A/N: Title comes from No Other Love by Jo Stafford, which is on the Carol soundtrack


The alarm blared next to Clarke's head, startling her from sleep. Eyes still closed, she slapped it off, then tumbled from bed, shivering as her bare feet hit the wooden floor. She pulled her pink knit blanket around her shoulders and brushed her unruly hair back from her face.

With a sigh, she made her way into her kitchen, kneeling to turn on the little gas stove. She lit a match from the box in the counter, humming in satisfaction as the fire caught inside the stove with a small whoosh. It wouldn't help much now, as she would be leaving for Washington's soon, but hopefully it would chase away the frigid chill for when she got back home.

She had just crossed over to the sink and started to brush her teeth when she heard the doorbell. It must be Finn – she recognized his long ring. Hurriedly, she spit and rinsed, wiping her face with the threadbare towel there.

Jogging to the window, she lifted the sash, propping it up with a stick, and stuck her head out. Just as she expected, there Finn was, a Stetson perched on his long hair as he leaned against his silver bicycle.

"I like your scribbles," she called out to him.

Surprised, he glanced at the ground around him, which neighborhood children had decorated with chalk. "Yeah, I've been busy," he said laughingly. He took a moment to look at her. "I don't know how you do it."

"What?" Clarke asked.

Finn gestured up to her. "You look like a million bucks first thing in the morning!"

Clarke smiled. "I'll be down in a minute."

It was Finn's habit to pick Clarke up in the morning and ride them both into work on his bicycle. Clarke threw on her turtleneck and dress, clipping her father's watch into place beneath the three-quarter-length sleeves and tying back her hair with a thick black headband. She shoved her feet into her shoes and grabbed her coat and hat on the way out the door, throwing them on as she scurried down the steps.

As she came out the door of her apartment building, he smiled and waved to her.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she gasped, pulling the strap of her satchel over her head. "I overslept my alarm. Are you freezing?"

"No, I'm all right," Finn said agreeably. He held the bike out towards her, and she settled onto the seat, her feet hanging behind the pedals. Finn hiked his leg over the frame and stood in front of her until she put her hands on his waist. Then he pushed them off, standing up on the pedals as they moved down the street.

They rode in silence for a while, Clarke simply staring at the back of Finn's black coat and trying to recall a dream she had that night. She could remember falling, but she wasn't scared, because she knew someone was there to catch her.

Suddenly, Finn spoke up. "So I got the schedules in the mail," he said. Clarke stayed silent, the sense of discomfort she always felt when he brought up their trip filling her chest. Finn bounced a little on the pedals. "You listening to me?"

"I'm listening, you got the schedules," she repeated.

Ignoring her blunt tone, he went on. "There's two sailings to France in June and one in July."

"Wow." Clarke couldn't think of an appropriately enthused answer.

"What do you think?" Finn asked, turning his head slightly towards her.

"I think…" she hesitated. What could she say to him? That he was moving too fast? That she wanted him to stop asking? "I think it's too cold! I can't think straight."

Finn laughed, leaning forward as he pedaled. "Alright, let's get you warmed up."

They didn't speak again until they reached the employee entrance to Washington's. Finn locked up his bike, then walked Clarke inside, where they joined the line of employees waiting to punch in. A man was giving Santa hats out to everyone as they walked by, repeating "Season's greetings from the management" in a rush as he handed them to each person.

Finn took Clarke hands in his and began to chafe them, but Clarke pulled them away and stuffed them in her pockets.

"You know, my mom still wants to make that dress for you," he told her. "She keeps asking when you're coming by, so she can take your measurements."

The uneasy feeling came over Clarke again. "Is she sure?" she asked. "It's a lot of work to make a dress…"

"Yeah, she's pretty excited about it," he told her. Lowering his voice slightly, he continued, "Anyways, she's just going crazy with no girls in the family but Raven."

Clarke looked up at him, her face softening. "How is Raven?"

"She'll pull through," Finn said, but Clarke could hear the worry behind his words. Ever since Raven had lost the use of one of her legs, things had been very hard for her and the family.

