some sugar and then takes another sip, stealing the spoon you set aside to mix everything together. After several cautionary sips later, she lifts up the cup when she’s sure it won’t spill, cradled carefully close to her chest. She hands you back the spoon, and steps away, but you can feel her presence still close as she watches you fix yourself a cup all your own.

You stand there next to each other for who knows how long, drinking your coffee by the counter shoulder to shoulder. The sun peaks slowly through the front window to your left, spills cautiously over the floor, stretches. It's a minute, maybe two, but you do manage to pull yourself away.

Clarke remains.

You put together a few things. A snack for later, your notes and the case file Anya wanted you to look over--your phone and the small leather-bound notebook… Clarke rests her weight against the counter, hip cocked, mug held still against her shoulder as she observes you quietly.

“It’s cold outside,” she says, and you turn towards her with this lopsided smile.

“Thank you, I didn’t notice.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, pushing herself away from the counter. She wanders over to where you’ve made a pile of the things waiting to be stuffed into your laptop bag. Her free hand finds your hip, palm warm from the mug, and she pulls herself close and kisses your cheek.

“Put on a Jacket,” she says after she pulls away.

You study the blue of her eyes, the mirth collected in the depths of them, and the line of your mouth tilts upwards.  “Practice what you preach, Clarke.”

“I don’t need one when I have you.”

She smiles when you lean in to press a kiss to her lips and then go about organizing the mess on the kitchen table into your bag. Clarke moves away, drinking the last of her coffee before leaving the mug in the sink for later. She pats you on the shoulder on her way by, and you watch, distracted, as she makes her way around the corner towards the bathroom.

You linger at the table for a minute, hands idle and still as you listen. It’s quiet besides those early morning noises, but there's no denying you’re waiting to see Clarke one more time. You’re punctual. To a fault really, and once the clock ticks over into 7am, you count your losses. You grab your phone, your bag, your snack and leave.

Your breath fogs, billows out in front as you exhale that first breath of air when you step out onto the front porch, the grass covered in frost. You have to scrape some of it off your windshield, the car rumbling and idle, the heat on full blast. It clings stubbornly, and the tips of your fingers are  well on their way to numb by the time you finish.

It's the sound of Clarke clearing her throat than makes you jump.

You turn around, closing the passenger door after tossing the ice scraper back inside, and take in the sight of her a few feet away bundled in one of your Jackets. Her cheeks are red, but she’s smiling so maybe it's just a blush. She hands over the tupperware container of last night’s soup, pushes it into your chest and you quickly take hold of it before it falls.

“You forgot this,” she says with a barely there grin, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Share it with Anya, okay? I promised her leftovers weeks ago.”

You curl your hands around it more securely, and you feel the stretch of your lips as the smile takes hold. You lean in and take her lips gently and you feel her press forward into you. Your noses smush and you feel the puff of her laughter over your cheeks.

2.

“Thank you,” you say softly as Aden steps up on his little stool beside you, handing over the bottle of olive oil. You tilt the skillet towards him instead, urging, and he grins as he unscrews the cap. He grips the neck of the bottle firmly, tipping it just so and a generous amount pours out into the pan. You tilt the bottle up before more is wasted.

You place the skillet back on the burner, reaching for the jar of honey to your left. You twist off the cap, scooping out a small amount with a teaspoon and adding it for a small splash of sweetness.

“Ham please.” You gesture to the bowl with the pieces of cut up ham all set up and ready to go. Aden reaches for it, pulls it closer.

“Ham!” he says, dumping the bowl. A few pieces hit the rim and scatter, and you pick them up and toss them back in.

The meat sizzles as you push it around with a wooden spoon, and there’s a sweetness that can already be tasted on the back of your tongue. And you can hear Clarke’s voice go quiet among the kids in the other room. It’s not even a minute before she peaks into the kitchen.

“That smells good,” she says, wandering closer. She stops on your left side opposite Aden, peering over your shoulder as the ham sautes. Her chin finds your shoulder, rests there. “New recipe?”

“It’s what we had in the fridge.”

