Disclaimer: Characters, except for original ones, do not belong to me.
Notes: Got the chapter done, earlier than expected. So here it is. Thanks for reading! Any mistakes are entirely mine.
Chapter 2
Present Day
The town looked different.
From high up in the air, as the plane made its descent, cutting through the white cloak of clouds, Lexa could make out several high-rise buildings she had never seen before. There seemed to be more houses and buildings yet Polis looked smaller than Lexa remembered. Common, just another dot on the map, like the other small towns she had visited over the years, except Lexa knew Polis was anything but.
Even the airport had changed. The former two-storey building was expanded to include a new wing, floor to ceiling tinted windows replaced the white walls she was familiar with, becoming a looming structure of steel and glass. It was sleek, grand, intimidating, befitting the drama-filled town where the rich ruled, and keeping up appearances were essential to maintain some form of dignity.
A blast of cold air hit her as Lexa stepped out of the terminal. She shivered slightly, tucking her hands into the warm shelter of her coat. After so many years in sunny Los Angeles, she had forgotten how cold autumn could get in Polis. Immediately, she regretted not packing thicker clothes.
She easily found a cab outside the arrival hall. "No.32, Collins Street," Lexa told the driver.
The driver drove slowly, maneuvering through the rush hour traffic. There were more cars on the roads than Lexa recalled. She supposed it was unavoidable. The population of Polis had increased a fair bit since she left.
They drove past familiar playgrounds; the tree lined streets of the town centre, the bus stand where she used to wait for the bus home and her old hangout, Red House. A few doors away from Red House was the bookstore she had came to regard as her second home.
She smiled fondly as she remember Veronica Arter, the owner of the bookstore. Tall and rack-thin with a fondness of flowery summer dresses, Veronica hid her jovial, whimsical nature behind her black rimmed glasses, and salt and pepper hair pulled tightly in a bun, giving off an impression of a stern librarian if one did not know her well. Most of all, she remembered her kindness. Aside from Clarke, Veronica was the only other person who had encouraged her love for the written word.
Knowing Lexa had little money to spare, Veronica would allow her to take home second hand books or let her read the new ones in the shop.
"No creases, no folding of pages and no stains. Understand?" Veronica would say before she placed a new novel in Lexa's anxious and grateful hands.
In return, Veronica asked Lexa to come in once a week on Saturday mornings to help out for a few hours. Lexa swept the floor, cleaned the counters and display cases, attended to customers and arranged the books diligently as told.
Sometimes, Clarke would come along to help. Lexa loved those days the most, Clarke and she would talk about mindless things as they work. It was a place and time where nothing bad could touch them. There, amidst the worlds of adventure, romance, horror and science fiction, they were free to dream, to be themselves, to enjoy each other's company without interference and worries.
A visit to Veronica's store was a must. While they kept in touch through the occasional emails, it had been a while since they saw each other. In more ways than anyone could understand, Lexa owed her career and perhaps, even her life to Veronica.
It wasn't long before the car turned towards Collins Street. Lexa observed the passing houses; spacious front lawn, strategically placed autumn flower beds, each structure with its own character and charm. The glow from the lights within against the darkening evening sky added to the aesthetic appeal, looking much like a picture out of a marketing brochure.
This place was far removed from the neighborhood Lexa grew up in. The Woods had moved up in the world, Lexa thought with a touch of pride.
The cab slowed to a stop at the curb, Lexa could see the number 32 hanging on the French Gothic fence. After the cab pulled away, she took a moment to take in the house. It was bigger than it looked in the pictures; two-storey, red brick English cottage-styled house with complimenting green shutters, giving it a homely and quaint feel.
Lugging her luggage along, Lexa made her way to the front door and rang the doorbell. She could hear her mother calling out, "Hang on, I'm coming!"
"Hi, mom," Lexa greeted when the door opened.
Mae stared blankly at her daughter for a second as though she was unsure of what she was seeing. Then she broke into a wide smile, drawing a hand to her chest, exclaiming, "Oh my God, it's you."
Before Lexa could utter a word, Mae swept her into a warm, welcoming embrace.
"Surprise," Lexa said softly.
"I can't believe you're really here."
"I told you I would try to come."
Mae pulled back and cupped Lexa's cheeks. "That was a month ago."
"I'm sorry, I meant to fly in earlier, but work got in the way."
It was a lie. Mae's mouth tugged downwards in an odd smile that told Lexa her mother knew she was lying.
