A/N: I said I would never write a Clexa AU. I was wrong. This is for all of you: my kru and my readers. I wish each and every one of you a very Merry Christmas, and if you don't celebrate Christmas, I still with you a very wonderful Sunday December 25th. May it be filled with Peace, Joy, and Love. I hope you enjoy.
A/N: This story is inspired by the song Old City Bar by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, one of my favorite songs. You can listen to it here watch?v=JhXSLSltWvY
She sighed as she looked out the front window into the quiet street, watching the fat flakes of snow drift lazily to the ground. The road, if it could even be called a road, was dirty and slushy with bits of garbage and half-melted salt clinging to the ice on the pavement. Ice was gathering in the corners of the window outside, and she could just barely see the reflection of the broken neon sign hanging above the door. The sign blitzed more than it worked, and it was one more thing that needed to be fixed, and yet probably never would. She scooped up the dirty glasses in her arms and made her way to the back of the bar.
It was a small bar, dark and quiet, with stark naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The wooden floor had seen better days, and the tables and chairs didn't exactly match anymore. And God knew the pool table was shaky at best, tilting at the worst, but her regulars never complained. They just shoved folded paper bowls under one leg to even it out. Vintage pictures of exotic landscapes in cheap and cracked frames hung from the walls. They'd been there since long before she had stopped dreaming.
She plunged the dirty glasses in the basin of soapy water, quickly cleaning and rinsing them. She grabbed the towel hanging off her shoulder and dried them quickly and efficiently, before carefully stacking them under the bar. She grabbed a rag, rubbing down the bar again. She'd done it ten minutes ago, but the bar was the pride and joy of this little dive, even if the dive was ramshackle and falling apart around her ears, tucked away on a dirty alley in the city that never slept.
She'd spent her life in this city, here on the lesser side going from foster home to foster home. She'd never left, never knew how to leave. And despite being young, she was too old to leave now. This was home, as much of a home as she could imagine.
She carefully wiped the bar down again for what was probably the ten thousandth time, and she watched as her rag followed the mellowed, golden curves of the bar, that would never be straight. It had been carved from a crooked tree, and somehow it just fit. No, the bar wasn't much, but it was hers. Every square inch of it was hers with its tinny juke box, naked bulbs, creaking floor, and shoddy pool table.
She shook her head as she slung the rag into the sink. She looked around, noting the few customers. It was Christmas Even after all and nine at night. She supposed she could have just closed, but she had nowhere else to be, and no one to be with. She sighed as the only three customers in the bar got up and shuffled over to pay their tab. Less than thirty bucks and no tips. She really should have closed.
Anya growled as she stomped through the slush, cursing as it splattered on her gray suede boots. She knew she probably shouldn't have worn them out in the slush and muck of the streets, but they'd been too beautiful and too expensive to pass up. She grimaced as she rounded the corner of her apartment building, pissed that her driver had managed to get himself stuck up the street. She should fire him, but so far he had been the only one able to put up with her temperamental ass. She knew she was hard to deal with on a good day, and a nightmare on a bad day. It was probably why she'd been dumped into foster care as a child, and why no one had ever wanted her.
She shrugged. It didn't matter. She'd managed on her own. She'd worked hard in school and had received a full ride to the college of her choice. She'd majored in marketing and had excelled at it. She'd opened her own small company a few years after graduating, and she'd earned a reputation of being both creative and ruthless. She had the ability to charm and manipulate, and it had helped her survive the numerous foster homes she'd grown up in. No, she was a self-made woman with expensive tastes, a penthouse, her own driver, and $900 boots that were probably now ruined.
She tucked her head against the falling snow, pulling her woolen pea coat tighter around her as she hurried up to street. She didn't bother to make eye contact with anyone. Few people were out at nine at night on Christmas Eve, and those who were out on the streets, belonged to the streets, and they weren't worth her time. None of them were, and certainly not the two bums that liked to hang out around the heating grate near her apartment. Every morning they tipped their hats to her, but she rarely spared them a glance. And tonight she ignored them again, as they huddled around the heating grate, trying to absorb what little heat rose into the dark night.
"It's time to go."
"I don't know why we bother to go to that dive, and on Christmas Eve."
"Because it's tradition. Besides, I know you love her chowder and thick bread."
