The Sprained Ankle
Lexa hesitated for only a moment before reopening the smirking selfie. She closed her eyes, and before she could over analyze the dozens of possible outcomes from the small decision, her thumb found that tiny little heart and pressed ever so lightly to the screen. She did it. She finally liked one of Clarke’s posts. It only took her nearly three years of not so covertly crushing on her. However, she did it.
Lexa sat back in her uncomfortable bus chair and shifted just a little to peer behind her. Clarke was still reading her art history book, looking as lovely as ever, her brows furrowed in thought, a pen in her left hand gently tapping the book in an unheard rhythm. Clarke suddenly placed her pen in the fold of her book and reached for her phone.
Lexa hid herself knowing that Clarke definitely just received an Instagram notification informing her that Lexa had liked a selfie. She took a moment, calmly inhaled a deep breath through her nose, and as she released it, she turned to look back at Clarke.
Clarke’s eyes were trained on her phone screen, but even from the front of the bus, Lexa could see a hint of a smile on her lips. She must have felt Lexa staring because playful blue eyes suddenly locked on her own, and Clarke gave her a winning grin and little wave. Keeping her cool surprisingly well, Lexa threw her a half smile before turning back towards the front of the bus.
The rest of the trip passed quickly, and Lexa soon found herself standing on the sidelines watching an intense battle between her college and the number one ranked team in the conference. The game was drawing to a close, and due to an opportune corner kick, they were ahead by one.
It was in the following play that Lexa’s heart leaped to her throat. Clarke stole the ball from an oncoming forward and took off down the sideline. The forward, frustrated with losing the ball, came from behind and slid, cleats up straight into Clarke’s right ankle. If the initial point of cleat on bone wasn’t enough to injure Clarke, the way her body slammed to the hard ground surely was.
Lexa struggled to remain standing on the sideline as whistles blew all around her. She instinctively reached down for the strap of her training bag and waited to be waved onto the field.
After what seemed like hours, she and Nyko were finally called forward, and Lexa sprinted out to where Clarke lay. She let out a visible exhale when she found Clarke thankfully conscious, but her heart plummeted when she discovered her face screwed up in pain.
Lexa knelt next to Nyko and waited for him to give her something to do. Nyko examined Clarke’s neck and head, and when she was deemed to be in the clear for a concussion, the concentration moved to Clarke’s ankle.
Nyko hovered his hand over Clarke’s right foot, and Lexa could already see the swelling protruding from her sock. “Can you move it?”
“Not without wanting to die,” Clarke snarked through gritted teeth.
“Okay,” Nyko sighed. “You’re done for the day. Let’s get you off the field so we can have a closer look.”
Nyko nodded to Lexa, and she threw her bag over her shoulder before repositioning her body. She placed a strong arm around Clarke’s back, and with Nyko mirroring her hold, they easily lifted Clarke to her feet. Clarke kept her weight off her right ankle, and Lexa threw Clarke’s arm over her shoulder. Nyko moved to do the same, but Clarke just waved him off. She leaned against Lexa, and Lexa wrapped her free arm around Clarke’s waist, guiding her off the field and to the waiting golf cart.
While the athletic center was unfamiliar, Lexa and Nyko were able to quickly lead Clarke to their assigned training room. Clarke hobbled up on a table and Nyko began to gently remove her cleat and sock. Lexa watched Nyko’s every move, eager to learn, but she couldn’t help her wandering eyes, which every so often drifted up to sad blue ones. The thought of Clarke upset had her own heart clenching in pain for her.
Nyko gently pressed his fingers around Clarke’s already swollen ankle, and Lexa knew it was excruciating, she saw that with the way Clarke’s whole body tensed with each touch, yet Clarke only silently winced. Nyko let Lexa feel how Clarke’s ankle moved, and she knew immediately that the sprain was most likely bad.
“Well, Clarke, it looks like a pretty severe sprain,” Nyko confirmed out loud. “We’ll ice and wrap it up now and reassess tomorrow back at home.” He gave Clarke a small smile and patted her knee before turning to Lexa. “Can you handle the ice? I should get back out there in case I’m needed.”
Lexa nodded and walked with him as far as the ice machine. She filled a bag with practiced ease and found the plastic wrap on the way back to the table.
“Lay back,” Lexa smiled down to Clarke. She placed a gentle hand on Clarke’s shoulder, urging her down.