Thankfully, Mae didn't say anything. Instead, she stepped to the side, opened the door wider and said, "Welcome home, Lexa."
Clarke felt robbed. Her days weighed down by an invisible anchor. Well-meaning folks kept telling her everything would be alright, and reminded her that time was a healer. She scoffed inwardly. Time was her constant tormenter.
Time became a reminder of all that was lost, unfulfilled promises and memories that would remain nothing more than a fragment of her imagination. There were moments when she wished it was terminal illness that took Stacy away from them. At least then she could be prepared. An accident was too sudden, knocking her world completely off balance.
Clarke gazed at her sleeping child, warm in bed. She kept a brave front, more for her daughter than anyone else. If there was one thing she could be grateful for, it was that Ginny was still so young. It's easier for children to move on. Memories were a fickle thing for a 5-year old, children were creatures who lived in the moment.
Already, Ginny was emerging from her gloomy mood. Clarke had spent every free minute she had with Ginny, easing her back into her normal routine. The nights that were the hardest. That's when Ginny would remember and when Clarke would hurt the most.
Satisfied that Ginny was in deep slumber at last, Clarke turned off the lights and left the room. She wandered around the house, tidying up. She took her time, needing to distract herself. By the time she was done, it was an hour later.
Resignedly, she headed to their bedroom. Their bedroom. She still couldn't think of the room as anything else.
The timber groaned under her feet as she climbed the stairs, a welcomed sound. The nights became too quiet for her liking, the house too big for just the two of them now. She had briefly contemplated selling the house, but in the end, she couldn't go through with the idea.
She couldn't even bring herself to clear the closet. Her mother had told her outright several times that she should start thinking about packing up Stacy's belongings. God, she loved her mother, but this was one of those times when she wished Abby would just shut the hell up. It was a good thing Abby never found out how long she kept Lexa's things after she left.
Lexa.
The morning after the accident, as Clarke waited for the release of her wife's body in the brightly lit hallways of the hospital, Lexa crept into her mind.
Maybe it was the same setting or maybe, at that moment when she felt lost, she knew Lexa would know what to do. Lexa always knew. Clarke caught herself as the familiar ache began to spread in her chest.
What was the point? Lexa wasn't there. She hadn't been there for a long scoffed bitterly; she supposed she had her own share of blame for Lexa's absence.
She stared at the empty space on Stacy's side of the bed in the dark for a long time. Finally, she turned to the other side, seeking the less painful view of the trees outside the windows.
Emotionally and physically drained, she shut her eyes and prayed for sleep to come.
Her stomach was bursting after a hearty dinner, courtesy of Ed. Lexa could see why her stepfather's cafe was doing so well.
"The church was packed. As sad as it was, Clarke gave a beautiful eulogy. I still can't believe Stacy is gone. She asked about you every time I see her. She reads your stories online, you know?," Mae said as they sat around the dining table.
Silently, Lexa berated herself for not attending the funeral. She would have wanted to say a proper goodbye to her friend, to grief and celebrate her life with those who loved her. She supposed she could console herself that at least, she had kept her promise to Stacy, no matter how difficult it was. A promise Clarke could never know.
Lexa swallowed hard at the memory, avoiding her mother's eyes. She was not someone who fear much, but this town with its memories and demons, frightened her.
Perhaps detecting Lexa's somber mood, Mae cut a large slice of the marble cake she baked and handed it to a protesting Lexa. "You're too thin. You need to eat more."
Lexa knew better than to protest. She found it funny that Mae should find her too thin, considering she had maintained the same weight since she was a teenager.
Every so often Mae or Ed would ask if needed anything, another cup of coffee, soda, cake. It's odd that both acted as if they had not seen her for years when they had visited her in LA just a few months ago. They visit at least twice a year and each visit was very much welcomed by Lexa. The only downside was listening to her mother complained about Melanie.
"Does she ever shut up? Does she have to talk so fast? I can barely understand her," Mae would say.
It was worse when Lexa was dating Melanie. Now that she thought about it, Mae had never really approved of any of her girlfriends, not that it mattered to her. There was Alice, a model whom Mae thought looked like a drug addict, and Rita the hotelier,too serious for her own good. The most absurd was Priscilla, a nurse. Mae didn't like her hair.