The dark, shaggy haired man sighed and rolled his eyes. He would never admit it, but he did love her clam chowder and thick, warm, crusty bread. She always made it every Saturday night, and it was probably what kept bringing the regulars back, if they could even be called regulars. He didn't know any of them well, they were more strangers than acquaintances really.
He poured another shot of Kentucky whiskey into the tumbler. He picked it up, swirling it for a moment, letting the light catch the amber swirls. He tossed it back, no longer feeling the burn as it raced into his belly. He could barely feel the warmth. Truth was he could barely feel anything. He hadn't been able to for a long time. He set the heavy tumbler down with a clunk, his mood quickly becoming sullen. He didn't want to think about why he had started drinking, and he certainly didn't want to think about why he couldn't seem to stop at just one drink or even at four.
The younger man pushed his tawny colored hair out of his eyes. He was pale and thin with a narrow face and pale blue eyes. He supposed he looked funny standing next to his tall, broad shouldered boyfriend with the dark eyes and black curly hair; but he didn't care. He knew Bellamy loved his slight frame, his long, awkward limbs that shook more often than not, thanks to a weak immune system. And he supposed he had always loved Bellamy, even when Bellamy made it hard to love him.
He shook his head as he watched Bellamy toss back another shot. Was it his fifth? Maybe his sixth? He would be drunk again tonight, just like most nights. They never spoke of it, but it had become a ritual; Bellamy stumbling home smelling like a brewery, and Murphy never said a word, would just shove him into their tiny shower, sliding in behind him and holding him under the hot water. He would wash his strong shoulders and back, his fingers dancing lightly over the scars. And every night, he pressed his thin lips to the scars. And they never spoke of it. And they never spoke of the ghost who haunted their dreams.
Murphy sighed as he pulled on his coat and hat. He handed Bellamy his own, watching carefully as Bellamy managed to zip it on the second try. He locked the door to the little house behind him, and they started off on foot. It was only a few blocks, and the walk would hopefully help Bellamy sober up.
He sighed quietly as he stood before the door, wondering if this night would be any different. He wasn't sure why he kept coming back to this little dive with the small beer menu, and the juke box that only played four records. He wasn't much of a drinker, never had been. But he liked the chowder and bread, and he liked that the bar was usually mostly quiet. People rarely raised their voice in here, just drank and talked quietly. Sometimes an unruly drunk or two would show up, but they rarely ever returned. He smiled. It was a most unusual bar in this dirty part of the city.
He figured he'd dithered enough, and he slipped through the door quietly, making sure to stomp his feet on the worn welcome mat. He was a lot of things: a great bear of a man, with long hair and a beard. He was a veteran, and the scars on his face had been earned the hard way. But he was also conscientious, and far be it for him to drag the street in with him to this little bar, that might not have exactly welcomed him with open arms, but also hadn't cast him out. And maybe that was why he kept coming back. They just accepted him as another stranger with scars and dreams. No one fussed. No one cared. And maybe…well, maybe she would be here again.
He ordered a Guinness from the girl behind the bar. He supposed she wasn't a girl, probably in her early 30's; and he suspected she might actually be the owner of this little dive. She had a wild mane of brown, curly hair that she often wrapped in braids, and it suited her quiet, but fierce nature.
He dropped some bills and coins on the bar, making sure to leave her a tip. He didn't have a lot, but it was only fair. She gave him the slightest smile, as she pocketed the tip. It had taken two months of coming here before she gave him that smile. He figured she didn't offer them very often, and he took it for what it was; two strangers who weren't quite as strange to each other as they thought.
He headed to his usual seat in the back, but hesitated after a moment and decided to sit at the next table. It still afforded him a good view of the entire bar, not that it was very big. Only five tables with chairs scattered around them, and the bar had ten stools. All of them simple and mismatched, but he supposed that was part of their charm. So he sipped his Guinness quietly, thinking about other bars on other nights, and he waited to see if she would be here tonight.
"Oh come on! It will be fun!" The young woman huffed as she scrambled out of the taxi, and waited for her two friends to join her on the muddy sidewalk. "I do it every year, and it's important."
The tall, gangly boy laughed as he stumbled out of the taxi, his arms brushing against the other boy, as he grabbed him to steady himself. He probably shouldn't have smoked so much weed before coming out, but he didn't care. He shrugged and straightened, puffing out his thin chest. "Nope. Sorry. I got plans."
