Chapter Text
“Mom! Did you find them?”
Buried in the middle of her once nicely folded laundry, Lexa sighs once the yell reaches her from the next room over. She throws another basket on top of her bed, cringing at the thought of having to fold it all again later but when she stares at her side table alarm and sees the clock ticking, warning her of seven-forty rapidly approaching, she cannot be bothered to be careful with it anymore.
“No! Alex, are you sure you put them in the hamper?” Lexa yells back, frantically searching for the soccer shorts her son decided to warn her about over eggs and toast.
The sounds of rushed footsteps entering her bedroom have Lexa turn on instinct, awaiting an answer.
“Yeah, I’m sure!” Alex affirms, sounding impossibly offended by his mother’s doubt. At fourteen, he stands just slightly shorter than most his age and although Lexa can barely see his green eyes through the mass of caramel blonde curls he refuses to cut despite her pleas, she can swear she catches them rolling at her.
“Have you checked your bag? Made sure you didn’t forget them there since last practice?” She takes another second to swipe through the laundry, picking up one or two shirts that she might have forgotten to look under before it becomes clear the red shorts do not reside amongst the clean clothes.
Alex pauses for a second, weight shifting from one foot to the other, “Yeah…” he drags out, not a single hint of confidence in his voice.
Mystery solved.
“Go back and check again, please.” Lexa does not raise the volume of her voice, only adds a small hardness to her tone, one she has mastered through the past fourteen years of motherhood and nearly two decades of teaching unruly grade school children.
The boy seems to get the message, turning on his heel and rushing back to his room, the distinctive sounds of zippers opening and ruffling following after him.
Looking at the pile of clothes on her bed Lexa sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, wondering when will she possibly find the time to fold them again when she has tests to grade and a whole week’s worth of lesson planning to prepare, aside from the usual back and forth between schools and extracurriculars and household chores.
“Lilah, please tell me you’re ready to go!”
The heavier sounds of her smaller eleven-year-old echoes through the corridor as she makes her way to the room, an audibly annoyed grunt escaping her lips.
“I’ve been ready for ages. We’re gonna be late!” Delilah complains, a small stomp to her footing for added effect. Lexa nearly laughs at the gesture, knowing the flair for the dramatics is a trait inherited from herself.
“I’m sorry baby, your brother is trying to find his shorts…” A simple look at the girl’s face has Lexa immediately forget about her son’s misplace laundry, “Delilah Woods, what in the world is on your face?”
There are dark circles painted around Delilah’s eyes; patchy and uneven, lines shaky and badly filled in, no doubt the result of an unsuccessful raid of Lexa’s bathroom drawer where she keeps only crappy cheap makeup and old brushes. She’s going through a phase. And as a rule, Lexa does not mind the kids experimenting with whatever fashion they like as long as it is age-appropriate. But while she desperately wants to be the relaxed parents she dreamt of having as an angst-filled teen her ex-wife seems to have taken that role in the most literal of senses, leaving Lexa with the commander role in the kids lives in as she attempts to give them a little order.
“Hm, eyeliner?” Delilah states matter-of-factly and, with her, Lexa can most certainly see eyes being rolled.
“Lilah, you can’t go to school like that.” She’s trying to be nice about it. The last thing Lexa wants is for her daughter to feel like she needs to rebel against her simply because she won’t allow her to wear what she wants. But she’s eleven and the raccoon look is not nearly as goth-looking as she might think it is.
“Mom, please, it took me so long to get it right!” She complains with a whine, arms crossed.
As Lexa tries hard not to lose her wits so early in the morning, she opts for ignoring the small whining in favor of gently guiding her daughter to the bathroom and handing her some of her own makeup remover.
“Just wipe the bottom part, okay? The rest is fine.” It is absolutely not fine and Lexa is positive she will be getting a call from the school about excessive makeup but, for the moment, she can only do so much.
Delilah had just turned to the mirror, mumbling something about how the other kids’ parents allowed them to wear whatever they want, something Lexa highly doubts but does not have the energy to fight right now, when Alex appears at the doorway, soccer shorts a wrinkled, dirty mess in his hands.
“They were in my gym bag.”
In his defense, he does look guilty about it. And Lexa has always been horrible at being mad at her children.
“Just shake them out a bit, they’re fine.”
