She clears her throat and wipes down the bar, out of idleness rather than real necessity. “You want – the Kennedy package.” 

“What I said, wasn’t it?” the girl snaps at her. Before Lexa can react in any way, her blue eyes widen with shock. “I – I’m sorry. I’m not usually that rude. It’s just been a day,” she sighs, plopping onto a chair. 

“Well, I am a bartender,” Lexa says, then, and silently congratulates herself on getting her mouth to cooperate with her brain and producing an actual sentence. A smooth sentence, no less. “Here to listen to your story and provide meaningful advice. I’m not too hot on that front, though. Also – what’s a Kennedy package?” 

The girl’s eyes widen again at that. “You don’t know what a Kennedy package is?” When Lexa shakes her head, she squints. “I had a feeling it was something they made up. Sorry,” she apologizes again at Lexa’s inquiring look. “I binged How I Met Your Mother this week. They had this thing where Lily pays a bartender and goes if you see me with an empty glass, refill it or something like that – honestly, I don’t even remember because, you know. I binged it in a week. Details get muddy.” 

“Certainly. Never watched it, heard it was fun,” Lexa tells her conversationally. “I could do Kennedy package. At,” she glances at her watch, “4 pm on a Tuesday. Wow. Wanna tell me what’s up?” 

The girl smiles for the first time, then, and Lexa just knows she’s doomed. “Get me drunk first.” 

*** 

Her name is Clarke, and she’s completely disillusioned with life. Or so she tells her, at least, as she’s working through her second gin and tonic. 

“It’s not really that bad,” she says as she finishes her drink. “It’s just all those little things piling up, you know?” 

Lexa really does, so she nods. “Refill?” she nods at Clarke’s empty glass. “Same thing, or…?” 

The girl shrugs. “I don’t know. Surprise me. Maybe make it Christmas-y, since ‘tis the season and all that.” Her grin is quick and sharp and filled with something painful. “Not that I’m celebrating this year, as you can tell.” 

“I’d say you got a head start on celebrations, actually,” Lexa attempts to joke. It’s probably the alcohol, but it does make Clarke smile. “You never did tell me what happened. If you want to, of course.” 

She watches her sigh and catches the empty glass she slides her way. “What didn’t? Wow, that was dramatic. Sorry.” 

“You keep apologizing,” Lexa notes lightly as she gets to work, thoughtfully browsing through her shelves for the ingredients for Clarke’s cocktail. She’s not exactly running a fancy bar, but the essentials are there, and she’s grateful for a little break from usual jack and cokes. 

“Yeah. I kind of still feel a little guilty I snapped at you earlier,” Clarke admits. Lexa only hums as the cocktail comes together. She quickly checks if she’s got everything needed. White chocolate liqueur, vodka, peppermint schnapps, and heavy cream. Perfect. 

“There’s no need. I understand bad days,” she tells her guest as she mixes the liquids together in a shaker and tops it off with ice. Consumed with her preparations, she almost misses the transfixed look Clarke’s giving her. Almost. “So – your story?” 

“Right.” The blonde clears her throat and glances away with a blush. Which – again, probably the alcohol. “Where do I even start? First, a project I was working on got shut down. Then, because the project is no more, I went home and found my boyfriend cheating on me.” 

Lexa stills her movements, wincing. “That’s rough,” she offers, apologetically. There is a short sting of disappointment, but it’s quickly replaced with sympathy. When Clarke said it’s been a day, she wasn’t kidding. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” She starts pouring the freshly-made cocktail into a martini glass in-between stealing glances at the blonde who’s watching her with unconcealed curiosity. “What’s that?” 

“Peppermintini,” Lexa announces proudly with a grin before gently sliding it over to Clarke. “Oh! Here,” she reached under the bar and comes up with a candy cane. Blue eyes twinkle with an amused smile when she places it in the glass. “A finishing Christmas touch. Also, your boyfriend is a dick. I hope you know you deserve better.” 

“How do you know that I do?” Clarke inquires, squinting at her over the rim. “Maybe I’m a giant bitch.” 

She shrugs. The answer is easy enough. “No one deserves being cheated on, no matter who they are. Not a great thing to go through.” 

“No kidding,” Clarke mutters as she fiddles with the stem of her glass. “I wanted to break up with him for weeks now, but it still stung. Even though I was ready to let him go. Why is that?” She lets her head drop onto the bar, then, clearly not expecting Lexa to answer. “I kind of hate today,” comes a muffled groan from where she’s tucked her face in the crook of her elbow. 

Lexa chuckles. “Can’t say I relate,” she tells her. “I mean, I met you.” 

“True.” The blonde looks up, a crinkle between her eyebrows as she muses something. “I did meet you, too. Today sucks just a little less.” 

She takes a sip of her cocktail, then, and her expression changes from thoughtful to astonished so rapidly Lexa’s half-sure she’s a cartoon character. “Holy – you’re a wizard,” she says, completely serious. “A cocktail wizard.” 