Clarke picks her head up, leans forward and catches Aden’s stare. They share a grin. “Are you helping, bud?”

Aden nods proudly. “Mmhmm, I’m helpin’!”

You push the meat around more, and it sizzles among the oil and honey. You figure just a few more minutes, and you tap the rim with the spoon. The sound rings dully. “Grab me the spinach from the fridge, Aden? Please.”

He hops down from his stool, scrambles over to the fridge. Clarke watches him go, this lilt to her smile as he tugs hard on the handle and the fridge swings open. He hurries back.

“Apples?” you say next and he darts off again.

Clarke chuckles, kisses your cheek, and they burn pleasantly as the feeling.

“Must be nice having help,” she says.

You grin. “You have no idea.”

3.

It snows late Saturday night, and you had known it would but it still takes you by surprise. The first few drifts come in deceptively slow, the flakes small and meandering just outside the kitchen window as you work through the dishes with Clarke’s help. When everything's said and done, however, there’s not much to see besides the darkness and this sheet of white, the piles already collected a few inches high on the outside patio set and the railings of the porch.

You also find it kind of funny how Clarke tries to ignore it. As if that would make it any less real.

“Clarke, it’s--”

“No,” she says with a certain finality, eyes focused on the last few plates to dry. “It’s still fall and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Your mouth spreads into a smile at the sight of her beside you. A thick sweater over a green t-shirt you can see peeking out beneath the collar, dark blue sweatpants and maybe two pairs of socks. She’d have a scarf if they weren’t still in the attic somewhere with the rest of the winter-wear, but your glad she doesn’t because it means you can lean over and press your lips to the side of her neck.

It makes her shiver.

4.

The snow changes to rain overnight, goes gray with slush and ice. It matches the sky, still overcast and drizzling faintly, and the only hint of color is the sun as it attempts to bleed through clouds.

Work is early today. An unexpected call at 4:30 in the morning had you up and dressed and out the door by 5 o’clock and by 6 you’re on lead near the port an hour away two cities over. An attempted homicide that was called in by a witness in the area. The culprit had fled, but if there’s one thing you’re good at it’s following a trail.

Luckily, even with the rain there is one to follow.

The mist is lighter by the ocean, but it hangs like a fog. It clings to your fur and you feel the weight of each step as you make your way down the path, nose to ground. To your right is the sea and it smells bloated and angry, the waves rolling against the stones as the tide pulls it in and the rain pulls it up.

Behind you some ways you can still hear Anya’s footsteps, keeping pace behind you, and the sound of her voice as it carries over with the ocean breeze. She converses with another group over the police channel, clipped one word answers, and you pay attention with half an ear. You leave her to it.

“No.” Curt, and you glance behind you, momentarily distracted. You see the look on her face, easy to read with the growing stress of the situation. She notices you stare and holds it. “Not Kingston.”

You shake your head and then your body, and the rain releases its hold. A moment later you lower your head, trying to catch the fading scent again.

“East,” Anya says, watching you and when you catch her eyes this time, she gets it. “Toward Johnson’s. Meet us over at Nelson and Water.”

You hear the muffled affirmative and she clips the walkie back onto her belt and you turn back around, picking up the pace.

It's hours, maybe, before there’s even a hint and by then it’s not enough. You’re soaked to the bone, your paws waterlogged and tender, and you hop into the back seat of the cruiser and collapse. The second you stop moving the cold sets in, and Anya slides into the front seat after closing your door and quickly turns on the heat.

“What a fucking waste,” Anya mutters to herself, shrugging out of her windbreaker and tossing it forcefully over onto the passenger side seat. You let out a breath, struggling to contain the chills that rack through you as the car heats up.

She hooks up the walkie, turns the dial for the volume just a tad so the voices outweigh the static, and then shuffles through the glove compartment for her phone. She finds yours first, similar as they are in design, and glances at it briefly before holding it back towards you.

“Clarke,” she says, and you lift your head. WIth one look back at you, Anya puts it aside.

-

You listen to the voicemail back at the station after you change into something dry, but it’s just silence. You hear the click and then nothing. It does nothing to help your mood, and if it weren’t for Anya, you’d be back out there still searching. At the very least she promises to call immediately with any news.