They reached the man and each took a hat, then stepped through the doors to the stairwell.

"I've gotta open the floor." Finn bent down to give her a kiss.

Clarke returned it mindlessly. "See you later."

She watched him as he took the stairs two at a time, then made her way up after him.

The cafeteria of the department store was a drab, cold place, its featureless walls and austere rows of tables making it feel like a prison. Most everyone ate with their heads down, and the few groups who did talk did so in low voices. Clarke set down her tray of coffee and a biscuit down in an empty spot and pulled out her employee manual. She had already read it the week before at orientation, but she had forgotten her copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man at home. Finn had been urging her to read it, and since he never seemed interested in the books she liked, she was excited to have a book in common to discuss.

As she was nearing the bottom of her cup, she heard someone calling her name from the doorway. "Miss Griffin!" It was Mrs. Byrne, the section manager of her department. "You're needed upstairs. Make it snappy."

Clarke hurried to put her things away and met Mrs. Byrne in the hallway.

"You're at the doll desk today, so you need to get up there and take inventory. Also, turn on the train sets while you're there," the woman told her.

Clarke nodded to her. "Yes, ma'am."

On the sixth floor, Clarke made her way to the doll desk in the center of the room. Dropping her Santa hat on the counter, she picked up the clipboard with its list of stock and began to count boxes.

Once she had inventoried all of the dolls behind the counter, she neatened a few on display, then made her way around the sales floor, switching on the various model trains.

She lingered near the last one, one of her favorites. Its miniature pistons always sounded so fierce, as if it were trying to launch itself off its track. It roared around a tiny city, complete with flashing warning lights and a gate that lowered when the train went by.

Clarke leaned her chin on her crossed arms, watching the plastic station master pop out of his doorway as the train surged past him.

"Good morning, happy holidays, and welcome shoppers, to Washington's," a mellow voice sounded from the speakers as the overhead lights turned on around the room. Clarke startled up from the case. The store was open.

She made her way back behind her desk, weaving her way between other employees putting away last boxes of toys. She had just settled when she heard the ding of the elevators announcing the arrival of the first customers of the day. Clarke watched as they streamed into the room – mostly women, but some men – and made their way throughout the floor. The few children that were there dragged their parents by the hand to the toys they wanted.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke caught sight of Mrs. Byrne. The manager frowned severely, then jabbed a finger at her head. Clarke remembered her Santa hat on the counter and pulled it on, smoothing down the bauble with an apologetic look at Mrs. Byrne.

Soon enough, Clarke had a sizable queue in front of her. She helped parents find the dolls they wanted, or decide between one kind and another. The customers that broke her heart were the ones that came in in threadbare coats, asking her the price of a doll. They would sigh when she told them the figure, sadly shaking their heads. She wanted to press the toy into their hands, urging them to take it, assuring them she didn't care. But they would always leave so quickly, disappearing back towards the elevators.

Finally there was a break in the stream of people, and she picked up her clipboard to mark off the dolls sold. She let her eyes wander around the room, until they fell on the train set she had watched that morning.

Clarke felt herself freeze.

Standing behind the table was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Golden brown hair fell in curls down her back, cascading over the collar of her rich fur coat. Her lips were painted a daring red, and her cheekbones were highlighted with a tinge of rouge. As Clarke watched, transfixed, she loosened the burgundy scarf at her throat and slipped off her dark leather gloves.

The woman gazed at the train set for a moment, then shifted, looking below the display. The train had stopped moving; her coat must have caught on the switch.

The woman glanced around to check if anyone saw, and before Clarke could look away, their eyes caught.

A spark ran down Clarke's spine. The woman had the greenest eyes she had ever seen. She couldn't look away.

"Miss? Miss, where's the lady's room, honey?"

Clarke dragged her eyes away from the woman to the mother standing in front of her, her small daughter balanced on her hip.

Clarke pointed towards the elevators. "If you go back to the elevators and make a left you can't miss it."

As soon as the mother left, Clarke looked back towards the train set. But the woman was gone. In her place, three small boys clambered on the sides of the display case.

Clarke felt her heart sink in her chest.