The warmth of the building wrapped Lexa in an embrace she fell into as she crossed the threshold. Quiet music played, the careful sounds of cutlery clinking against plates, of hushed conversation and the barely there echoes of food being prepared seemed to waft together, seemed to bleed into something comfortable.
Anya's hand raised in a subtle greeting, and Lexa found herself beginning to smile as she made her way past tables, some occupied, others empty. She waved off a waitress who made to greet her, and Lexa couldn't help but to admire the barely there flush of red that seemed to peek out from behind the makeup that graced the woman's face, a sign of the heat of open flames, or from the constant moving to and fro she had been sure to be treading.
Lexa's feet came to a stop though, and she couldn't quite refrain from eyeing the cup of coffee in Anya's hands now that she stood close enough to smell, close enough to reach out and grasp it and slap it away.
"You just going to stand there?" Anya asked with a raising of an eyebrow.
"Maybe I will," Lexa said as she shrugged off her coat and let it hang over the back of a chair she pulled out.
"Maybe I'll beat you up," Anya answered as she took a sip before moaning ever so gracelessly.
Lexa laughed, the sound a little odd to her ear as she came to sit before Anya. But she found her gaze never straying too far from the cup in the other woman's hands, from the way slender fingers seemed to cling to the mug with a desperation, with a need and a desire.
"What?" Anya asked, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she leant back, as a light from above cast a shadow against her face, that painted it in fierce streaks of black, that highlight just how proud her cheekbones had always been.
"You never used to like coffee," Lexa said, and it was a truth, if only because she had found it so terribly hard to reconcile who Anya had become with who she remembered her to be.
"I got old," Anya said, "you did, too."
"Yeah," and Lexa found that she now looked away, that she looked down to the menu laid out in front of Anya, that she tried to read upside down, or that she looked to those that sat within the confines of the restaurant, each person wearing a suit of crisp lines, smoky colours, of darks and depths, or skirts and shirts, blouses, crisp, simple and elegant.
"Hey," and Anya's foot nudged hers under the table. "You promised to knock this off," and Lexa tried to fight the smile that crept its way onto her lips as Anya made a face at her.
"I—" but Lexa found that she was at a loss for words yet again.
Anya took pity on her though, and Lexa couldn't help but to lean forward, to reach out and squeeze Anya's free hand that rested atop the table.
"At least you dressed appropriately this time," and Anya's voice seemed to carry with it just the faintest lilts of jest, of humour, something deep and shared between old friends.
"You should have told me the first time," Lexa countered. "Warned me or something," and she eyed the suit jacket that hung across the back of Anya's chair, that peeked out from behind a shoulder clad in a crisp white fabric that seemed so very far removed from the girl Lexa remembered Anya to have been.
"I'd have expected you to realise when I told you the address," Anya challenged, and Lexa bit her lip as she felt just the faintest amount of heat creep into her ears at the way Anya's face seemed not to shift expressions, yet conveyed meaning and subtlety, jest and humour.
"Yeah," Lexa shrugged. "Well," a pause for too long. "I'm not who I used to be."
"No," and Anya took another sip as she flipped the menu around so that Lexa could read it. "You aren't."
"When do you have to go back?" Lexa asked as she eyed the time on her phone, its light a little too piercing for the subtlety of the restaurant.
"When I want," Anya answered, and Lexa couldn't help but to feel just a little envious of the way Anya's words seemed not to carry boast, arrogance, but merely statement and fact.
"I still can't believe it," Lexa said, and she couldn't, not when what seemed like the last real memory she had of Anya was of her passed out on a couch in a strange room where music played far too loudly for either of them to appreciate in years to come.
"Same," Anya answered, and Lexa watched as Anya turned, looked for a waiter. "But times are a changing," she said as she turned back to face her. "How was your morning?"
"Good," and it had been. "I read a little," she said, and she took a moment to try to recall the things that she had read, that she had tried to catch up on. "I got angry again," and she winced just a little at the memory of slamming her hand down upon the kitchen counter as she had realised she had read the same article only days earlier. "It's still hard, I can hold onto things so much better now, but sometimes I slip up, I find that something just fell through the cracks," and she trailed off as she found that Anya seemed content to watch, to take in the woman she felt herself not to be.