"And what plans would those be? You decided not to go home for Christmas." The other boy carefully brushed his coat off from Jasper's offending hands. He wrinkled his nose a bit. While he had been known to partake of a bowl or two, usually with Jasper, he didn't particularly like smelling like hash all the time. And he wasn't stupid. He had noticed that Jasper had started smoking a little more often, ever since Maya had broken up with him. He'd been skipping classes and smoking too much. And his normal genial humor had taken on a dark, cynical edge.
Jasper laughed as he tilted his head back, trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. "Yup. Big plans. I got this new hybrid in. I'm gonna smoke a bowl or three and eat Cheetos." He laughed again, ignoring the girl's disgusted snort.
"Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself?" She glared at him, irritated by his goofy grin, and his to wide gestures as he spoke. She had never really understood why Monty loved Jasper so much, nor why he covered for him so often in their classes. And she wasn't even sure why she was friends with Jasper, and she supposed that was what they were. All three of them. She'd met them as freshman, but Monty and Jasper had already known each other, neither could really remember for how long, they'd just always been in each other's lives. But now, years after meeting them, they were all set to graduate university in Spring.
Jasper stared at her morosely for a moment. He'd stopped thinking of others when Maya had left. She was the first girl he'd ever loved, and he was sure she would be the only one he would ever love. It had been three months, and it still hurt as much as it did the day she walked away. Or at least it didn't hurt as much when he was high and spinning. So he just shrugged, and plucked the pink and white iPod from his pocket, fitting the earbuds into his ears. He ignored them, turning to the door and pushing it open harder than necessary and stomping his way in.
Monty stared worriedly after his friend before turning to Harper, "I'll go with you," he smiled shyly, pleased when she clapped her hands and threw her arms around him.
"Thank you, Monty, you are one of the good ones." And she turned and followed Jasper inside.
"No, you are," muttered Monty as he stared after her, thankful Jasper wasn't there to see what he was sure was a lovesick smile on his face. He smiled, relishing the lingering warmth from her arms and followed them inside. He just wished he had the courage to tell her everything in his heart.
"We've been over this, Mom, and I don't want to talk about it anymore!" The blonde growled into the phone that was pressed a little too hard to her ear. As usual her mother wasn't listening, and she was tired of the constant fighting. "Look, Mom, the decision isn't yours to make. It's mine, and it is what daddy would have wanted for me."
The blonde sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers trying to stave off the headache. It was always the same argument. Her surgeon mother had never understood why Clarke refused to follow in her footsteps, instead studying music at the conservatory. Her father had loved music, and it had been he who had first placed a guitar in her hands when she was two. It had been he, who had gently cupped her hands in his and showed her how to tap the drums with her palms when she was five. And there had never been any going back, even when she took AP Biology and Chemistry to please her mother, who was hell bent on her becoming a surgeon or at least a doctor.
Her father had been a child prodigy violinist, he had even been on his way to play at Carnegie Hall when the accident had happened that broke both his hands. He had been 17, and suddenly his life as he knew it had changed forever. He could barely play the violin anymore, and it had destroyed some part of him. He'd gone on to college and become an engineer. He'd fallen in love and married, but how he ached to still play the violin, and every time he picked up the bow and violin, his hands shook and the clumsy notes fell broken from his bow. It wasn't until he held a little blonde baby in his arms that the part of him he'd thought long dead, burst back into life in all its vibrant and lyrical notes.
And instead of being afraid that he might never be whole again without his music, he devoted every single beat of his heart to his child, and her love of music flourished under his tender care. But it was Abby, who had loved him more than maybe she should have, and it had hurt to see his pain; and she couldn't bear the same for her child.
"No, Mom. I'm not coming home for Christmas. I already told you why. I'm staying here so I can practice for the upcoming auditions. Yeah…well…whatever. I'm here, and I have to go." The blonde angrily hit the End button and shoved her phone into her pocket. Her mother would never understand, just like she hadn't understood her husband. She shook her head, refusing to allow her mother to ruin her mood. It was Saturday night, her one free night; and she was going to do what she did every night. Sit at the bar, and try to work up the courage to ask the beautiful brunette with the green eyes out to dinner. Or coffee. Or to her bed. She flushed at the thought.
