Alternate Route Available [rerouting; signal lost] - Clextober22
A Clextober22 one shot - Read on AO3
"Do you believe in alternate universes?" Clarke asks quietly. A big question for nearly 3 in the morning in their living room, each of them in their pajamas and not quite fully awake.
"I don't know," Lexa answers after a moment. "Is that what you think that place was? An alternate universe?"
Clarke closes her eyes. Works on breathing deeply, in through her nose and out through her mouth, feeling her belly rising and falling.
"Honestly?"
Lexa waits.
"I think it was hell."
OR what I've been calling "backwoods gas station hell portal AU" for the past several months since I wrote this.
Moodboard and an excerpt from a story I’m working on for Clextober 🖤 read below the cut
xxx
And this is the dangerous thing about hope, its ability to consume her entirely. It’s why she’s never dared to allow herself it up until this point. Hope could destroy her. But the thing is - she doesn’t care. She’ll deal with the inevitable fallout later, but she’ll never forgive herself if she doesn’t at least try.
Even if it makes her seem like she’s finally lost it. Which is how Lincoln is looking at her now, his gaze still gentle and soulful as always but also full of concern.
“Clarke…”
“Please don’t look at me like that,” she says, her voice and lower lip trembling. “You know about this. I've been researching using what I can remember from what little I've ever been able to gather about your and Lexa's past. Please, you’re the only one I can ask for help with this.”
Lincoln's jaw tightens and loosens. “Anya made me swear I’d look out for you. We swore to Lexa we would keep you safe. This isn’t safe, Clarke.”
It’s the equivalent of a no. Desperation flares in her chest. “I’m just going to do it without you if you won’t help. Please, Linc. Please, I have to try.” Her voice cracks, eyes stinging with unshed tears.
Lincoln hesitates, doubt and uncertainty clear in his eyes and the tightness of his mouth. He stares at Clarke, holding her gaze like he’s trying to determine if there’s any chance of talking her out of this. He accurately assesses that no, there isn’t, and exhales a huge, exasperated sigh. “Okay. Run me through this one more time, and if I think there’s a reasonably safe way to make this happen that doesn’t end up with both of us possessed by Satan or turned into a pile of dust on the ground, I’ll help you. Okay?”
Clarke could cry, or kiss him, or both. She nearly does, but she’s too anxious to get the ball rolling to delay it with hysterics, and that's not a conversation she particularly wants to have with Octavia, either.
“It all started a month ago, when a little black cat walked onto my back deck at sunset.”