"You'll get better with time," and Anya shrugged. "I know you can't remember much from when you woke up, but I do," and Anya paused for a moment to gauge Lexa's reaction, but Lexa found that she didn't mind for some reason, not with Anya. "You got mad every day. Sad most hours. Depressed often," and Anya paused as a waiter passed. "But you got better. And now we're here."
"Yes," and Lexa found herself nodding ever so slowly. "We're here."
"Want to see a film tonight?" Anya asked, and Lexa admired the way Anya seemed not to care for tact at times, that she would simply change the topic with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
"Yeah," Lexa said, and she smiled as their lunch seemed to be coming to a close, and as she looked around the restaurant for a moment she found herself once more marvelling at those that sat within its walls. "But you're paying," she finished with a laugh, but Lexa saw a woman look up to the sound, hair golden and hanging just below her shoulders, who sat alone with a half finished glass in front of her in the corner of the restaurant. But what seemed to catch Lexa's attention the most was that her gaze seemed piercing, seemed defiant and desperate even across the distance.
"Cool."
"That was a stupid film," Anya's voice seemed to fill the car cabin with a contempt that made Lexa laugh, shy away from and embrace all at the same time.
"You're the one who chose it."
"Doesn't change the fact that it sucked."
The moon hung high in the sky, it's colour a rich yellow that Lexa was sure held the barest hints of a faded red if she looked hard enough. Rain drizzled down ever so slightly, and to Lexa it felt more of a mist, more a cloud, something that cocooned around her, rather than battered down upon her shoulders.
Anya walked just a pace in front of her, the woman's keys jingling lightly with each step she took. Lexa still found that she felt awed at the home Anya had come to call her own, that it was modest, not large, not showy, but each little piece, from the archway with its crisp right angles and slate grey paint, to the way the light in the morning would glow off the parchment coloured paint and cast the garden in an amber red hue was something that spoke of attention to detail, of hours spent pondering, considering, calculating each little element. And Lexa thought that reflected Anya well.
The door swung open as Anya tucked her keys into a pocket and waved Lexa forward as lights began to switch on with their presence, and Lexa couldn't help but to groan as she kicked off her shoes, let the tumble somewhere along the length of the entryway. But she couldn't help but to wince, to grimace at the huff of annoyance Anya let slip at the motion.
"Sorry," Lexa said quietly as she leant down and shuffled her shoes next to Anya's and let them sit beside ones with sheer heels, ones with elegant arches to them, and ones for running, where materials and sciences combined together into a compact package that Lexa was sure cost far too much for her to even consider buying.
"I'm going straight to bed," Anya said as she stifled a yawn. "See you in the morning Lex."
And with that Lexa bid Anya a quiet goodnight as she began to move deeper through Anya home.
Anya's home was quiet, each light the turned on seemed to know that the moon ruled the night's sky at this hour for they turned on just barely, only enough to give sight to her tired eyes. Reflections and shadows bounced off each surface she past, some blinking in and out of existence as soon as she past, others seemingly bending to her presence, shifting with each step she took and each breath she let free.
Lexa found herself in the kitchen, the tile of the floor cool against her feet, and the harsh bite of the kitchen counter that dominated the space crisp in the way the moon light shone in through the large windows and broke against the hard edge of the counter. She reached out then, one hand quick to turn the kettle on, the other already fumbling for her favourite mug that sat somewhere to the side of the counter, its colour red, deep, vibrant and full of an intensity she thought lacking in her life at times.
And it took only a few short minutes, but eventually Lexa found herself sitting at the counter, a high stool beneath her as she looked out the window and into the night's sky. Stars glinted, they seemed to sparkle and dance through the dark, and even the clouds appeared to move with a desire and a wish to do more than simply exist.
It was times like this though, that Lexa thought the hardest, it was times of quiet, where the only companion she found were her thoughts and troubles. And she found it hard, simply because her mind seemed to always wander to her past, to the one she could remember, to the one she could picture as clearly as the events of yesterdays had. But she also found that her thoughts journeyed to the past she couldn't remember, to the one after she had woken, to the one where her days were spent trying to remember a life that seemed more a dream, more a fleeting memory clouded by desires and wishes.