He racked the balls up as usual, turning each one up so the numbers were visible and in order. Bryan liked to tease him about how meticulous he was about it, especially when the pool table was lopsided; and it probably didn't matter. But it mattered to him. He let his fingers dip across the balls, remembering the first time his father took him to play pool. They didn't have a lot of money growing up. His father was a guard at the local jail, and he didn't speak often, and he never drank. But he was a hell of a pool player, and he took Miller with him every Saturday night to a crappy little dive bar on the South Side of Boston. And there in that that little bar with cigarette and cheap cigar smoke clouding the air, with spilled beer staining the floor, his father had taught him the game of pool. He had stopped playing in high school when his father died unexpectedly of cancer. Cirrhosis of the liver. The non-alcoholic kind.
But it was Bryan who had brought him here to this dive three years ago, after moving to the city that never slept; and here he had fallen in love with pool again: the sharp crack of the cue, the slide of the balls across the felt, the smell of old beer, and thick clam chowder. And now? Well now, he wanted a child. He wanted to teach his son or daughter to play pool, help them hold the cue in their tiny hands. He wanted to come home at night to the sound of children's laughter and the press of his husband's lips to his cheek.
But Bryan…Bryan wasn't sure. He was afraid he would be a bad father. His own father had bailed when he was a child, and then it had just been a string of boyfriends in the tiny, cramped apartment. A few had taken an interest in him. One had bought him a glove and taught him to play catch. One had tried to sneak into his bedroom one night, but his mother caught him and threw him out. One had promised to take him fishing, and then never showed up.
He loved Miller more than he had ever dreamed was possible, but a child…a child entirely reliant upon him…he wasn't sure he could do it. But he thought maybe he wanted to do it, and God knew Miller deserved to have children, and more importantly there were children in the world who deserved to have the kind of father that Miller would be. He just didn't know if he could do it. Would he fail like his own father had? What if it was genetic?
And so they talked and talked and argued and talked and loved. He watched as Miller grabbed the cues offer him first pick, and he picked the one he knew wasn't Miller's favorite, not that Miller would have cared. He would have gladly given it up, but Bryan didn't need Miller's favorite cue. He just needed Miller.
She stepped through the door, unobtrusively as always. Her dark eyes scanned the room, noting the usual occupants. The three slightly rowdy college kids, one smelling like weed. It had been going on for months. The blonde at the bar, drinking her frilly drink with a straw, her eyes nervously watching the girl behind the bar. She smirked. That had been going on for months also.
The two young men at one of the tables, the thin one drinking water, and the darker one with the pretty lips gulping his beer down only for some of it to spill on his shirt. She sniffed when he let the mug drop heavily to the table to join two others. That too had been going on for months.
The other girl at the bar. The one with the stained suede boots. Expensive boots, and she should have known better. She was older, older than the girl behind the bar. There was a familiarity there. They knew each other, had been in the trenches together, but they weren't intimate. Their words lacked that emotional depth, but were still colored in tired affection.
The other two young men at the pool table. Talking more in hushed whispers than actually playing pool. That had been going on for a few weeks. The same tired argument, and she could hear the uncertainty in one boy's words, but the other boy's words were strong and sure. Whatever they were arguing about, it wouldn't destroy them, they wouldn't let it. She was surprised at the warmth that flitted through her at the thought.
She walked further into the room, signaling to the girl. Scotch neat. She was a sipper, and a smoker. It was a filthy habit that she was slowly kicking. She only allowed herself four cigarettes a day now, and one would be smoked in the corner with her other hand wrapped around the heavy tumbler of scotch. Sure it was against the rules, but the girl with the forest green eyes never said a word. It was only one cigarette, and she let it pass.
She walked towards her regular spot, stopping when she saw him. He was sitting next to her spot. He could still see the door from where he sat, but normally he still sat a couple chairs over. She hesitated but then decided it didn't matter. If the cigarette smoke bothered him, he could get up and leave. Besides, she was mildly curious about this man with the scars on his face and gentle eyes. She couldn't read him very well.
So she nodded to him and sat in her regular spot, lighting up her cigarette. She took a puff, holding it in her mouth before blowing it back out. She sipped at her Scotch, watching him out of the corner of her eye. And she realized he was watching her out of the corner of his eye.
It was 9:30, and they were all here. Her regulars, this group of sort-of strangers. They weren't much but they were hers. She stepped into the back room to the tiny kitchen. She stirred the clam chowder that had been warming on the small stove. She grabbed some potholders and carefully lifted it off and carried it out to the bar. She set it on a tray, and settled the ladle in the pot. She carefully stirred it again, smirking a little as the small conversations died down as they all started moving towards the bar, as she returned to the kitchen.
