So this is likely to be a slow burn-type story, first chapter sets the scene and lays down the premise. No Clarke till the second chapter, but be prepared, her entrance will be glorious. I'll try to get a second chapter out sometime soon, depending on finals and my research study.
The 100 and all its characters are not mine.
5 foot 9 inches. Late 80s to early 90s. Silver-grey hair. Fierce.
Those were her first observations when her new client walked up to the door to her office. The woman stood at the threshold, as if entering would seal her fate in some sort of battle within her mind. The strain was evident in her steely blue eyes. Lexa could see it, the internal battle. Oddly, Lexa found herself wondering if it was a good idea to interrupt. Ultimately, being who she was, Lexa stood.
"May I help you ma'am?" The elderly woman perked up at Lexa's raspy, no-nonsense voice, like she had not noticed her presence seated at the desk until she had stood. Almost immediately, the woman seemed to form a mask around her features, steeling herself and standing taller. Her ramrod-straight posture and practiced glare made Lexa think immediately of Costia, of her years in the military. The woman gave Lexa a once-over, ice blue eyes perusing her person like one would a finely-cut T-bone.
"Yes. I was hoping to find a Mr. Arnold here?" The old woman's perfume wafted across the room, mixing in with the smell of smoke, making Lexa want to gag at the heavy scent.
"May I ask what this is about? What is your name Madame?" Lexa's dark green gaze found its hold on blue eyes, shining with intelligence and clarity despite the physical signs of great age.
"How rude of me, my name is Elizabeth Griffin, and I was hoping to discuss with Mr. Arnold a matter of finding a missing person." Lexa's gaze searched the woman for any sort of deceit, her expression guarded as she scrutinized the old woman.
"Have a seat Ms. Griffin, I am the one you wish to speak with." Lexa could see the surprise in Griffin's eyes, and a flash of embarrassment flitted across them as she chose to sit on the chair facing Lexa's desk.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Arnold, I had assumed that you were a man when I had attained your business card, I – "
"No need for apologies Ma'am. It happens often enough that the novelty of the situation bears itself rather dry." Lexa gave the woman a small smile as she too sat. "May I ask who is it that I am to find for you?"
Griffin rearranged the scarf around her neck, curiously avoiding Lexa's intense gaze. Lexa's eyes observed the way the woman seems to toy with the hem of the woolen material, bony white fingers delicately twisting and tightening their hold. When she finally decided to answer, Lexa is almost ready to lose her temper.
"My son disappeared 25 years ago. I filed a police report, but no response or follow-up was ever given. But my life is nearing an end. I believe I should like to know if my son is dead or not." Griffin said, her voice tremored slightly, yet Lexa heard the hard determination underneath it. "As for your pay, rest assured that you will be paid double your current fee while you are investigating for me. Money is no object." The corner of Lexa's mouth turned upwards slightly. She had thought the woman reeked of old money.
"Ma'am, in my line of work, asking me to find someone who's been gone for 25 years is not a promise of a happy ending, regardless of how much you pay me." Lexa's voice was gentler, less harsh and forward than it had been before, a rarity, for if Costia could see her now she'd be quite surprised by her empathy. She looked at the elderly woman with mild curiosity. "Is it not better to simply, leave well enough alone?"
"I need to know what happened to him." The woman's eyes flared, a scorching fire behind them. "I have to know." She added, her voice lowered slightly. Lexa couldn't help but be impressed by her strength of character.
"If you insist, I'll need your son's full name, and a list of basic information if you would like to proceed." The woman rose from her seat and simply removed a large manila file from her heavy leather purse, placing it on Lexa's desk. It landed with a loud thump, the dust disturbed and flying in the sunlight filtered through the window.
"I came prepared, detective. I hope you can say the same." With that sentence completed, Griffin turned on the dime and exited Lexa's office as swiftly as she had initially entered.
Lexa sighed. She began reaching for the file, then made a quick decision and instead went for her comically large thermos of coffee instead. She felt it in her gut that she would definitely need it today.
Years in the army certainly does things to you. It breaks you down, re-socialization in its finest, Lexa mused at the thought as she rubbed her shoulder absently. Her arm had gotten numb after leaning on it for the past few hours. Sitting at her desk, reading through the files that Griffin woman had left had occupied her for the better part of her Monday. Jake Cornelius Wilfred Griffin, U.S. soldier, served five tours as a combat engineer, then was discharged and met M.D. Abigail Griffin, fell madly in love, got married, had a daughter. At some point – she wasn't sure whether it was the fifth or six hour of researching on select databases – the words began to blur together, and Lexa took that as a sign to stop.
Her eyes stinging from exertion, Lexa looked out the window to find a few minutes of respite. The view from the 21st floor of the building complex was stunning. Yet she wasn't seeing the busy sidewalks, the yellow taxis, the businessmen dressed in three-piece suits. She had tried so hard to forget, but no matter the effort it always came back. The sins of Afghanistan would always be there whenever she closed her eyes, or thought of her.
