Work Text:
As the automatic doors slid open to let through the morning rush, Lexa breaks off from the majority of the crowd to head for the stairs, off to the left of the bank of elevators that the rest of her colleagues took. The first door she opens, and almost walks head first into yellow tape which had been stretched from wall to wall, effectively blocking the stairs. Lexa frowns for a second, tilting her head as she takes an experimental sniff. Fresh paint. She rolls her eyes and turns back on herself, shaking her head and resolving to communicate her displeasure to the caretakers as soon as she can take a break. As she re-enters the foyer, she watches as the elevator doors slide shut, and the ground floor is empty, save for the slightly over-weight security guard behind the desk. She hears him cough and slurp some coffee as she presses the button for the elevator again, tapping her foot to try and cover the silence. After what seems like an age, the doors slide back open again and Lexa steps in, an entire space to herself. How she prefers it. As the automated voice sounds over her head, she hears a very real voice sound from across the floor.
“Hold the doors, please!”
It didn’t really register what she’d done until Lexa sticks her arm out to brace against the closing doors, letting them re-open to let in the latecomer. It wasn't exactly normal for Lexa to be seen as nice. So why did she do it? It takes her a second to realise that she knew the voice, and muscle memory had kicked in before her brain had managed to catch up. Her teeth find the inside of her cheek and she bites as Clarke all but falls into the space, blustery and windswept and too much for Lexa to cope with this early in the morning.
“Oh, god, I’m so sor-,” Clarke stammers, beet red, tailing off and righting herself as she finds herself being held up by none other than Lexa Fletcher.
The silence stretches out as the two survey each other. It seems like an eternity before Clarke wrenches herself away and Lexa straightens and takes a measured step back; they stand side by side as they are lifted up and try not to sneak too many obvious glances at each other. Lexa speaks in an unaffected voice, cool and seemingly aloof:
“It’s fine. Don’t want you to be late.”
Clarke is unwilling to look at her as she speaks, she focuses her reddened cheeks on her shoes and notes with horror that this is the first time they’ve actually met in person. And Lexa is not what she expected at all. She expects a tall, serve woman with bony features and unforgiving eyes - based on what everyone in the office has been telling her since she started three days ago. But what she sees is someone with cheekbones to rival Angelina Jolie’s, a forest green gaze, and, based on her fleeting observation, someone who doesn’t see much outside of the office. Lexa, meanwhile, is sure she’s about to bite a hole in her cheek as she catches the glimmer of a smile on Clarke’s face as she looks at the floor. As the doors ping open, Lexa gestures for Clarke to go ahead, and only once the other woman is a few steps in front does she relax her jaw, exhale a breath and, okay, maybe she stared at her ass as she walked away. Maybe. But this is Lexa Fletcher, co-commander in chief of their establishment, and she was not about to let a blonde office girl affect her in this manner. She shakes out her hair and strides on to the office floor, her chin high and her mind on the business of the day. And maybe a little bit of how Clarke felt in her arms.
She has yet to see Clarke the rest of the day. Perhaps she’s avoiding her, or perhaps, Lexa thinks, as her finger hovers over the worn button on her intercom, Lexa doesn’t want to face her. But why? It makes no sense. It makes no sense to be so unreasonably infatuated with someone you don’t know. Lexa didn’t do crushes. This feeling was foreign. She tucks the hovering finger into a fist and clenches, before stabbing the button decidedly. The clock has struck 4:00 and Lexa will need caffeine to get through these last two hours. Clarke answers on the second ring.
“Ms Fletcher, what can I do for you?”
For a second, Lexa can’t speak. Her brain puts those words into countless different inappropriate situations. But only for a second.
“Clarke,” she types the rest of her email to Gus in the European office as she speaks. “there’s a file marked that Indra is holding for me in HR. I need it. And a coffee.”
“Of course.” Clarke’s voice is smooth and controlled, nothing like the flustered woman she encountered this morning, and it gratifies her, somewhat. “Will that be all, Ms Fletcher?”
Lexa allows herself to finish the sentence before speaking. “Yes, thank you, Clarke.” The line beeps and then is silent. Satisfied with herself, Lexa finishes the email slowly, hoping they can schedule a Skype meeting soon. Partnering with overseas businesses was all well and good, excellent for their corporation, but it was a logistical nightmare. She’d have to be in at a ridiculous hour, or else she could attempt to persuade Gus to stay late and save her the hell of a red-eye commute.