“That sounds a little sad,” Lexa says, trying not to preen too openly under Clarke’s admiring gaze. 

“This is amazing,” she lets her know in a hushed tone. “I need more. Of different ones, too. What else can you make? Can all of them come with candy canes? It was corny but now I kind of love it.” 

“Oh, then you’ll love me,” Lexa states confidently, and of course she has to go and say something like that. She’s surprised it took her this long to ride a train to Awkwardville. 

But – and, again, must be the alcohol – all Clarke does is laugh, shrug, and send her a ridiculous over-the-top wink clearly meant to be that way. “Well, I am back on the market. Keep these coming, and we’ll see.” 

“Just so you know,” Lexa says, because she feels like this needs to be said, no matter how potentially foot-munching it might be, “I will not be accompanying you home while you’re drunk. So we’re clear. Not that I’m assuming you want me to – I mean, I just wanted to clarify! So you don’t think I might take advantage, or…” It’s times like this she really misses wearing glasses, because fumbling with them was a great way of lowering her anxiety and deflecting. Now, she grabs the nearby object – which just happens to be a corkscrew – and nearly yelps when she jams the sharp end in her thumb. 

Smooth.  

Clarke appears completely unfazed as she watches her mini-meltdown take place in front of her. “I appreciate the clarification,” she tells her, mirth clear in her voice. “Guess I’m coming back here tomorrow, then.” 

//

The figure’s name is Clarke, and her eyes are the impossibly blue color of the Earth’s sky. She crashed in the woods near the town she lives in. Right before Christmas, as she tells her. 

“You’re not gonna try to take over the world, right? Or, like – lay your eggs in my stomach or some other weird alien shit,” Clarke cautiously implores after she comes to on her couch and they exchange greetings and introductions. 

Lexa blinks. “Will you believe me if I say no?” She can’t help but quip, and Clarke lets out a nervous giggle. 

“I guess I will have to take your word for it.”

She spends the night telling Clarke everything about herself and the world that no longer exists.

//

They quickly figure out that Lexa’s very different on this planet. “It never happened back home,” Lexa tells her apologetically as they survey the remains of the coffee table she accidentally broke with a mere push. “It must be the yellow sun radiation.” 

“The sun is giving you superpowers,” Clarke states, incredulous. At Lexa’s nod, she blinks. “Cool. Cool cool cool. We gotta test that.” 

//

“You can fucking fly?!” 

“I couldn’t before!” Lexa yells back, equally awestruck. “I love this planet.” 

“Okay.” Clarke’s blonde hair gets in her eyes as she hastily takes off her hat, and she pushes it back, impatiently. “Please don’t take over it.”

Lexa decides not to dignify that with a response, instead swooping down to grab Clarke – who weights nothing to her - and float around with a laughing girl in her arms.

//

Snow, Lexa decides, is the most amazing thing. They never had it back home. Perhaps, centuries, a millennia ago, when the planet wasn’t dying and still had an actual ecosystem, but Lexa’s never witnessed it in person. 

She spends the next morning wandering around and touching it, listening to the way it crunches under her boots. If Clarke finds it weird, she doesn’t say anything. 

“Can’t believe I’m about to say this in an actual conversation, but – do you want to build a snowman?” she asks her from the porch, and Lexa tilts her head to the right, processing her words. 

“A snowman?” she echoes. Clarke’s smile is nothing but pure excitement. 

“Oh, this is gonna be so much fun.” 

Several hours later Lexa’s built a small snowman army in Clarke’s backyard with the help of her lightning speed. “Alright,” Clarke says. “I think you’re ready to discover the concept of a snowball fight.” 

Lexa’s not so sure after she explains it to her. “What if I hurt you?” 

Clarke only shrugs. “Let’s call it your control training, then.” And she’s right. It only takes a couple of broken tree branches and one rather impressive hole in Clarke’s fence to figure out just how much strength is needed to be human-appropriate, and in an hour Clarke and her are flinging snowballs back and forth. 

// 

“This is a hot chocolate,” Clarke announces, and at this point Lexa’s positive she’s actually died on her journey and this is her meeting the Creator. She tells Clarke as much. 

Her savior grins. “Boy, you’re not ready for cinnamon rolls.” 

Turns out she’s very much not. Once she’s over the initial shock from the sheer perfection of the baked goods, she devours most of them, barely leaving Clarke with two and guiltily asking if they could make more. 

“Figures you’d have super metabolism, too,” Clarke grumbles, but it’s with a smile. 

Lexa remembers something, then, and nudges her in the middle of baking. “Clarke? What is Christmas? You said it was soon.” 

“Oh.” Clarke stiffens, then, barely noticeable to a human’s eye. Which Lexa isn’t. “It’s – a holiday.” 

“A holiday? Like a celebration?” At Clarke’s nod, she jumps up with excitement, floating for several seconds. “I like those! We didn’t have much back home, but – the concept is alluring.” 