No matter, there were more pressing issues to address. The money trail would be her start. Lexa rose from behind her desk, stretching her arms skyward before she collected her coat and strode out of her office. Time to go to work.
Lexa had once been a fan of the Red Sox. As a child she had remembered afternoons spent with her father watching games at Fenway Park. Now even the thought of baseball repulsed her. That was precisely why she now was sitting with her back against the bright television screens, electing instead to watch her former company member, friend, and sometimes work partner act like a starved dog.
"Well whenever you are finished stuffing your face, I would like to ask you about some files." Her voice was low, cautious as habit dictated.
"You know I've got your back, just give me a name and the specific record and I'll have it for you by tomorrow." Bellamy replied around a mouth full of curly fries.
Lexa smirked slightly, her top lip curled in mild disgust as Bellamy slurped at his Guinness, the foam dripping off the tip of his nose.
"Remind me again how you managed to pass all the physicals last week, despite your lackluster diet."
"Please, the Bellamy magic metabolism of course! And hey, chill out a bit that girl's been eyeing you for the past few hours and that intimidating glare of yours isn't particularly charming." He nodded not so subtly towards the corner of the bar.
Lexa scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I'm not interested. This is not a social visit Blake, I do not intend on being charming." She removed a folded envelope from the breast pocket of her blazer and slid it over to Bellamy. "Have a good rest of the evening, unlike you, some of us have actual work to do."
Bellamy simply laughed, though he was quick to scoop up the envelope, tucking it within the confines of his leather jacket. "It was nice seeing you too Commander."
Lexa winced internally. She turned to glare at him. "That name is dead now. For your own health and safety, desist from usage of it."
Bellamy's eyes widened slightly, his buzzing mind scrambling to remember her ban on the name. "Right, sorry, it just slipped out - "
"Forget it." Lexa growled before turning to walk away. She had thought she would never hear that name again. Yet, as it seemed, she was never going to escape her past no matter what she did to alter it.
She woke in a cold sweat that night, the sheets askew and her heart racing like she had run a marathon. Vivid images of a bleeding woman lying at her feet, her face contorted with pain, and the sounds of IEDs exploding had raced through her mind.
Lexa clambered from her bed, stumbling out of her room and into the kitchen. Breathing heavily, she moved over to the sink and turned on the tap. She ran her hands under the icy cold water. It had been something she had picked up in Afghanistan, after her first brush with death. Her years on the ground had placed her in so many dangerous situations, yet her first one still haunted her to this day. Since then she'd been numbing the pain, the emotion with cold water, trying to wash off the blood on her hands - blood that had belonged to Costia.
She had not dreamt of the hot and sticky air of the Middle East for a long time, having closed that door years ago. Yet it seemed the case had opened up a can of worms, for she now stood where she previously had performing a habit long forgotten.
She was still standing frozen in front of the sink when the door to the apartment opened.
"Hey you." Anya called out in lieu of a greeting, yawning loudly as she shut the door behind her.
Lexa's lack of response caught Anya's attention. Carefully taking in the situation, Anya slowly padded over to her, standing next to her before the sink.
"Hey," Cautiously, Anya reached over to take Lexa's hands in her own. Lexa's body had stiffened, but after a few minutes she relaxed slightly. Together, they stood with Anya's hands enveloping Lexa's in the cold stream of water.
When she finally met Anya's gaze, her eyes were swimming with deeply rooted anguish.
"I can't get it off, no matter how much I try." In response, Anya gently took one of Lexa's tightly-wound fists and brushed her lips along her knuckles. After completing the action, Anya inspected her hand with care, and smiled gently.
"Not all things wash off as fast as others, but it will eventually." Lexa sighed at Anya's words, her shoulders shaking uneasily. She inhaled, exhaling slowly as she regained her sense of control. Anya saw the shift, a mask covering the pain she had just exposed. Lexa gently pried her hands away from Anya, away from the punishingly cold spray.
"How was your shift?" Lexa asked, changing the subject as soon as she could. The desperation to brush her moment of weakness under a rug was obvious, yet Anya knew when not to pry, and was quick to answer.
"Tiring. Remind me again why I chose to be a surgeon?"
"I believe it was something about liking being around dying people. Pretty morbid if you ask me." Anya laughed, and Lexa visibly settled. It was like she had snapped out of her daze, her eyes sharp and clear.
"Well anyway, I should go shower, I feel like I'm covered in layers and layers of mud." Anya said, reaching over to turn off the tap. Lexa nodded brusquely, her eyes looking anywhere but into Anya's deep brown gaze.
Anya saw that faraway look in Lexa's eyes, and she gently brought her hands to cup the younger woman's face.
"I'm always here for you." Lexa's hands found purchase around Anya's wrists, and squeezed gently in response.
"I know." The two of them had been through hell together. Joining the army at the same time, Anya had been assigned to her company in Iraq, and they both had went through the gates of Afghanistan together. It was nice, as Lexa begrudgingly thought, to have someone who knew her so intimately living with her. Despite that however, it did not change the fact that once her eyes closed and she was drowning in memories and nightmares, that she was very, shockingly alone.