The rain stops by the time you turn down the street towards home. What’s left of the snow is murky puddles and the small pile collected at the end of the road, tracks of mud stretched onto the road.

When you pull into the driveway, the first thing you notice is the extra car. Abby’s. A four-door six-seater she bought purely for the grandkids. It takes up the spot near the Clarke’s suburu ascent, so you pull in behind, shift into park, and grab your things from the seat next to you before picking yourself up. Your arms are full as you make your way up towards the front porch, juggling your laptop bag with your computer and notebook, a set of still soggy clothes, and your lunch box.

You can hear the pups in the living room, the television soft but noticeable, and you shut the door quietly behind you, toeing out of your boots. You line them up neatly next to the others despite the mud that tracks and slides slowly off onto the tiny rug by the closet door.

The weight settles then, and you feel it at the back of your neck and shoulders. You let your bag drop, along with your clothes, and you follow your ears towards the soft sound of your children’s voices.

Abby sees you first, stuck in the middle of the group surrounding the coffee table littered with games and coloring books. She smiles at you, and you see the redness to her eyes and the exhaustion… The pups finally notice, and among the shouts and greetings you see Clarke is missing.

Abby grabs hold of Madi before she takes off, pulls he back down next to her. She reads your mind before your voice can catch up. “Upstairs.”

“What’s wrong?” your voice is raw and a little bit of every part of you aches.

“Jake--” and Abby’s voice cracks. She’s unnaturally still until she raises a hand and wipes away the tears before they have a chance to start again.

You turn around, and you know it's rude to leave her there, but you do, moving towards the stairs. You take the steps two at a time, and when you make it to the second floor you feel out of breath. The hallway is dark, but you see the door to your bedroom shut. There’s no sound besides your footsteps, soft with your socks, and then the squeak of the door as you open it.

You see nothing at first. Your room, the bed, the nightstand littered with your books. The bathroom door is left ajar and the light falls across the floor and the rug, stretches out as the only source of light. You don’t notice the lump curled up near your pillows until you take a moment to breathe. Your shoulders droop with the exhale.

“Clarke.”

She opens her eyes, snout tucked under her paws, buried into the folds of the blankets she’s burrowed into, and it used to surprise you when you had met her--the vibrancy in them, how blue they could be, but it doesn’t so much anymore. Seeing her like this, though--clouded and shaking… You finally know what it's like to miss it.

She’s not crying. She simply can’t, and you know that’s the point.

“Oh, Clarke,” you whisper, and you hear her whine. It’s quiet, nothing more than an exhale, but in it you can hear pieces of her as they break. She trembles, and you see it along her shoulders and neck. She pushes herself up, tail dragging limply behind her, and crawls over to the edge of the bed.

You meet her there, knelt down by the bedside. She pushes against you, forehead to forehead, and you close your eyes and breathe in. She smells cold, like the air outside, wet and rainy, and you let the silence be.

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

You feel a sudden shift in weight, the tickle of her fur against your skin fading away. In its stead the weight of her arms wraps around your neck, the chill of her bare skin against you.

“Lexa,” she breathes out and it wrenches itself somewhere near your heart.

-

“Mommy?” Madi says sometime later when you make your way downstairs. Abby smiles sadly at you, still stuck in the middle of the pups, and mentions nothing about Clarke’s absence.

“She needs some time alone, Madi.”

“Why?” Lily pipes in, leaning forward onto the coffee table. You look around at the others and they’re all listening.

“She’s sad.”

“Sad?”

“Yes.”

Lily frowns. She looks like she’s ten seconds away from becoming upset herself, Abby rubbing her back in placating circles. She goes to open her mouth but--

“Why she sad?” Jack says. He thinks a moment then he puffs himself up, his grip tightening on the crayon in his hand. “I can make it stop. I can, I’m tough.”

“You’re very tough, Jack, but this isn’t something we can scare away. This takes time.”