She watches as he does what he is told, ever the obedient boy, before holding them up in the air looking for his mother’s approval. Lexa shrugs before offering him a nod. Good enough seems to be today’s theme.
“Hm, mom?” Delilah’s small voice brings the attention of Lexa and Alex back to her.
As Alex snorts with laughter, Lexa needs to take a second and close her eyes, pretending for just a second nothing wrong is going on. But alas, she must face reality.
And in reality, when it rains, it pours.
In her ill attempt at removing the makeup, Delilah has only managed to make it worse, streaks on black eyeliner running down from her eyes to her cheek in a quite interesting looking war paint type design, although Lexa has very little time to appreciate it before she jumps in, silently cursing herself from not wiping the makeup off herself to begin with, rubbing the little girl’s cheeks until they were red, sore, and nearly black paint free.
They are out the apartment door ten minutes later than usual.
Mentally, Lexa checks their commute, hoping that a few rushed yellow lights and a barely skipped red light won’t be used against her when her ex-wife eventually decides to go for her fourth custody contestement. In typical fashion, both Alex and Delilah have already gone ahead and turned the corner while she locks the apartment door and Lexa knows by experience that she’ll have to jog in heeled dress shoes to get to the elevator doors before they close with amused smirking children inside.
She’s rummaging through her bag, hoping and praying she didn’t leave anything important inside when a disembodied yell is thrown in her direction.
“Hey, watch out!”
Lexa snaps her head in its direction, face contorting in confusion as she tries to find the source of the voice. However, it doesn’t take long for the warning to make sense. One second she’s standing, walking, and the next she is on the floor, ass hitting the carpeted floor of the hallway with force.
From where she stands in her doorway, Clarke’s eyes widen as she watches her new neighbour tumble to the ground, the box of trinkets she holds forgotten on the floor as she scrambles to get to the woman on the floor, cursing herself.
“Oh fuck, I’m sorry! It’s totally my fault, I keep leaving them all over the damn place.”
From her spot on the floor, the woman groans slightly before she dismisses her apology with a quick wave of her hand, “It’s fine, I wasn’t paying attention.”
Nearly stumbling over the exact same box, Clarke rushes to the woman's side, mentally cursing herself. It is entirely her fault and she’s annoyed that this is how she’s officially meeting the neighbours, with a hazardous hallway filled with IKEA boxes she cannot bring inside by herself without risking never seeing her security deposit again.
When the woman doesn’t stand up right away, instead looking around her own legs, long brown hair covering her features, Clarke fears she might have caused a sprained ankle or a broken leg. Shit.
"You're not hurt are you?"
Seemingly happy with her assessment, the woman looks up at her and Clarke's heart skips a couple beats. She doesn’t think gorgeous begins to describe the woman looking up at her
Her lips are what enchants Clarke the most at first glance. Plump and red, slightly pursed in frustration with her situation in a way that gives them a pouty look. Unconsciously, Clarke licks her own lips before her eyes travel up the woman’s face, a quick appreciative glance at the elegant nose and high cheekbones, slightly rosie from the fall, before they finally settle on bright gray green eyes behind impossibly adorable golden framed glasses.
"No, no. My pride might be a little bruised but that's about it."
Lexa sees her staring, eyes making their way across her body and it feels awkward. Lexa has forgotten what it’s like to be looked at that way. She doesn't hate it but still a wave of embarrassment washes over her when she remembers her choice of outfit for the day - the knee length Ms. Frizzle inspired dress with a detailed earth map printed across it, a silly attempt at capturing the attention of her unruly second graders as she tries to introduce a new unit - a far cry from her more discrete everyday style, making her look perhaps a little clownish.
However, Lexa’s quirky wardrobe choices do nothing to stop the girl, whose worried face quickly changes into the easiness of a dashing smile.
“I’m Clarke, by the way. I’m moving into 319.” The woman finally introduces herself.
The distinct noise of the elevator’s doors closing without her inside reminds Lexa of her hurry.
“Shi-”
“Mom?” Delilah’s voice echoes through the hallway, interrupting her loud cursing.
“I’m sorry, I really gotta go!”
“Mom?” Clarke repeats, eyes dancing between the two children and Lexa, a last swipe at Lexa allowing her a conclusion for her silent question.