She brought out the three loaves of thick, warm bread next. Homemade. It was crusty and perfect, and she set out the paper bowl of butter pats next to it. They were already serving themselves, dumping heaping ladles full of clam chowders into paper bowls. They nodded and smiled at her, some whispering thank you's. She just nodded and sliced the bread, and then left them to their own devices.
She stared across the bar, looking out the big window, noting that the wind was blowing. It was going to be a cold night. She frowned, making a note that she needed to add a few pieces of coal to the small stove in the room in the back. She slept there more often than not. The bed wasn't exactly comfortable, but it would do. The little black bellied stove heated the tiny room quite well, and it didn't take up too much coal.
She frowned when she suddenly felt a frigid blast of air rush through the open door. She frowned as the door closed behind…no one. She looked around, not seeing a newcomer, and so she started around the bar thinking that maybe it had blown open and then shut.
"Hello." The voice was soft. Young. And it didn't belong in this tiny bar.
She glanced down over the end of the bar, surprised to see the child standing there, and she realized it was this child who had come in. She was young, maybe only fourteen. Maybe even thirteen. She had long chocolate brown hair spilling down to her shoulders. No hat, but she wore a thick navy blue bomber jacket, and thick navy blue cargo pants. And what looked like black combat type boots. Her young face was flawless, and her dark eyes gleamed in the week light.
"You shouldn't be here." Lexa muttered, confused as to why the child had wandered inside. She swallowed uncomfortably, as the child just smiled gently at her. She was aware of everyone staring at them, as they continued to silently eat. She watched as the child sniffed delicately, and even bigger smile breaking across her face to reveal even, white teeth.
Lexa shifted uncomfortably, before gesturing towards the pot. "You hungry?"
"Oh yes, please." And the girl hopped up on a stool at the end of the counter. She smiled at Anya who scowled at her, and she smiled at Clarke who waved at her.
Lexa set a steaming bowl of clam chowder in front of the girl, with two slices of bread and butter next to it. She handed her a napkin at the last moment, glad she'd remembered at least some of her manners. She sighed. She really didn't want to deal with this child in her bar. She didn't want to get involved, and she knew Anya would advise against it. She watched for a few moments as the child ate with gusto, not spilling a drop, before she was distracted with refilling Monty and Clarke's glasses.
Once she'd poured another round, she walked back to the end of the bar leaning across it so she could talk to the kid. She noted the kid had eaten every drop, and even mopped it up the remaining chowder with her bread. "You want more?"
"No, thank you. That was very good." The child smiled again before bringing her arms up to rest on the bar. She seemed unperturbed that she was alone in a bar full of strangers. She sat on the stool as if she'd sat on a thousand different bar stools, and for some curious reason, Lexa thought maybe she had.
Lexa shook her head of the fanciful notion. There was something unnerving about this child. But she needed to send her home, back to wherever she'd come from. "So you lost?"
"No, but someone else is."
Lexa jerked slightly, frowning as she leaned closer to the girl, and the girl leaned closer to her as if to tell her a secret. And Lexa had the fanciful notion that this child was full of secrets, and it made something in her stomach roll.
"Did you know," whispered the girl quietly, "that there is someone out in the snow? They are lost, and they are standing near your door." The girl turned and pointed behind her, pointed towards the window.
Lexa stood up, craning her neck, but she couldn't see anyone near the door. Maybe they were around the corner? She huffed. It wasn't any of her business. She didn't want to get involved. She just wanted to be left alone. She rubbed her forehead, aware that Anya was watching her with calculating eyes, and Bryan and Miller had wandered back over to stand near them.
"Look, it isn't any of my business…any of ours. But you need to leave. You need to head home. You know where home is, right?" Lexa didn't want to ask the last part, but she needed to. She knew what it was like to be a child without a home, and despite not wanting anything to do with whatever this particular child was involved in; she had to be sure the child had a place to sleep.
"Yes, I told you. I'm not lost, but she is." And the child pointed again, but Lexa just shook her head and went back down to the bar to refill drinks.
She slowly made her way back down the bar, after giving Murphy another water. She didn't want to do this, she wouldn't do this. But even as she was mentally berating herself to not get involved, she found the words spilling from her mouth, "Not that I care, but how do you know this?"
The child smiled and reached out, her soft fingers pressing into the top of Lexa's hand. "I've noticed that if one could go home, they'd already be there."
