Clarke nods once for Lexa, and a second time for herself, brow furrowed and gaze on the ground. It'd be easy to be hurt in turn, or to decide that she's taken on enough of the vulnerability—and the flirting—and now it's someone else's turn. Lexa's, specifically. But Clarke knows her face too well, now, and knows what her skin does when Clarke's hands are close to it, and really, she's never been good at waiting for someone else to do anything.
So she looks up and comes closer, one hand on the strap of her bag to keep it in place until she's come to a stop and needs both of her hands to take Lexa's. The glowy one, underneath the glove. She lifts it up and kisses the back. Something else out of one of those books Lexa hasn't read.
As she lowers it and lets it go she opens her mouth, pauses while her lips twitch briefly into a smile at how stupid what she's going to say is, and then says it anyway—"In case I don't see it again."—with a defiant look up into her eyes. Cool and calm that.
As intended, this move catches Lexa entirely off-guard. She'd have been surprised even if it didn't feel like a whiplash about-face from the rest of the conversation, but as it is she comes about as close as she ever has to just standing there gaping open-mouthed. (Which is to say that for a moment she stares, eyes wide and liquid, lips parted the barest fraction around a breath that doesn't come; on anyone else it'd be no reaction at all, but on her it's the equivalent of a slow-motion soft-focus swoon.)
Suddenly everything else that's passed between them needs to be reevaluated, and—though a hard kernel of her still doubts whether Clarke wouldn't have walked off without a word had she not happened by—through this filter everything else Clarke's said begins to take on a different tone. She stares a little more, not at all smooth, nor cool, nor calm. Not by her own standards, anyway. She can't do nothing, not after a gesture like that, and not with the way Clarke's departure now suddenly aches all the more painfully for what might have been after all if they'd only had time.
All this shock and aww occurs in a pause that has lingered too long, but finally Lexa leans slowly forward into Clarke's space, and carefully brushes a kiss to her defiant cheek. "Be careful," she whispers. It sounds like come back.
Edited (em dashes for em jay) 2017-04-29 21:29 (UTC)
To say Clarke's eyes close would be an overstatement. There's no time for closed eyes at the moment. Really, there's no time for any of this. But she does blink very slowly while Lexa's mouth is on her cheek, and afterwards she smiles, tight and closed-lipped, and lifts a hand to briefly squeeze her shoulder.
It's not the most romantic gesture she's ever made. But look at it this way: she isn't kissing her face because that's something she's counting on seeing again later. Lexa is clearly the pessimist in this situation. "We'll be back," Clarke says, as confident as if she were actually entitled to boss around fate. "Our people are here, too."
There's a little bit of punch to that, like before. You could do more redux. But as willing as Clarke is to bully people into things when necessary, she can't genuinely say that this is. It would be nice, that's all. Nice for Lexa not to cut off her hand before Clarke can even properly begin making plans for it. Nice for her to be around. But it's nice for her to be watching Clarke and Bellamy's people, too, and it's nice for much less selfish reasons. So this is all the fight Clarke can put up.
Lexa's lips thin into a flat line at that last little dig, but there's something fondly exasperated in the way she nearly rolls her eyes. She's not that confident they'll return, but if anyone could manage to boss around fate, it would be Clarke, and there's some comfort in that.
"I'll see no harm comes to them," she says, because she knows beneath the needling that is something Clarke will worry about just as she would if she were the one being sent hundreds of miles away. She steps back before the moment has a chance to linger and turn awkward, her farewell a firm nod. "Safe journey."
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So she looks up and comes closer, one hand on the strap of her bag to keep it in place until she's come to a stop and needs both of her hands to take Lexa's. The glowy one, underneath the glove. She lifts it up and kisses the back. Something else out of one of those books Lexa hasn't read.
As she lowers it and lets it go she opens her mouth, pauses while her lips twitch briefly into a smile at how stupid what she's going to say is, and then says it anyway—"In case I don't see it again."—with a defiant look up into her eyes. Cool and calm that.
no subject
Suddenly everything else that's passed between them needs to be reevaluated, and—though a hard kernel of her still doubts whether Clarke wouldn't have walked off without a word had she not happened by—through this filter everything else Clarke's said begins to take on a different tone. She stares a little more, not at all smooth, nor cool, nor calm. Not by her own standards, anyway. She can't do nothing, not after a gesture like that, and not with the way Clarke's departure now suddenly aches all the more painfully for what might have been after all if they'd only had time.
All this shock and aww occurs in a pause that has lingered too long, but finally Lexa leans slowly forward into Clarke's space, and carefully brushes a kiss to her defiant cheek. "Be careful," she whispers. It sounds like come back.
no subject
It's not the most romantic gesture she's ever made. But look at it this way: she isn't kissing her face because that's something she's counting on seeing again later. Lexa is clearly the pessimist in this situation. "We'll be back," Clarke says, as confident as if she were actually entitled to boss around fate. "Our people are here, too."
There's a little bit of punch to that, like before. You could do more redux. But as willing as Clarke is to bully people into things when necessary, she can't genuinely say that this is. It would be nice, that's all. Nice for Lexa not to cut off her hand before Clarke can even properly begin making plans for it. Nice for her to be around. But it's nice for her to be watching Clarke and Bellamy's people, too, and it's nice for much less selfish reasons. So this is all the fight Clarke can put up.
no subject
"I'll see no harm comes to them," she says, because she knows beneath the needling that is something Clarke will worry about just as she would if she were the one being sent hundreds of miles away. She steps back before the moment has a chance to linger and turn awkward, her farewell a firm nod. "Safe journey."