Lexa knows she looks rather young for her age, having just entered her forties this past year. Maybe not twenties young, but for all the self care she lost during the years, a good skin care routine wasn’t one of them, making her be able to pass for thirty-two on a good day. Her choice of outfit is also always a guarantee to take a few years from her.
“I’m sorry honey. Hm, this is Clarke, our new neighbour.” Lexa smiles reassuringly at Delilah before pointing to Clarke and then to her kids, “This is my son Alex and my daughter Delilah.”
With shy waves and whispered hi’ s both children introduce themselves. Lexa can hear the wheels inside Clarke’s head working as she stares at her children, as if trying to do the math between the probable ages for the two teens and Lexa. She nods to herself just a second later, the shock leaving her face completely and replacing it with a confident smile she sends in Lexa’s way, before she warms it and directs her attention to the kids.
Quickly, the woman points to Delilah’s face, “I like your make-up!”
Delilah, who had glued herself for Lexa in the face of a stranger but never quitting with the annoyed attitude, stopped stomping her foot, eyes lighting up with the compliment.
“Thank you.” Delilah thanks with a smile and while Lexa would love to keep the interaction going, if not only because the sheer joy in her daughter’s face is the most precious of things, they are now truly late.
“I’m sorry but we really have to go, it was very nice meeting you.”
Clarke opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out in time. Instead she watches the woman power walk to the elevator, children in tow, before the small family vanishes inside the elevator.
Alone in the hall, Clarke sighs.
There’s a messy Hell of boxes awaiting for her by her front door that she would give her soul to not need to come back to. She’d sent messages to both Raven and Wells, bribing them with coffee and lunch to help her but with both texts still unopened, she can only assume they are still blissfully asleep. She could be doing the same, if only the air mattress her mother had let her borrow wasn’t ungodly uncomfortable, having her miss the soft comfort of her old bed and blaming herself for ever thinking of moving out.
But truly, Clarke feels like she had no choice.
Octavia had been the most wonderful of roommates; that is, until the moment she wasn’t.
College had brought them together as roommates inside a far too small dorm in Clarke’s sophomore year, the then freshman Octavia quickly worming her way into her heart. Not three years later and they moved into a bigger apartment just outside of campus while Clarke started her masters in Art Therapy, a compromise between her mother’s hope for her following medicine and Clarke’s desire to follow just about anything art related, while Octavia finished her undergrad, both working minimum wage jobs just to get by.
At the time, she hadn’t minded Octavia’s partying ways too much, even if Clarke herself had long since grown out of spending her weekends - and designated week days - with a hefty dose of aspirins always by her side. Even so, Octavia’s late arrivals at the early hours of the morning were starting to annoy her just the smallest bit.
But then college ended for her roommate and Lincoln happened.
Party animal now domesticated, Clarke watched as in the short span of a few months Octavia settled for a quieter routine. Soon enough Lincoln was moving in with them, having spent more time sitting on their couch than he had in his own apartment by the time they celebrated their first anniversary. It had all been fine with Clarke, she herself had even managed to move a boyfriend in with them before quickly moving him out. And then, at the start of the year Octavia shocked everyone, although no one more than Lincoln himself, by proposing.
Overnight, the apartment started feeling too small for the three of them. Family get-togethers where Clarke clearly didn’t fit in and dinner dates she did not wish to interrupt became all too frequent and the feeling of third wheeling the happy couple inside her own home became a constant.
So, by the time Octavia picked the wedding date, Clarke had this place picked out.
As much as she loved spending those years in Octavia’s company, she is excited with the prospect of finally living alone for the first time in her adult life. Yet she has to fight the most immature of whines from escaping her once she thinks about her whole life inside the boxes she still needs to unpack.
Well, at the very least, her neighbour is hot.
***
“Have you met the neighbours?”
It’s hours later and Clarke and Wells are sprawled all over the brand new yellow couch, the one who already cost Clarke her rental deposit with a nasty scuff on the floor and the wall, munching on the rest of their take out for a much deserved break.
The coffee table is still a makeshift out of card boxes and Clarke will spend the next few days hanging paintings and figuring out where to put her million clutter pieces but it’s slowly beginning to feel like a home.
“I wouldn’t really call it a meeting. ” Clarke emphasizes the last word with air quotes, mouth full with the final bite of her meal.
“What did you do?” Raven’s amused question comes from the small kitchen where she entertains herself setting up Clarke’s self-indulgent purchase of a fancy espresso machine she might never actually use.