Lexa stared at her, and then looked out the window again, and this time, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She walked back into the little kitchen, her fists clenched tightly. She could feel the breath stuttering in her chest, and she could hear Anya's voice in her ear from years ago, Easy, kiddo, easy. Just breathe. She took a shallow breath, breathing in and breathing out, deliberately pacing herself. She felt the band around her chest loosen, as she practiced the breathing skills Anya had taught her years ago, when they'd wound up in the same foster home. What has it been…her fourth home? Third? She couldn't remember, but she and Anya had been together for two years, then separated for three, and then together another year, in a different foster again.
She sighed as she looked at the second pot of chowder on the oven. This one wasn't for them. It was for her. She'd made enough to last the rest of the weekend. She shook her head, and grabbed the pot taking it back out to the bar. She set it down, putting the ladle back in.
"Come and get it," she muttered as she gestured to the pot, "If you want it." And like she'd suspected, they all crowded around the bowl, refilling bowls and talking and laughing quietly. They would probably gorge themselves on it, if she would let them. She slipped over to the cash register, hesitating for a moment, watching out of the corner of her eye making sure they were all busy.
And when no one was looking, she grabbed all the cash in the drawer. She hadn't done a bank run in three days, which was stupid leaving the cash in the drawer like that, but she just hadn't gotten around to doing it. She wasn't sure, but she figured there was quite a bit in there. She grabbed her jacket and hat, nodding to the kid and stepped outside.
She waited outside the door for a moment, letting her eyes get used to the dark. She could hear the faltering buzz, and she looked up at the old neon sign blinking haphazardly. "Old City Bar," it read, and that was exactly what it was. Just another old city bar. She really needed to get the sign fixed. She looked down the street, squinting her eyes in the weak light from the street lamps. She didn't see anything, but a few parked cars on the street. She turned up the street, walking in the cold air, the snow falling in her face. She about thirty feet up, rounding the corner of the building and there she was. Just like the child had said.
She stood next to a broken pay phone, leaning heavily against it. She couldn't have been more than seventeen. Maybe eighteen. Her red leather jacket was zipped up tight to her chin. No hat, and she clutched a crumpled dollar bill and some change in a small fist. Her head was bowed, and even from a few feet away, Lexa could see her shoulders shaking. She was sure the girl was crying, even if her long dark hair obscured her features.
She watched as the girl shifted awkwardly, and that was when Lexa noticed the brace on her left leg for the first time. She grit her teeth, her hand fisted around the bills, jammed in her pocket. "Why are you here?" She almost regretted the words as soon as she said them.
The girl looked up startled, and she tried to stand, but her leg twisted under her, and she gasped in pain. But instead of falling, she felt strong hands wrap under her elbows and gently pull her upright. She stared up into piercing green eyes, the older woman's face giving nothing away.
"It's broken," she whispered, and tears dripped down her cheeks, "I can't get home. All I want…I just…I can't..." Her broken words stuttered to a painful stop, and she looked down at the dollar and change clutched in her hand. It was enough to make a phone call, but the pay phone was broken. She'd hobbled miles through the streets looking for one, and when she finally found one…it was broken, just like everything else in her life.
Lexa nodded, and pulled out her flip phone. Anya liked to mock her for having an old crappy cell phone, but it did the job. She didn't need Internet on her phone. She didn't need to see all the places she would never visit. She dialed a number, speaking quickly into the phone, before snapping it shut and stuffing it in her jacket.
"I…I don't have enough money to pay for it."
"Did I say anything about you paying for it?" Muttered Lexa without looking at the girl. She silently willed the taxi to arrive faster, as she had run out of things to say. She watched the girl out of the corner of her eye, noticed the way she shivered. She sighed and took the warm beanie off her head and held it out to the girl.
When the girl just looked at her in confusion, she huffed and reached out, pulling it down over her head. "It might not be much to look at, but it's warm. Fleece lined."
"Thank you," murmured the girl as she reached up with a slim hand and felt the hat.
Lexa sighed in relief when the taxi pulled up. She yanked the door open, gesturing for the girl to get in.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. Now get in."
"B-but where am I going?" Her voice shook, and she barely held back the tears.
Lexa grabbed the girl's hand, shoving all of her cash into it. She wrapped the girl's fingers around the cash, squeezing gently. "It's enough. It's enough. Just….just go home. Go home." And she pulled back before the girl could say anything, her dark eyes shining in the weak light, her mouth open in a gasp.