He goes quiet and contemplative, Aden beside him watching. Your eldest is unnaturally quiet, pensive and seemingly far older than he has any right to be. His eyes are so much likes Clarke’s and you notice how he watches you at the edge of the group, hand wringing the hem of shirt.

“Can we see her?” he says, hesitant yet hopeful, voice tiny and light.

You watch his hands and the way they worry and for a moment you don’t know what to say. “Maybe. In a little bit.”

-

You peer into the dark room and not much has changed. Clarke lies facing away from you, wearing one of your old t-shirts she must have put on when the chill became to much. At the sound of the door she shifts. Her hair falls away from her face and her eyes find yours in the dark..

“Clarke,” you say, but you trail off. Her eyes are still red, cheeks blotchy, and you can hear her stomach growl from here. You’re not sure if you should shoo aside the eager pups for fear of disappointment. You only brought them upstairs because they begged and it looked like Abby needed some time alone for herself. “Would you like some company?”

She rubs a hand across her face, sniffing audibly and it sounds wet, congested.  She does this several times until it proves to be counterproductive and the tears come again, but she nods and you open the door wider. The pups push themselves in.

“Easy,” you say to deaf ears. They scramble up the bed, but they’re gentle, finding places among your sheets as close to Clarke as possible. They don’t ask questions, but you have a feeling they know. They’re perceptive in that way. You help Madi up when you get close and then join the pile on the bed.

It’s a moment of minor chaos as the pups settle, little grunts and kicked legs. You feel Danny’s elbow in your ribs, but Clarke sighs and it sounds a little bit like letting go.

5.

There’s no funeral.

Death is personal and that’s just not what you do. You and Clarke take the long drive out back to Maine to meet her family. In the woods so close to your home and hers. There’s a burial, quick and to the point, and compared to the suburbs where you live, the smells are so much richer here. Maybe it's the earth, still moist from the rain and snow, or the sun, bright through the bare trees after so much gray.

Clarke stands close, tucked close to your side as she watches. She doesn’t cry, but you feel her arm tighten around your waist and the press of her face against your shoulder. The shuddering inhale and the slow exhale. You hold her closer.

You spend a few hours after with a small close group of Clarke’s family. Abby, Jake’s brother and his wife and a son who’s Clarke’s age, maybe a little younger.  It’s small. So small compared to what you’re used to, having grown up in the pack you had. Your parents may have left far before their time, but you had Gustus and his sons, your father’s brothers and sisters, Anya and her family… but you’ve always found solace in the peculiar intimacy that was Clarke’s family.

Things have been put away, and the woods seems quieter now after your small group resigns to Clarke’s parent’s cottage just at the edge of town, unsure how to put an end to things like this, and Clarke tolerates it like the trooper she is. She stands off to the side with you by the front porch while Abby and Jake’s brother, John, and his wife, linger in the driveway by the cars. It’s only Damien, who you know to be Clarke’s only cousin, that decides to break the carefully constructed reprieve.

Clarke doesn’t really have time to react, which in hindsight is probably for the best, because without warning he wanders over and scoops her up into a hug. “C.J.” he says, and she lets out this subtle squeak as his arms tighten briefly before setting her down.

“Lexa, how’s everything? It’s haven’t seen you two in a while” Damien says once the permanent somberness has lessened.

“Busy.” You say, Clarke finding a spot next to you. “How is Sam?”

“Sad she couldn’t make it. I told her not to beat herself up about it, but...” he shrugs. “Got a heart too big for herself.”

“She makes up for you,” Clarke butts in and he clutches his heart, a gasp, mock offended.

He drops his hand a second later with a grin. “True.”

Clarke’s lips twitch, this half smile, and leans into you. Her hand sneaks under your shirt to your skin, and it almost feels like normal.

-

It’s a long drive back in the dark. You offer despite the hour and you’re happy you do when ten minutes after setting off Clarke drifts off in the passenger seat. She sleeps through the entire five hour drive, curled against the passenger door, your work jacket that you keep in the back now used as an improvised pillow. Not even the sound of the car door opening and closing manages to wake her, and you’re able to unbuckle her seatbelt and awkwardly scoop her into your arms.