“Nothing!” From the opposite side of the couch, Wells gives her a doubtful look and she feels offended for the lack of belief in her warmness “I swear! I just bumped into her and we barely exchanged more than two words before she was out of there.”
“Are you already scaring the neighbours away?” Wells’ teasing earns him a playful kick on the leg that nearly makes him spill his drink on the wooden floor, Clarke immediately regretting the aggression that nearly costs her another floor stain.
Raven laughs at them and Clarke narrows her eyes at her before lifting her heavy head from the comfortable cushions and letting it back down on her friends comfortable lap, happily sighing as Raven’s fingers interweave through blonde hair, the motion combined with a full stomach and a morning of lifting and dragging putting her nearly to sleep.
“Is she hot?” Raven’s voice breaks the silence and forces Clarke to begrudgingly open her eyes.
“Hm? Who?”
“The neighbour.”
“I didn’t get a good look at her.” Clarke shares through a yawn and a eye rub that sends the image of a tiny hand waving to the front of her mind, “She has two kids though.”
Raven’s eyes seem to shine and she takes in an excited inhale, “Uh, a MILF!”
Clarke scoffs with amusement, lazily lifting her head from Raven’s lap and resigning herself to no afternoon nap. While she had not caught the woman’s age, neither the little she heard of her voice nor the adorable map pattern that constituted her wardrobe screamed hot older woman.
“I don’t think she’s old enough to be considered a MILF.”
She knows the moment the words leave her mouth her clearly wrong statement is gonna spark a debate. Raven looks at her flabbergasted and Clarke is rolling her eyes even before listening to whatever she as to offer.
“Age is not a qualifier to be a MILF!”
“I’m pretty sure it is.” She reaches for her beer on top of the cardboard box, the ring of condensation it leaves behind reminding Clarke she should probably shop for coasters before setting up her actual coffee table. God if she never has to move places again, it will be too soon.
To Clarke’s surprise, Wells shakes his head at her, “Raven’s right, a MILF is a MILF!”
“Thank you! Example one: Abby’s a MILF!”
A disgusted groan leaves Clarke before she reaches to the middle of the couch and brings a pillow to Raven’s face “Don’t you ever call my mom that again.”
“You’re the one who made her one!”
Covering her ears with her hands, Clarke makes a show of loudly singing a couple La La’s and yelling “I can’t hear you!”
**
The elevator reaches their floor just as seven rolls around and Lexa sighs with the relief of being nearly at her front door. She’s getting a little too old for days like this.
Alex taps her arms and motions for the keyring dangling from Lexa’s hand, “Can I take the keys?”
She nods half-heartedly as Alex snatches them from her hand and runs down the hall, his little sister in tow and Lexa’s glad the days of small legs tripping and falling on the floor followed by never ending cries until she got to them are now over.
“My pizza goes in first!” She hears Alex yell, accompanied by the sound of the door unlocking.
“Nah-ha! Mom said mine would be first this time!” Delilah quickly protests back with a whine.
If at some point Lexa did promise her such a thing, she cannot remember.
“No, she didn’t!”
Maybe she really didn’t. She might need to have a conversation with Delilah about lying.
“Yes, she did, you just weren’t there!”
“MOM!” It’s a double yell this time and Lexa has never been more grateful their floor is composed entirely of hard of hearing older couples who love her loud children.
“You two picked the same pizza, just eat half each while the other is in the oven.” She’s nearly at the door and she can hear them inside trying to get to the oven first and Lexa truly feels too old to deal with this bickering anymore.
Behind her she hears a door open and she immediately turns around, knowing very well the apartment in front of hers has been vacant for nearly a year. She half expects to see her landlord, someone she has not seen since she first moved in. Instead, a head of blonde hair that leaves the apartment, far too young and far too woman to fit the part of the old grump she recalls.
“Oh, hi! Sorry I heard screaming and assumed it was you three…” The woman trails off, eyeing her up and down, recognition in her eyes.
Has Lexa ever met her?
“Hm, Clarke. We met this morning. You tripped on one of my boxes.” The woman quickly explains, seemingly catching the look of confusion.
Oh, right. Charming smile girl with the wandering eyes, Lexa remembers. Vaguely.
“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry, busy day you know?” Lexa half apologizes.