Lexa pushed the door shut, and leaned in the passenger window. "JFK."
The taxi driver nodded and drove off towards the airport, leaving Lexa standing in the falling snow. She stared thoughtfully down at her worn boots, her hands shoved into her pockets. Her ears were cold, and her nose was probably turning red, but she didn't care. Three days of sales. It was enough to get her home.
Home.
She turned slowly walking back to the bar, her boots crunching in the snow. Home.
**************************8
She slipped through the door, as quietly as possible. She scanned the room as she shed her jacket and hung it up next to the old heater. Miller and Bryan were back to playing pool. Murphy and Bellamy were slow dancing to an old Bing Crosby song. Clarke was sketching on a napkin, Anya was scowling as she played with the spoon in her bowl. Indra and Gustus were sitting next to each other, talking quietly. That was surprising, she didn't think they'd ever spoken before. Jasper was listening to that iPod again. The one the girl left behind. She shook her head. Monty and Harper were playing darts and laughing. She couldn't help but smile a little.
She slipped back behind the bar, gathering up the empty spoons and bowls. She looked around but couldn't find the child. "Where is she?"
"Who?"
"The kid, Anya. You know. The kid who was here?" She jerked her chin towards the end of the bar, the stool empty.
"Oh." Anya looked around, her brow furrowing. Where was the kid. She had been here. Just been here. "I don't know. She was just here. I think?" Anya's voice trailed off.
Clarke stood up and slid a few stools down to sit next to Anya. "That's weird. She was right here. She must have left when you left."
"What do you mean? I didn't leave," muttered Lexa as she hurried back into the kitchen, dumping the bowls into the trash. "Fuck," she muttered. She scowled. She hadn't wanted anyone to notice that she had gone outside. She brushed her hands off and went back out to the bar, determined to put it out of her mind. Obviously the kid had followed her out and then gone home. Good. She didn't need any more kids in her hair tonight.
She stiffened when Bellamy stumbled to the bar. She narrowed her eyes, knowing it was almost time to cut him off. She saw Murphy appear over his shoulder mouthing his silent apologies. She shook her head.
"How'a but…'bout…'nother?" Bellamy slurred his words a little before taking a deep breath and straightening. "Just a beer. Last one." He nodded sharply looking around the bar, frowning when his eyes landed on the empty stool. He didn't want to think about the kid. How she had reminded him so much of his little sister. His sister who was gone.
"How about some hot chocolate instead?" Lexa looked around. "I think I even have some candy canes. I could put one in it?" She flushed, feeling foolish as Bellamy stared at her stupidly before suddenly smiling and nodding. She didn't know what had come over her, why she had made the silly offer.
"Um..yeah…yeah," he looked over his shoulder at Murphy who nodded quietly. He stared for a moment, mesmerized by his boyfriend's soft eyes. Murphy wasn't the most genial guy, he could be sarcastic and cynical, but his eyes were always soft when they looked at Bellamy. He frowned when he felt the hand come up to rest between his shoulder blades and rub soothingly. There was a lingering pain in Murphy's eyes, and Bellamy knew he'd put it there.
He took a steadying breath, speaking as slowly and deliberately as possible so as not to slur, "Yeah. Hot chocolate and candy cane would be great. Make it two." He fumbled for his wallet, pulling out more bills, wondering how much hot chocolate and candy canes cost. Probably just a few bucks. He nodded to himself. He also needed to pay for the chowder and bread.
He held out a wad of bills, confused when Lexa didn't take them. He shook the bills lightly, waiting for her to take them.
Lexa stared at the money, thinking about her empty cash drawer. She coughed and shrugged. "It's on the house. It's all on the house." She raised her voice so everyone could hear, before turning back to the kitchen to put on the kettle and dig up the candy canes. What had come over her? First the hot chocolate and candy canes, and now everyone's bill was on the house? It reeked of sentimentality and even Christmas cheer, and she had never been the cheerful type. She just shook her head and started making hot chocolate.
Another hour passed, and they all sat at the bar or leaned on the bar talking quietly, stirring their hot chocolate with candy canes. A few of them had opted to add a little Ice (Peppermint Schnapps) to their hot chocolate. And she couldn't help but smile when Bellamy refused the Ice, and Murphy had beamed at him.
It was closing in on midnight, and no new customers had come in. And everyone was standing and shuffling around looking for coats, a few whispering about the girl. It wasn't long before it was just Anya and Clarke left. Clarke didn't look like she was ready to leave, instead staring hard at her phone.