But she shook her head, she let the motion clear away her troubles and she brought her cup to her lips and took a sip, let the heat burn her lips for just a moment and she embraced the pain, as much as she embraced what little remnants of rain graced the ground outside with the quiet pattering drum beats that echoed out around her.
And perhaps embracing the rain, perhaps embracing the cold, the heat of the cup, and the pain was a sign, something morose, something dark, something lurking just past her vision. Or perhaps it was simply because it had, for such a long time, been the only memory she could hold on to.
But once more her reflection seemed to steal her attention, it seemed to focus in the glass, it seemed to look back at her with a defiance, with a want, and a life that was so far removed from the woman she appeared to be.
"What?" Lexa spoke softly, and she hoped her reflection would answer. "Am I not what you expected?" But when no answer came she didn't find it alarming, she didn't find it sad. Not really.
She sighed forcefully then, she let her lungs fill, she let them expand, and she let the breath she held out in a long, careful, stuttering exhale. Lexa felt herself slowly becoming lost in her reflection, she felt her eyes beginning to take in every little detail upon the face, and she tried to remember something, she tried to remember anything that would give way, that had been holding back the depths of a life she had once cherished.
"I wish I could remember what had made you laugh so much," and Lexa's gaze seemed to focus on the wrinkles in the corners of the eyes, to the ones that just barely broke across the face, that spoke of a life only just beginning to settle, of one with years of life left to experience. "Were you happy?" and she paused. She paused and she brought her cup to her lips and took in another sip. "Or were you sad? Angry? Did you love? Did you find happiness?"
And she found that her shoulders began to shake ever so slightly, she found that her tears began to slow ever so gently. But perhaps most of all, she found that a pain seemed to exist somewhere in the very fibres of her body, that seemed to hollow out a part of her identity, that seemed to have stolen something from her, and that might never return. If only she knew what it was.
Rain pelted down more forcefully than it had done the previous day but Lexa sat in safety behind the glass windows of the restaurant she had been in with Anya. Music filled the interior, something old, something quiet, something a little familiar if she listened hard enough.
It was early morning, Anya had left for work mere hours earlier, and Lexa had found herself unsure of what to do, unsure of where to go, and so she had taken Anya's advice on trying the restaurant at a different time, and so she found herself in that very place, her hair a mess of wind swept rain and tussled to the elements. But she didn't mind, didn't mind keeping up appearances at such an establishment, didn't mind not trying too hard to fit just perfectly into the crowd.
She sighed then, wrapped her fingers around the cup, let its warmth bleed into her palm and she brought it to her lips with an appreciative moan that seemed to linger in the space around her for a long while.
Lexa looked around herself and it didn't quite surprise her to find that the restaurant seemed empty of others, that a quiet calm had settled in place, where wait staff seemed to linger somewhere quiet, where the kitchen buzz seemed lessened enough that she hardly noticed. But Lexa thought it charming, she thought it enticing, if only because it let her focus on each little detail with little worry for disruption, with little worry for the interruptions of a life she longed to remember.
She thought memory a strange thing though, and she thought it strange for she couldn't even place the exact time in which she had begun to remember more than a few days, before she could really put order to the chaos that existed within her mind.
She remembered the days when she would wake confused, would ask for her mother, her father, would be shocked at her reflection, would seem unsure of someone who had sat before her, who had known her as much as she had not known them.
She remembered the frustration, the anger, the anxiety and the inability to grasp more than a few short days before it would all start again.
But perhaps most importantly, she remembered Anya, she remembered growing up with her, she remembered the times spent together through the years, and so she had jumped at the opportunity to go with Anya, to escape the torment of a forgotten life, to try to find herself in somewhere that had known her as little as she had known it. And Lexa had been thankful, she had been grateful, had cherished and loved and tried as hard as she could to make sure Anya would and could never regret the offer to take her awa—
"Is this seat taken?"