She’s more shocked the girl recognizes her at all, her hair now thrown in a messy bun and her brand new dress stuffed in her bag with an ugly stain of coffee, replaced by a baggy gey shirt and what used to be some looser dark jeans just a year ago and that have now become tight jeans.
“That’s alright.” Clarke shrugs it off easily, “I just wanted to apologize again for that. Didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with a pretty neighbour, you know?” a flirty wink finishes the sentence off and Lexa let’s out an easy chuckle.
Clarke’s cute. And although Lexa has long since even had the time, or desire, to even appreciate how beautiful another woman was, it’s hard not to with Clarke. Bright blue eyes, tousled short blonde hair and a air of confidence that doesn’t cross the boundary of cocky would have made her Lexa’s type once upon a time.
“Did I say something funny?” She asks with her arms crossed and a tilt of her head.
It’s not flirting, Lexa’s sure of that. Almost. She can’t remember the last time she flirted or was flirted with.
“I can’t remember the last time someone called me pretty, just that.” Lexa confesses, feeling rather coy about it. Why is she even telling her this, she quite literally just met her.
Blue eyes open in shock and she looks nearly offended by such a notion, “I’d like a word with your husband if he isn’t reminding you how pretty you are every day.”
This time Lexa laughs, freely. This girl is entirely too forward for her own good.
“I don’t have a husband.” She admits. The girl’s eyes seem to light up.
“Wife?”
She shakes her head in an half nod, “Ex-wife.”
The younger girl shifts at that. Arms uncrossed, her demeanor changes ever so slightly, chest puffed out and the slightest hint of a smirk on her lips. Lexa nearly laughs at the quick change when she mentions an ex-wife. She’s not a kid anymore, she knows very well the body language of a gay woman who found another of her kind, a single one at that. It’s nice to see the younger sapphic generation is as obvious as she was.
“Oh?” Clarke lets out. She opens her mouth like she is about to ask something else, Lexa can almost hear some sort of cheesy pick up line coming her away.
“MOM!! TELL HIM TO STOOOOOP!” A yell startles them both and Lexa pinches the bridge of her nose with a sigh, already feeling a headache arriving. How is it that two teenagers can manage to make putting frozen pizza in the oven a difficult task?
“I’m sorry, I have to go before they burn the entire apartment down.” Lexa points to the apartment where a small commotion can be easily heard, utensils hitting each either and little grunts.
Clarke chuckles with a nod of her head, “No, totally, I get it.” She pauses for a second, the hand behind her holding the doorknob of her apartment, “It was nice meeting you Lexa. I hope to see you around.”
The smile Clarke sends Lexa is big and bright, so genuine her eyes seem to sparkle with it and Lexa feels her heart flutter in a way it hasn’t since she held Delilah after seventy miserable hours of labour and a rushed c-section.
“You too Clarke.” Her smiles matches Clarke as they both slowly retire back to their respective apartments.
Once the door is closed, Lexa pauses, staring at it. Clarke’s pretty. Cute and charming. She is, just their small interaction proved that. She’s exactly Lexa’s type too, back when Lexa still cared for that, when she was younger and interested in a relationship. Back when she was young. Perhaps back when she was Clarke’s age. Because Clarke is young; Lexa wouldn’t even put her in her thirties yet, way below the age minimum Lexa would ever consider if she was ever to date again. But it felt nice, clicking this way with someone right away, having someone look at her like she is a woman to be desired instead of the mom of the two rowdy teenagers.
“Mom?” Alex comes behind her with slight concern as she stares at the door.
Lexa quickly shakes the thoughts out of her head. She has her children to focus on and a class of twenty-seven students to teach, she does not have time for whatever fantasy her heart wants to spur out of small chat with a pretty girl.
“Sorry honey, what did you say?” She places the bags by the door, knowing they’ll be forgotten there until next morning when she inevitable trips on them but caring little for that right now.
“Lilah burned the pizza.” He tells her, a little too content with ratting on his sister.
“HE told ME to put the oven that hot, mom! It wasn’t my fault!” Delilah whines right after, a frown already deeply set on her face as she stares daggers at her older brother.
“Mom, I swear I didn’t!”
Lexa closes her eyes and sighs so hard she nearly feels light headed. She most certainly does not have space for any sort of romance in her life, “You kids are gonna send me into an early retirement.”