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She’s just taking her brace off for the night when Abby appears, pulling back the flap of the tent and looking tense and angry as her hands clench into fists at her sides.
“Uh, you okay?” Raven asks, pausing in her movements and looking up with a raised brow.
“That girl is going to be the death of me, I swear,” Abby lets out a frustrated huff, putting her hands on her hips and doing everything in her power not to pace.
“Who? Clarke?” Raven shoots Abby a worried look, standing with the help of a crutch she only ever feels comfortable enough using in the doctor’s company. “Did something happen?”
“I really don’t want to talk about Clarke right now,” Abby’s back is turned to her, her voice wavering in a way only Raven could ever pick up on. “I want to—“ Abby turns around, suddenly reaching out for her and moving to unbutton her shirt with clumsy fingers, “just—here—“
Before she knows it, Abby’s lips are on hers and her hands are snaking under her shirt, pulling her closer and steadying her as her crutch falls to the ground. The kisses are sloppy, almost distracted, and Raven can feel the telltale wetness of tears that are not her own against her cheek.
“Whoa, hey,” Raven says, pulling back so she can look Abby in the eye. “Not that I’m gonna fight this, but since you are the one who brought it up, are you sure you—“ Abby ignores her, hands and lips wandering. “Abby, hey, do you want to—jesus—do you want to talk about it?”
“Later,” Abby says between kisses. “We’ll talk later. But for now I just want to—“
She trails off and pauses in her movements. Raven, out of breath, leans into her and sighs. “Okay. Okay, you don’t have to tell me twice.”
“Thank you.” Abby tells her, and she means it in more ways than one.