and she can't just out and say me too back at him, because that would completely void the offer she'd extended back to normalcy in form of a gun and a plan to return it. the thought of lexa kom trikru in her glory and in her demise will always twist up a certain part of clarke's stomach — like the grief in her heart had metastasized and worked downward, made it's own organ in the empty space her kidney once occupied; she will always be sorry about her — but lexa isn't here right now. and lexa isn't in visible anguish directly in front of her, krouse is.
he's drying his tears on his sleeves. and those little wet patches on the cuffs of his hoodie seem like a greater tax on his person than the pools of blood that'd dripped down into the dirt of the labyrinth had been. he offers condolences within a breath of making his own need of compassion clear — and apologizing for it. guess it brought some things back. )
It's okay.
( i'm okay as a shameless lie, and it's okay that you're not as an unabashed truth — all in one fell swoop. and one of the hands she'd had wrapped around the warm base of her ceramic coffee mug drifts over until it rests on the table between them. the tips of her fingers twitch and slide with a small jerk from her elbow — an inch closer to krouse, a gentle invitation to reach for.
if he needs. if he wants. she's right there and she understands. could have offered him a napkin from the little dispenser on the table but instead offers the ridges of her fingertips and gun callouses of her palm. one of the only other visible reminders of clarke's time in the maze (a deep purple bruise from being viciously kicked in the right wrist by an angry blonde) makes an appearance as the sleeve of her shirt tugs up with the friction of the wooden tabletop.
at the same time, her sneaker squeaks against the polished floor from an aborted slide forward. like she was going to find the leg her nervously jiggled and slip the rubber toe of her off-brand nike's beneath the heel like a wedge, but curbed the impulse at the last moment.
what were they talking about? right, the gun. )
I'm sorry I probably used up the rest of the bullets. Hopefully you have more.
no subject
and she can't just out and say me too back at him, because that would completely void the offer she'd extended back to normalcy in form of a gun and a plan to return it. the thought of lexa kom trikru in her glory and in her demise will always twist up a certain part of clarke's stomach — like the grief in her heart had metastasized and worked downward, made it's own organ in the empty space her kidney once occupied; she will always be sorry about her — but lexa isn't here right now. and lexa isn't in visible anguish directly in front of her, krouse is.
he's drying his tears on his sleeves. and those little wet patches on the cuffs of his hoodie seem like a greater tax on his person than the pools of blood that'd dripped down into the dirt of the labyrinth had been. he offers condolences within a breath of making his own need of compassion clear — and apologizing for it. guess it brought some things back. )
It's okay.
( i'm okay as a shameless lie, and it's okay that you're not as an unabashed truth — all in one fell swoop. and one of the hands she'd had wrapped around the warm base of her ceramic coffee mug drifts over until it rests on the table between them. the tips of her fingers twitch and slide with a small jerk from her elbow — an inch closer to krouse, a gentle invitation to reach for.
if he needs. if he wants. she's right there and she understands. could have offered him a napkin from the little dispenser on the table but instead offers the ridges of her fingertips and gun callouses of her palm. one of the only other visible reminders of clarke's time in the maze (a deep purple bruise from being viciously kicked in the right wrist by an angry blonde) makes an appearance as the sleeve of her shirt tugs up with the friction of the wooden tabletop.
at the same time, her sneaker squeaks against the polished floor from an aborted slide forward. like she was going to find the leg her nervously jiggled and slip the rubber toe of her off-brand nike's beneath the heel like a wedge, but curbed the impulse at the last moment.
what were they talking about? right, the gun. )
I'm sorry I probably used up the rest of the bullets. Hopefully you have more.