You have to readjust to open the door, but once you’re inside the rest is simple. Clarke is sound asleep, head against your shoulder and breathing soundly and you toe of your shoes in the foyer, steady as possible. You find Gustus and the pups piled onto the couch in the living room and you’re surprised he’s still awake. He watches the television, the sound on mute and the subtitles scrolling along the bottom of the screen, and he smiles when you stop in the hallway and stare.

“How is she?” he asks, voice just above a whisper.

You glance down at her in your arms, at her messy hair and the tangled strands from five hours pressed against your Jacket--the dark circles under her eyes. “Tired.” You look up at him. “Sad.”

Gustus gestures with his head towards the stairs. “I’ve got this under control, Lexa, you take care of what you need to.”

You nod once, idly pressing your lips to Clarke’s forehead before muttering a soft thank you and heading up the stairs.

Once inside your room you lay Clarke gently on the bed, taking off her shoes and putting them aside. She rouses just enough to allow you to help her shimmie out of her pants, and you follow suit when she’s comfortable. Your pants and socks, your dress shirt--you crawl into bed, inching close to Clarke, kissing her softly. Her brows scrunch, but she worms herself closer into your warmth.

6.

“Is it done yet?” Lily asks, tugging at your sleeve. You glance down at her for a second before you turn back to work, pulling out the baking dish of mac and cheese from the oven.

“In a minute, we’re almost done.” You glance at the timer on the microwave, and then the pot of hotdogs boiling on the stove. “Can you help Aden with the silverware please?”

She considers for a moment, but does as you ask, waddling after Aden who digs through one of the drawers for some forks. He hands them off to her one by one.

“Jack, Danny, can you reach the plates?” you say, scooping out a piece of macaroni. You blow on it until it cools, and then hold it out to Madi beside you, left hand cupped underneath. “Taste test.”

Madi takes it, chews loudly with her mouth open in a smile. “Mac n’ cheeese,” she says, her tiny hand latched onto your pants. You gently close her mouth, pushing her chin up. She continues chewing with her mouth closed and you turn off the stove as the timer on the microwave sounds.

“Mommy’s favorite,” you say even though you don’t think Madi’s listening anymore. She’s still chewing, but she’s looking over her shoulder at the others.

You grab the extra plate beside you, pulling the boiling pot of hotdogs closer and off the burner. Behind you the clatter of silverware and plates rings dully as Aden helps Jack and Danny set the everything on the table, Lily right behind with the silverware.

The hotdogs get chopped into bite-sized pieces, and you bring the plate and the dish of macaroni and cheese to the table, Madi behind you, and set everything down just as the sound of footsteps reaches your ears.

Clarke appears around the corner, dressed in sweats and a long sleeve shirt, a tad groggy from the nap, and she stares into the kitchen at all the chaos. You finishing dishing out the macaroni and divvy up the hot dog pieces until each of them have six, the rest you split (unevenly in her favor) between Clarke and yourself.

Lily runs to her, latches herself to Clarke’s leg, and you turn away to lift Madi into her seat. She’s half situated when you glance back at Clarke and you get stuck. She watches you like you’re the single most lovely thing to happen, tears prickling to life in the corner of her eyes, and you make sure Madi is secure and then go to her.

“Shh,” you hush when you get close, cradling her face between your palms. The tears only get worse. “Shh, no--no. No, Clarke. It’s okay.”

She smiles, and you kiss her before it disappears. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too, Clarke.”

-

“I’m sorry.”

You lower your book, turning your head to the right. Your chin bumps Clarke’s forehead, her head resting against your shoulder. She plays with the hand idle in your lap, pressing the tips of your fingers with hers, fiddling with the band of your ring, and you let out this short breath through your nose.

“Why are you apologizing?” you say, earnest in your need to understand.

Clarke shakes her head and draws your hand into her lap.

“Clarke,” you sigh. You wait a moment, watching how she studies the way your fingers interlock. You place your hand over hers, your thumb brushing over her wrist. “There’s no reason for you to apologize. It takes as long as it takes, even if that means never.”

