[ Krouse looks back at Clarke when she says that's it?, a sheen of resignation already across his eyes. It stays there while she goes through a neat, practical assessment of what he's told her about the threat, what they can do about it, and caps it off with polite, slightly dismissive assurance.
His mouth twists when she's done, expression creasing at the edges in a way that could be the cusp of all sorts of things. Frustration, hurt, desperation - or, as it turns out, a short, dry laugh as he drops his head and brings his hands up to press fingers along the sides of his nose. ]
Yeah. [ He says, voice threaded with a hairline crack. ] Okay.
[ He squeezes his eyes shut as he makes a quiet, tight noise at the back of his throat, digging his fingertips into soft corners at the top of the bridge of his nose. Then his hands drop as he straightens back up, landing on his knees. ]
I'm not asking you to be scared. I'm saying you shouldn't underestimate her, because even if she can't get to you? She'll find another angle to come at you from, if she decides you're a target she wants to focus on, and nothing pisses her off more than people not being impressed by her schtick.
[ There's a dozen things he could tell her that might make her understand. He can't use any of them. Not unless he was sure that she was going to end up a target, and the only way he'll know that is if it happens.
What he can say is something he's been doing his best not to allow, let alone admit, even to himself. But it's the crux of why they're in this situation. The thing he's done to her in exchange for a handful of moments of feeling like -
Like there could be something more to him than the sum of his mistakes. A rounding error in the math where he could hide this one small, warm thing. ]
And it meant something to me.
[ He's smiling again, faintly, because what the else is he supposed to do? ]
Not trying to get sentimental on you. I'd just rather you hear it from me first. [ His smile tilts, achingly wry. ] I like you, Clarke. And if she doesn't have a problem with you after the labyrinth, she's going to have a problem with that.
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His mouth twists when she's done, expression creasing at the edges in a way that could be the cusp of all sorts of things. Frustration, hurt, desperation - or, as it turns out, a short, dry laugh as he drops his head and brings his hands up to press fingers along the sides of his nose. ]
Yeah. [ He says, voice threaded with a hairline crack. ] Okay.
[ He squeezes his eyes shut as he makes a quiet, tight noise at the back of his throat, digging his fingertips into soft corners at the top of the bridge of his nose. Then his hands drop as he straightens back up, landing on his knees. ]
I'm not asking you to be scared. I'm saying you shouldn't underestimate her, because even if she can't get to you? She'll find another angle to come at you from, if she decides you're a target she wants to focus on, and nothing pisses her off more than people not being impressed by her schtick.
[ There's a dozen things he could tell her that might make her understand. He can't use any of them. Not unless he was sure that she was going to end up a target, and the only way he'll know that is if it happens.
What he can say is something he's been doing his best not to allow, let alone admit, even to himself. But it's the crux of why they're in this situation. The thing he's done to her in exchange for a handful of moments of feeling like -
Like there could be something more to him than the sum of his mistakes. A rounding error in the math where he could hide this one small, warm thing. ]
And it meant something to me.
[ He's smiling again, faintly, because what the else is he supposed to do? ]
Not trying to get sentimental on you. I'd just rather you hear it from me first. [ His smile tilts, achingly wry. ] I like you, Clarke. And if she doesn't have a problem with you after the labyrinth, she's going to have a problem with that.