Passés and Pasttimes, an AgentCorp ficlet
Alex doesn't know why she decides to sign up for a beginner ballet class, except that Ruby has started one in Metropolis and has been talking about it nonstop for the past 3 skype calls, and Alex doesn't know half the words coming out of the kid's mouth.
It gets her out of the house at least, and keeps her active. She finds a studio that offers a late beginner class on Wednesday evenings. It's marked as an adult class, but when she arrives for the first class she discovers it's filled with twelve and thirteen year olds, and--
The CEO is decked out in a black long sleeve leotard and pink tights, feet flat in soft shoes, and sits adjacent to a clump of girls who had been chatting amongst themselves until Alex's interruption.
Lena freezes at the sound of her name, confusion filling her gaze as though she can't quite recognize Alex in this most unlikely of places.
She'd started the class following the invasion, Alex learns. After Kara pulled away, Lena had needed something else to pull her out into the world, something that wasn't work or science.
"I'd always wanted to know how to dance," Lena says, half-joking, half-deprecating. "So I figured why not."
And then she just... kept coming. The girls didn't seem to mind her, and she had a working knowledge now, so things were smoother, and it remained a way for her to relax.
It's clear she expects incredulity, or ridicule, but Alex isn't in any position to judge even if she were inclined to. As the class progresses, Alex learns first that ballet is HARD, and second that when Lena said working knowledge, she meant a working knowledge.
Lena is able to explain the terms thrown out by the instructor (all french, of which Alex remembers absolutely nothing from her high school classes, and is pretty sure they never covered this vocabulary), but when it comes time for Lena to piqué her way across the floor, her movements are deliberate and measured. Not at all like the tweens who float across the floor as though they were born doing it. Her shoulders are stiff and she wobbles on her turns, never quite hitting perfect balance but managing to tilt in the direction she needs to go to keep moving.
It's better than Alex, who's relegated to chaînés half-turns and can't even manage those without nearly face planting.
She's told to watch the others to get a feel of the rhythm, to watch the way they shift their weight from leg to leg, but Alex finds herself watching Lena instead.
There's something humanizing in the intense focus that furrows her brow, eyes half-focused as she turns her attention inwards, struggling to engage the right muscles, align the right limbs at the right time. So too in the little growls of frustration when Lena's ankles roll out of the passé they're trying to balance, and the little hop as she forces herself right back into it.
After that first class, Alex invites Lena out for a drink.
It becomes a routine, and in the weeks that follow, Alex learns that Lena enjoys the challenge.
"I've been really lucky-- growing up, there wasn't much I wasn't good at. And back then everything was always a competition: even if there weren't trophies or ribbons, it was expected that I be better than everyone else. Now though, it's just for fun. I don't do the recitals, or anything. It's a whole new skillset that keeps me distracted for an hour a week."
Alex finds the same appeal, as the class progresses. While her balance is shit-- far worse than Lena's-- her turnout is far better.
"You spend twenty years in skirts and heels," Lena grumbles, when Alex playfully smirks when the instructor praises her for it, "then we'll see who has the better turnout."
Lena has better grace though. While neither of their flexibility is particularly flaunt worthy, when Lena does find her center, she knows how to hold it. The day Lena turns through an entire adaggio without losing her balance even once, Alex buys the drinks.
It becomes a secret-not-secret between them. Neither of them mention the class, not even to Kara, but both of them continue to attend. They're so religious about it, in fact, that when one class starts with no sign of Lena, Alex's heart trips with alarm.
"I'm sure she's fine," the instructor assures her. "She missed more than a month last spring."
Alex connects the dots to Reign, and Lena's desperate attempts to save Sam.
"I have to go," she says, grabbing her bag and rushing out.
She finds Lena three blocks away, on her knees with a gun to her head.
The gunman spots Alex just as she reaches for her weapon, and wrenches Lena to her feet, hiding behind her even as his gun pressed tight against her temple.
"Drop it!!" he shrieks. "Drop it, or she dies!"
Lena meets her eye, and Alex almost rolls her eyes to see how calm she is.
"You don't want to do that," Alex says, drawing the man's attention to her and away from where Lena's lifting hands are slowly drifting towards the gun.
"Do what? Shoot her? Cuz I will!"
"No..." Alex drawls, allowing a smirk as Lena's lips firm with readiness. "Get so close."
Lena explodes into motion, forcing the gun up then twisting it outwards against the mugger's grip, snapping his finger in the trigger guard. She keeps her hands on the weapon and scrapes her foot down the front of his shin, then slams it into the inside of his knee.
He drops with a cry, and makes no move to rise as Alex surges in, gun ready.
"You okay?" she asks, glancing at Lena from the corner of her eye.
Lena flicks her hair over her shoulder, huffing lightly. "Fine," she says crisply. She ejects the mag and curses. "Empty. I knew it."
"You planning on getting killed tonight, buddy?" Alex snaps. "'Cause that's how you get killed. By law enforcement."
"The fuck do you know?" comes drifting up between sobs. "You bitches broke my leg!"
Alex smirks, and keys her ID to show her federal badge. "FBI, bitch." Another muffled curse groaned up at her. "And you'll live. You're lucky."
She radios it in, and stays to give her statement. Then she waits more, as Lena gives her own account of what happened. By the time the squad cars pull out, Lena's cool is starting to crack.
Lena gives a tremulous sigh, and offers a thin smile. "You'd think it'd get old at some point." Her breath hitches. "Never does though."
"Come on," Alex offers. "Let's get you home."
Home ends up being Alex's apartment. She offers Lena water, which makes Lena smirk. "What, no alcohol? I must look horrible."
"No, but if we drank every time you almost get killed, we'd have cirrhosis of the liver before we're 30."
That earns a laugh, and the sound lifts the mood measurably. Lena takes off her coat, and curls into Alex's couch in her yoga pants and loose t-shirt, looking very much at home.
Alex finds she very much likes the sight of it.
"Fine," Lena teases, "but if we're not having booze, then I need food. Thai. Now."
They eat too much, and sip on enough thai tea to send them into a carb coma. Sitting quietly on the couch, they exist in a nebulous realm between friendship and more, until Lena blinks sluggishly at her.
"You came looking for me."
Alex looks at her. Sees her. Leans closer, to nudge shoulders. "Well, I wasn't going to be making a fool of myself alone, so--"
Lena's hand on her cheek is all the warning she gets, before warm lips meet hers. Alex loses track of everything but Lena's mouth, Lena's skin under her fingers, pushing aside clothes and straps to get more, more, more.
They pause moments, minutes, hours later, and Lena pulls back but doesn't disengage. She breathes heavily, eyes closing as he fingers laces with Alex's.
"Thank you," she murmurs through swollen lips.
Alex drinks her in, and feels her heart fill.