Clarke folded her hands behind her head, and Lexa struggled to remain professional as the gesture caused Clarke’s chest to perk up. She quickly put her focus back on wrapping the freezing ice bag around Clarke’s swollen ankle. “So, how’s it look, doc?”
“I’m not a doctor,” Lexa shook her head, not quite willing to meet Clarke’s gaze just yet. “And you have a pretty bad sprain, as Nyko said. It doesn’t look broken, but you possibly tore through some ligaments.”
“How long?”
“That depends on how bad the sprain turns out to be. Two weeks if it's minor, but it could be up to twelve if it’s really severe.”
“What do you think it is?”
“I’m not an athletic trainer yet. I can’t make a diagnosis.”
“But what does your gut say? Please, Lexa.”
The earnest near begging tone in Clarke’s voice pulled Lexa to look back at her face finally. Clarke reached a hand out and gently squeezed Lexa’s forearm, urging her to answer, and Lexa couldn’t resist any longer. “At least six weeks,” she relented.
“Six weeks?” Clarke sat up on her elbows with a look of pure panic. “The season will be over by then!”
“I’m sorry, Clarke.” Lexa placed what she hoped was a soothing hand on Clarke’s lower thigh, squeezed gently and made her way over to the ice machine. She couldn’t stand to be the one telling Clarke bad news. The look on her face was just too much to bear, so Lexa began prepping the several bags she knew were going to be needed when the game ended.
Within a few minutes, the first few players began to trickle in. Some were there just to check on Clarke and hand her her bag, while others hopped up on the tables and waited for their post-game ice and stim. Lexa knew their regimens well enough to at least get ice where it was needed. Nyko would be back any minute to do the more technical treatments.
Lexa checked her watch and made her way over to Clarke who was currently staring at something on her phone. “Ready to get this off?”
“Yes, please,” Clarke groaned. Lexa let her mouth twist up slightly at the near glee in Clarke’s voice. She slid her scissors through the plastic and lifted the ice bag off. “Shit! It looks like there’s a grapefruit under my skin.”
“When Nyko gets back here, he’ll wrap this up for you and then you can shower. You’ll need to ice it again on the bus ride home, and keep it elevated.”
“Yeah, I know,” Clarke bit out as she rolled her eyes. Lexa didn’t take offense to the harsh reaction. She knew well enough that Clarke was more upset with the situation and not her. “RICE, RICE, and more RICE.”
“Exactly.” Lexa tossed the used plastic in the bin and emptied the slightly melted ice bag in the sink. She was about to check on one of the other players when Clarke called out to her.
“Hey, why don’t you wrap my ankle for me?” Clarke raised a single eyebrow, and the accompanying smirk caused butterflies to explode in Lexa’s chest. How Clarke was able to turn a simple suggestion into something that sounded like flirting was beyond Lexa.
“I’m really not supposed to without his supervision or explicit permission,” Lexa muttered.
“I’ve seen you wrap plenty of ankles in the past,” Clarke argued. “Raven won’t let anyone else tape her ankle before a game. She says you’re the best she’s ever had.”
Lexa’s eyes widened with how sexual that last statement sounded, and Clarke merely smirked. She knew exactly what she was doing. Lexa was in the middle of shaking her head, trying to maintain a professional expression when a voice called out to her.
“You can wrap it, Lexa. You’re more than capable.” Nyko stood directly behind her with a knowing little grin on his face. Lexa fought the urge to roll her eyes or huff, so she just turned to bag and pulled out what she needed.
Lexa didn’t risk looking up at Clarke’s face as she began wrapping her very swollen ankle, and she quickly got in her zone and forgot about everything else. She was almost done when Clarke spoke again.
“You look so official.”
“What?” Lexa blinked and glanced up at Clarke. She had her phone in one hand and a smile on her face.
“You’re a pro! Can I post this?” Clarke turned the phone towards Lexa. “You’re in the zone. It’s kinda hot.”
Lexa leaned forward to see an Instagram post of her ready to go. She was working away on one of Clarke's teammates, and she did look official. Something similar to pride burst in her chest. Part of her wanted the world, or at least all of Clarke’s followers, to see her in her element, and to know that Clarke wanted to show her off. But another part of her wasn’t sure what the implications of her crush posting a photo of her meant.