Anya dragged herself off the stool, pulling her coat on. She hesitated a moment looking up at Lexa who had come down to the bar, cleaning up as she went. She reached inside her coat and pulled out the small wrapped present. She had scoured the markets and Ebay for this particular present. She knew what it would mean to Lexa. Lexa was the closest thing to a sister or even family she had. Actually she was family, the only family she had. She sighed and set it on the bar, tapping the package with her fingers. "So I found this. I just happened across it. I wasn't looking for it," she hastened to say, while Lexa just stared at her with that stoic mask firmly in place.
"But I thought you might like it," Anya finished before briskly pulling on her hat, trying to hide her embarrassment. "Just you know…open it whenever. After I leave." She reached over the bar, abruptly pulling Lexa into a hug. She squeezed her tightly for a moment, feeling more than a little embarrassed, but immediately relieved when slim arms wrapped around her and returned the hug.
"Merry Christmas, kiddo." She pulled back and hurried out the door, before her emotions got the best of her.
Lexa just stared at her in bewilderment. Anya hadn't hugged her since they were kids. So this…she worried for a moment, wondering if maybe Anya was sick. Maybe even dying. She couldn't think of any other reason why Anya would hug her so suddenly.
"Stop worrying. She's fine."
Lexa looked up startled to see that Clarke had moved a few seats down again, and was sitting across from her, leaning a little on the bar, clutching her phone.
"I'm not worried."
"Yes, you are. You bite your lower lip. On the right side. You bite it exactly there," she reached out and tapped the lower corner of Lexa's lip, letting her fingertip nestle against the silky skin for a moment. She withdrew her finger reluctantly, "you bite it just there when you are worried," she finished in a husky voice.
Lexa didn't say anything, too shocked by Clarke's actions. It had been so long since someone had touched her like that. Not since Costia. She frowned at the thought of Costia, remembering how much she'd loved the other girl, but it had been years since she'd been gone, and the pain had dulled to a small ache that she felt occasionally. She supposed that was the way of it. Time heals whether people were ready or not.
"We saw, you know," murmured Clarke as she looked down at her phone before looking back up to Lexa.
"We saw you take the money out of the drawer and walk up the street. You came back without it."
Lexa swallowed hard and shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. She didn't really want to talk about it.
"What you did…" Clarke's voice trailed off before she smiled slightly, "that was a little thing. A little wave with big actions." She shook her head, "I mean…it was important. It was a big thing." She winced ruefully, embarrassed that she hadn't managed to articulate what she meant.
"Yeah, well…" Lexa shuffled her feet, feeling the heat creep up her neck and into her cheeks. "The kid was right. If people can get home, they are already there. Home…home is important. Everyone should go home."
Clarke stared at her thoughtfully, surprised by the wistful tone in the brunette's voice. She didn't know her well, only knew bits and pieces she'd managed to scrounge up about her. But there was something about the way she moved, about the way her eyes shone, the gruff husk in her voice. And sometimes she caught the brunette's gaze lingering on her, and it gave her hope.
Lexa straightened up, "I have to finish washing these dishes. You want some more hot chocolate? I think there is a little left."
Clarke nodded absently, her eyes glued on her phone. She didn't notice when Lexa walked back into the kitchen with her arms full. She took a deep breath and hit the "Dial" button.
"Hey, Mom. No, I'm fine. Nothing is wrong. I'm sorry I called so late," she laughed apologetically. "Look, Mom…I just…the music…" she swallowed hard, the tears pricking her eyes, "It's all I have left of him," she whispered brokenly. And when she heard the sobs on the other end of the line, her own tears fell. "I know…I know watching his pain just about killed you…but music is how I know he's with me. How he's with us, Mom." She pleaded gently in the phone, hoping this time her mother would understand.
And she listened quietly as her mother told her about how much she'd loved Jake, how it had pained her so greatly to see him struggle to play music again, how much hope Clarke had brought him, and how desperately afraid she was that she would lose Clarke the way she'd lost Jake.
"You won't lose me, Mom. Look…I changed my mind. Ok? I'm coming home. There is a flight that leaves at 6:30am. I'll be on it, and I'll be home before 8:30am. Can you pick me up?" She smiled when she heard her mother's eager reply, and after a few moment's she hung up the phone, knowing she'd done the right thing. And now…there was one more thing to do.