Leaning forward, you put aside your book on the coffee table, and then untangle yourself from her. Clarke is reluctant to let go, her grip tightening on your hand. It tethers you to her, and when you pull her up she does so willingly. She bumps into you, chest to chest, and you kiss her while she’s close.

You feel a little resistance when you pull away, and you open your eyes to find Clarke just as close. She’s not looking at you, though. Her eyes are closed, and there’s that telltale pinch between her brows as she breathes.

When she feels you move, reaching for the hem of your shirt, she opens her eyes to watch you slip the garment over your head. For a moment she merely observes, eyes following the movement, content to watch and listen and the tension fades slowly from her face.

“Run with me?” you say softly, and Clarke’s other hand finds your hip.

She nods and you help her out of her shirt. It gets lost with yours on the living room floor.

You go out the back door and the November air is cold and brisk, and Clarke stands in the doorway and simply takes in a lungful of air. You can see the stutter on the exhale, the stream of fog that trickles from her mouth as she looks up at the waning moon and the thin sliver of light it exudes. You rest your hand at the small of her back and her attention shifts to you briefly and in her eyes you see the depths of stars.

She runs until she can’t anymore.

7.

You get back just before sunrise, trailing mud and leaves and other manner of things into the hallway. The house is quiet though and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Clarke takes the stairs and you follow closely behind, step for step. Her feet drags, paws heavy and legs no doubt aching. She pushes open your bedroom door and for a second or two you linger as Clarke slips past the threshold. You think it a courtesy, a moment of peace after the strain of your run and you turn your head towards the closed doors of the kids and listen. It's only with the answering silence that you wander inside.

You see Clarke among the stale light of early morning, the paleness of her skin and hair as she disappears into the bathroom. The floor shows signs of her presence, the prints that fade and shift, and the leaves and twigs that no longer have fur to cling to.

At the sound of rushing water from the bathroom you look up, ears perking forward. You shake a bit of the dirt off and then trot closer, letting the familiarity of home weave itself with the rest of you. It feels warm, safe, and you allow that contentedness to change you.

You peer into the bathroom and the darkness is not a hindrance. Clarke sits submerged in the tub, the swirls of steam rising from the water as it fills close to edge. You make your way inside, turning the faucet handle until the water shuts off and all that remains is the sound of the ripples as they settle.

You slip in behind her, and you pull her against you once you’ve made yourself comfortable. She feels weightless in that far off kind of way, and you run your hand gently up and down her arm. She turns her head back but doesn’t look at you, pressing a kiss to your hand when it lingers near her shoulder.

“He was so busy,” Clarke says, and you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close against you, lips pressed to the back of her shoulder. “We were busy… And I--I know it's not anyone’s fault, but I. I could’ve done more. I could have seen him more. And now it’s...”

“Clarke.”

“If it weren’t for them he’d--”

“Clarke.”

“It was a mistake.”

“Clarke.” and your voice is firm. Clarke finally quiets. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

And you know that’s a sad thought, but it's the truth. Clarke leans forward, away from you, and you stare at the gold strands of her hair that cling wetly to the plane of her back. You don’t know how long the silence lasts, but you let it for however long it needs to.

Clarke takes your hand after a minute or two, and you can’t see her face but you know she’s trying to make out the shape of the two of you together beneath the water. You close your fingers around hers and she lets you draw her back to you.

You like the weight. “This will have its place,” you say as you draw your interlocked hands out of the water. The rivulets run between your palms, and Clarke lets you pull them closer for inspection, resigned to attention she knew would follow.

There’s the gentle ‘plip, plop’ of the droplets as they slide from your skin into the water, and you test the tenderness to Clarke’s palm with careful fingers. The redness is overwhelming, raw, and tiny nicks slice the tips of her fingers from the cold and rough winter debris. They’re more than done bleeding though and will heal within a day or two.

“Do you ever miss them?” Clarke whispers, and you know what will follow before she speaks it. “Your parents.”

You don’t say anything, not right away. You lower your hands until they’re submerged again, holding tight as the water around you cools.

You whisper back, “Of course.”