When Clarke knocks on the door separating her office from Lexa’s, she hears no response. Undeterred, she shoulders the door open, the file under one arm and a tray of coffee, milk, and a muffin braced against the other arm. The blonde stops short when Lexa gives her a glare worthy of Medusa. Clarke quails. Holy shit. If looks could kill. Still. She needs this job. And so she forces a smile back on her face, ignoring the eyes on her.
“I forgot to ask you how you liked your coffee,” she places the tray on a side table, away from Lexa and the papers strewn haphazardly across her desk, and, with her back to her boss, points at each addition to the steaming mug. “Milk, sugar, creamer. And a muffin,” she lists helpfully.
She wasn't going to turn around, but she hears Lexa groan quietly. Twisting to look over her shoulder, she watches Lexa rub her temples and then turn to look directly at Clarke. She turns around properly, the better to be addressed.
“Thank you, Clarke.” Ms Fletcher’s voice is sincere and Clarke finds herself smiling, properly, for the first time since that intern, Wells, spilled chilli all over himself at lunch earlier.
“You’re very welcome, Ms Fletcher.” As Clarke turns to go, her boss speaks again.
“You can call me Lexa, if you wish.”
Clarke inclines her head, biting her lip gently to stop the smile getting bigger. “Lexa.” She tests the name on her tongue. It suits her, somehow. “Lexa,” she says again, and sees her smile at that. The day suddenly seems good.
As it reaches 6:00, Lexa finds herself rubbing her temples and looking forward to unwinding. One more day to go. The weekend was a day away. A day away from Netflix and a pint of ice cream in her freezer. Maybe she’ll get to finish her book. She stands from her desk and stretches, groaning when she feels the joints pop. Switching the monitor of her computer off, she gathers her papers into a binder and drops it from the desk into her bag. Her door opens as she bends to collect some errant papers, and she almost jerks her head up and smacks it on the underside of her desk. Almost.
“Lexa?” Clarke.
Lexa rights herself and brushes her skirt down, doing her best to seem unruffled. “Yes, Clarke?”
“Do you need anything else, before I go?”
Lexa shakes her head no, shouldering her bag. “No, I was about to head out myself. There’s no reason for me to stay late, this evening.”
Clarke nods and leans against the door jamb, and for a minute Lexa doesn’t realise she’s waiting for her. It was a sweet thing to do. “Any plans this evening? Hot date?” Clarke grins and winks, hoping to get a reaction.
“Not unless you count Ben and Jerry among potential suitors, no, no plans.” Lexa smirks back; the stresses of work are melting away as they walk side by side. Lexa automatically starts to veer off toward the stairs, before feeling a tugging.
“Lexa, you can’t. Stairs are still out of bounds.” Clarke keeps a hand on her wrist for what feels like forever as she gently guides her to the bank of elevators. As they approach a crowd of people waiting, the pressure is gone, and Lexa panics. There’s a reason she takes the stairs, normally, and it extends beyond a simple want for maintaining fitness. The people surround her and she feels penned in, trapped. It’s ridiculous, really, but Lexa feels wild as they join a crowd of workers.
“Hey, are you okay?” Clarke murmurs beside her, and Lexa turns to her, clinging to the sound of her voice.
“Of course,” she mutters back, but her breath leaves her in a gasp, and as they teeter into the elevator, people follow her in and all of a sudden she’s between the wall…and Clarke. Oh.
“Are you sure? You don’t seem okay.” Lexa’s gaze flickers and she tries to focus on Clarke’s words, rather than the feel of her pressed up against her chest, and, she has to admit, it works as a distraction.
“I’m…” she fights the urge to yell her discomfort, to demand the people herded around her leave, get off on the next floor and wait, so that the two of them can have some space. She gestures slightly, and tries to tell Clarke what she’s feeling, without betraying her emotions. Almost impossible, but Lexa has a reputation to keep. No one is looking at her. No one gives a shit. But Lexa cannot be weak. Her breath catches as Clarke finds her hand again, tangling her fingers between hers and squeezing: a silent understanding. Clarke’s spare hand finds Lexa’s other hand and places it, without comment, and with serious eyes, on her chest. Lexa almost jerks away, almost feels her mouth curl into shock, but as Clarke takes an exaggerated breath, eyes widening slightly, and she feels her heartbeat. They have twelve floors to go, and Clarke is willing to help her. All around there is chatter, like white noise, surrounding Lexa, but she finds herself anchored by Clarke, blue eyes staring back at her, a small smile on her face. She misses the ding when they reach the ground floor, but as the doors swing open again, cool, outside air hits Lexa’s face and she blinks. Clarke smiles again, turns and walks out of the building, without a second glance.
Lexa is really staring to hate elevators.