Clarke seems to be mulling something over while Lexa bombards her with more questions, and then, winning some sort of an internal battle, she grasps Lexa’s wrist. “Come on. I’m gonna need your help in the attic.” 

//

They are in the middle of decorating the spiky tree when Lexa conversationally asks if Clarke’s mated. Superpowers – and super reflexes – come in handy, then, because Clarke immediately loses her already precarious balance and tumbles down from a chair, stopped mere inches from the ground by a floating Lexa. 

“I, wow. Okay.” Clarke’s suddenly flustered and her gaze lands anywhere but on Lexa. “What?” 

“Do you have a mate,” Lexa repeats quietly, because – she’s still only vaguely familiar with Earthly customs and perhaps she’s just greatly offended Clarke by asking that question? Except Clarke doesn’t look very offended. 

“A mate – we don’t, um.” Blue eyes are wide with leftover shock, but there’s mirth starting to sparkle in them, too. “We don’t really have that concept of mating anymore. We do have marriages. Which – I’m not married. Or currently dating anyone, even.” 

“Dating,” Lexa slowly pronounces, and Clarke blinks before something like resolve settles over her features and she gently guides them to the couch. 

“Okay. So.” 

// 

After a detailed explanation of Earth’s courtship customs, Lexa nods and slides to her knee, only faltering when she notices Clarke’s horrified expression. “Uh – would you, um, would you like to go on a date with me?” 

“Jesus fucking – okay,” Clarke breathes, then, and practically hauls her up, making her sit back on the couch. “You don’t have to get on one knee when you ask a person out. Just marriage. And people don’t get married after two days of knowing each other. Well,” she grimaces. “Some do, but – just, don’t do that. Marriage is definitely not on the table.” 

Lexa nods. “And a date is?” 

“Again. It’s been two days.” 

She shrugs. “Back home, we had a mate assigned to us through an algorithm. Sometimes you’ve never even met them before the system determined you were mates.” But knowing is definitely better, Lexa thinks. If only to solidify the decision. Two days with Clarke, and she already feels way behind. 

“Were you… did you have a mate, then? You look… old enough. Wait.” Clarke’s horrified again for what seems to be a different reason. “How old are you, exactly? You’re not a child in your years, right? Right?!” 

Lexa assures her she is definitely not a child, which seems to calm Clarke significantly. “And – no. I chose to wait before my career was stable enough and my place in the community was strong. I do not come from a wealthy family, nor a respected one. I wanted to make sure I was worthy of my mate.” 

“Oh,” Clarke sighs, then, and Lexa thinks she must have said something right without even meaning to, because next thing she knows she’s wrapped up in a tight hug. “Lexa. You don’t have to prove you’re worthy. You just… you’re you,” she whispers clumsily. 

“I am me now,” Lexa clarifies, a little confused but mostly glad. “Does that mean you will go on a date with me?” 

Clarke’s amused laugh isn’t really an answer but Lexa’s okay with settling for that now. 

// 

The next day, it snows. She runs around with the white flakes and laughs and catches them on her tongue, reveling in the fresh, crisp taste of frozen water. Clarke mostly watches from the porch and laughs, but she doesn’t protest when Lexa drags her out into the snow and occasionally flies them, low enough so no one can see. 

“Thank you,” Clarke tells her, much later, as they finish with decorating and all the cooking and Lexa proclaims she’s never ever leaving this planet after she scarfs down several helpings of roasted chicken and gravy. They are about to watch something called A Charlie Brown Christmas and Lexa feels like she’s never felt before in the comfort of Clarke’s small living room under a blanket that smells like her. 

“Thank you for what?” 

Clarke smiles, but it’s sad. “I don’t know if you remember this, but I told you Christmas is a family holiday. And, as you can see, it’s only you and me tonight.” 

“Oh.” Lexa’s eyes light up. “So we’re a family?” 

“No, you dork – well,” Clarke bites her lower lip in thought before her smile becomes a little less sad. “Maybe. Seems like it, doesn’t it? What I meant, though, is that I wasn’t planning on celebrating this year. And I haven’t… haven’t really celebrated for a couple of years now. I didn’t see the point,” she barks out a sudden, bitter-sounding laugh that makes Lexa flinch. “And then you literally fell from the sky and had no idea about, well, anything – I mean, you practically asked me to marry you on day two.” 

“I am not living that one down, am I,” Lexa deadpans, and much to her delight, Clarke laughs. 

“Absolutely not. But what I’m saying is…” her hand is warm on Lexa’s. Comforting. “You gave me a reason to celebrate. And, in your own weird, cute, alien way reminded me how fun this can be. So.” She entwines their fingers together, and Lexa’s heart about stops in her chest. “Thank you.” 

They are slowly leaning in when Lexa fidgets and decides she shouldn’t push her luck by not asking first, so: “It would be appropriate to kiss you now, correct?”