The one that came closest to obtaining Mae's approval was Clarke. Mae knew Clarke since she was in diapers. She was, after all, the Griffin's housekeeper back then. Clarke was a familiar presence in their home, just as Lexa was in the Griffin's. Her mother's greatest fear, though unspoken, was that Clarke was Abby Griffin's daughter.
The question that Lexa had been expecting came as she headed upstairs to her room.
"Are you seeing anyone?" Mae asked.
"No. Well, nothing serious."
"And how is Melanie?"
Lexa hid her smile, knowing her mother was always a little afraid they would get back together. "She's good. She sends her love."
Mae nodded once, and changed the subject, "How do you like the house?"
"It's beautiful, and a whole lot bigger than I expected. I love it."
Mae smiled softly, and moved past her to open the door to the bedroom.
Stepping in, Lexa hitched a breath. It was like stumbling upon a time capsule.
Her old CD player sat next to stacks of CDs on the worn writing table, her Thelma and Louise poster hung on the wall next to The X Files, her books piled on the floor in one corner and the clothes she left behind hung in the open closet. The only new thing was the bed.
It was as if her mother had placed everything in exactly the same position as they were in their old house.
"I wasn't sure what you wanted to keep. So, I didn't throw anything away. I kept Lee's stuff too. Some of hers are in the closet, some in the basement."
Lexa didn't know how to respond. She was swept away by a wave of unidentifiable emotions.
"Lexa...if...would you prefer to sleep in the guest room instead?" Mae asked, uncertainty clear in her voice.
Lexa turned to see the doubt on her mother's face. She was quick to assure. "No, it's fine. I was just surprised to see the room. It looks a lot like my old room."
Mae grimaced. "I'm sorry. It's too much, isn't it? You left so suddenly...I just wanted you to have the chance to decide what you wanted to keep."
"It's ok, mom." Lexa took her mother's hands. "Really, and thank you. Besides, this will give me the opportunity to relive the horrid fashion sense of my teenage years."
Mae let out a relieved laugh. "You're always beautiful, no matter what you wear. Maybe except for that glittery, the Christmas tree sweater you bought at the Harrisons' yard sale."
"God, what was I thinking?"
They shared a laugh, then Mae asked, "Have you told anyone you're back?"
Lexa shook her head.
"Not even Clarke?"
Lexa dropped her gaze. "No. I haven't spoken to her since…I'm not even sure if she wants to see me."
She felt her mother's gentle hand on her shoulder. "Lexa, I know there is a lot of history between the two of you and a lot of things left unsaid, but I think no matter what had happened, she would always be happy to see you."
Was her mother right? She wanted to believe so.
"I also told her that you might come back, but I don't think she believes me." Mae gave her a faint, sad smile.
Lexa had certainly never gave Clarke any reason to believe she would ever come back to Polis. Why would Clarke believe her now? Hell, she could hardly believe she's here too.
"Are you going to the cemetery tomorrow?"
"That's the plan."
"You will go see Clarke too, won't you? She could use a friend right now."
Lexa drew a deep breath. " Yes, I will after."
"Alright, I'll let you rest. You look tired." Mae grazed her knuckles against Lexa's cheeks.
"I am, a little." Lexa admitted.
"If you need anything, just knock on our door."
"I will, don't worry."
Mae stopped at the door. Hesitantly, she said in a small voice, "Your sister is there too, not far from Stacy."
Lexa inhaled sharply as a pang tugged at her insides. Weakly, she replied, "I will go over."
Mae offered her a smile, both sorrowful and happy. She stood there for a moment, studying her daughter. Then, with a slight quiver, she said, "Goodnight Lexa. I'm so happy you're here."
Indra couldn't decide how she felt after her phone call with Mae. The police chief sat in the silence, listening to the ticktock of the wall clock in her office.
She had expected Lexa to come back upon learning of Stacy's death. Lexa was loyal to a fault, even though some may think she had abandoned her family and friends when she left at the worst possible time. Of course, they didn't know the circumstances of her departure like Indra did, or the role Indra had played.
Indra had kept in touch with Lexa, even visited her in LA. Having her back in Polis, however, gave her conflicting feelings. As happy as she was, Indra was also aware of the danger this town presents and the danger that lurked within Lexa.
She reached down to unlock one of her drawers and pulled out three files from the bottom of the stack. She placed them neatly one next to the other on her table, staring at the bold, messy handwriting. It had been a while since she saw these three names.
The time had come to find where they were and made damn sure their paths would not cross with Lexa's. Indra would not fail the Woods and Clarke again.
Never again.