The frosty wind slipped past her layers and through her lungs, stealing the breath there and settling the cold along her spine like the palm of a hand. Dots of snow kissed the dark smudges under her eyes as she looked beyond the alley and the dusky shadows to a time that had slipped between her fingers but had splintered in her heart: a time of danger and of something more than words had ever described.
A gust danced around her and felt momentarily like his arms. Sound caught in her throat and she glanced over her shoulder into near blackness, needlessly on guard. A crystalline breath passed her lips and her eyes roved the empty street, skipping over the tavern across from her before settling unwaveringly on it. This is where the future lay.
The wind pushed at her back, taunting, and she steeled her eyes, dampening her hopes and locking away the idle daydreams she'd had of what might happen. Her boots scuffed against the road, kicking up puffs of snow, and brought her faithfully to the door. She traced the lines of wear on the wood, stalling just inside the frame, and slowly curled fingers around the handle, turning and pushing.
Years of necessity had her automatically scouting the dim room and she found it empty of threat. Dusty tables and broken men were scattered through the area and she swayed between them, carving a path to the bar. She ordered an ale in hushed tones, not wishing to disturb the silence, and scrutinized the tavern again, paying sharp attention to the patrons. She cut a new path across the floor and took an empty table, kept her eyes on the murky depths of her drink and waited.
With fingers dancing across the worn surface of the table, she started to hum. The tune stuck in her throat at first but it smoothed out and she kept tally as the men glanced at her for stolen seconds before turning back to their miseries.
When the last had looked away, she hummed a few more bars, waiting still, until a chair scratched back across the floor and someone sat opposite her. She tilted her eyes up at him, observing his haggard face and insistent expression.
"Where did you learn that song?" he half asked, half demanded, hand white-knuckled around his tankard.
She cocked her head an inch and took him in.
"Well?" he prompted, unsettled.
Nostalgia drew a sad smile on her lips. "From you."
He stared hard at her then shook his head. "You couldn't have," he stated firmly, irritation around his eyes. "I wrote that song and I never taught it to anyone."
"You taught it to me," she countered softly, eyes catching his.
"Your story would be more believable if I'd ever met you," he retorted, jaw set.
She buried the hurt from that comment and hitched her lip up in a crooked smile. "Can you be so sure we haven't?" she wondered.
"Why are you so sure we have?"
She reached into her pocket, fingertips closing around the cold metal, and sent it skittering across the table to him. He looked at her, curious and wary, and brought the trinket to his eye. Immediately his face hardened. "How did you get this?" he bit out.
She pulled the hat from her head and tugged her scarf further down, revealing her face properly. "You gave it to me," she told him, watching as he gaped at her soundlessly.
Eventually he dropped his eyes to his tankard and quietly asked: "What are you doing here Sammy?"
She sat back in her chair. "I could ask the same of you Ben."