The voice cut into her thoughts carefully, the timbre of the words she heard seemed unsure, quiet and uncertain.
Lexa looked up to see a woman standing a few paces from where she sat, one hand half extended to the chair opposite her, the other tucked into the pockets of her coat whose colour was a deep blue.
"Ah," and Lexa looked around herself and at the restaurant, to the empty seats, to the absence of others. "No?"
"I just—" but the woman paused for a moment as she seemed to think of what to say. "I thought it would be awkward if we were the only two people in here and we just ignored each other," she said. "I can leave."
"No," and Lexa found herself trying to picture where she had seen the woman before. "No," and she gestured to the seat. "Take it."
And so the woman paused for another moment as she considered something before she smiled, pulled the seat out and took her place opposite her.
"Clarke," she said carefully, and Lexa found herself unsure of what she saw in the woman's eyes, for she was sure she sensed an intensity in the way the woman met her gaze.
"Lexa," she said.
"I saw you before," Clarke said after a pause, and Lexa's head tilted to the side as she tried to remember. "Last night," she offered. "You were sitting with the other woman."
"Oh," and Lexa's memories snapped to the woman she had seen in the corner of the restaurant, to the glass before her, and to the way her gaze seemed piercing and desperate. "Anya," Lexa offered.
"Ah," and Clarke looked away.
"Do you come here often?" Lexa asked, and she tried to recall if she had seen Clarke before.
"No," and Clarke shook her head. "I just arrived a few days ago," and she shrugged as she trailed off.
"Change of jobs?" and perhaps Lexa enjoyed being able to share a conversation with someone with no expectations of remembered and forgotten lives.
"Not really," Clarke said as she shrugged off her coat and hung it on the back of her chair. "I just needed a break from life for a while, so I took time off, thought I'd try and unwind somewhere far from home."
And at that Lexa couldn't help but to feel a moment of sympathy for her, if only because she knew the feeling, too.
"I get that," Lexa said, but she found herself trying to decide how much to divulge. "I did the same."
"You did?" Clarke asked, and Lexa couldn't help but to admire the depth in Clarke's voice. "Sorry," Clarke added after a second though. "I don't mean to intrude, I don't need to know."
"It's ok," and perhaps Lexa found herself not so sure of why she felt at ease at the suddenness of the situation. "I just needed to get away, too. Too much stress where I used to live," and perhaps a truth, just with the edges muddied was safe enough for now.
A quiet buzz echoed out around them then, and Lexa watched as Clarke looked down, pulled out her phone and eyed the screen for a second before tucking it back into her pocket.
"Busy?" Lexa joked, and she watched as Clarke's eyes seemed to sparkle, seemed to dance in the light, seemed to hide something desperate in its depths.
"No," she answered. "Just a friend checking up on me."
Lexa smiled at that, if only because she knew how that felt, too, with Anya having never strayed far in her time of need.
"What's good?" Clarke asked as she reached for a menu.
"I'm actually not sure," and Lexa laughed a little nervously as she eyed the way Clarke's gaze seemed to hold hers for a long moment of time. "I've never had the breakfast menu before."
"Oh," but Clarke bit her lip as she looked down at the menu, and Lexa found herself doing the same, if only to distract from the uncertainty she felt emanating from Clarke.
"Anya tells me the scrambled eggs is goo—"
Lexa was interrupted by her phone buzzing quietly, and she glanced down at the table where she had left it to see her screen glowing. She spared it only a moment to register Anya's name and the message icon before the screen began to fade.
But Lexa looked up to see Clarke eyeing her screen, her gaze a little unfocused and tinged with an emotion she couldn't quite place.
"It's a picture of a painting I own," Lexa offered, for she was sure Clarke had been trying to discern just what her phone's wallpaper had been. "Just a whole bunch of different reds all mixed together," she continued. "Red's my favourite colour," she finished with an awkward smile.
"I know," Clarke said with a nod.
"You know?" and Lexa's head tilted to the side.
"I can tell," Clarke said quickly. "Your scarf," and she pointed to where it hung looped around the chair. "And your coat."
"Yeah," and Lexa found herself smiling a little less awkwardly. "I guess I do like the colour."
