( the thing about comfort — about emotional absolution — is the party on the receiving end has to at least be slightly ready to forgive themselves for it to work. and clarke just isn't there yet. she does a good job choking it down around lexa, around murphy and bellamy, but the guilt is always there. titus' blatant vilification had eaten at her very soul until she'd internalized the message and come to believe it; i may have pulled the trigger, but it was you. he may have shot her, but it was me. the words pound all the heavier in her ears every time she and lexa have been close enough to touch, and swell in her throat like a wave ready to crash upon rocks.
she's not dead now, yes. but if they were to ever return home again, like clarke has sworn to herself she will, lexa will be dead there too. again. so perhaps the real question is: what did those desires make her? )
(I don't think so.) ( there's the rumble of memories on the other end of the bridge, loose rocks giving way under pressure. and clarke very much wants to dig into the emotional avalanche emanating from mat; wants to drown with him, use the borrowed sensation of being stabbed to lend an outlet for the constricting pain that curls in her gut every time she's left to her own thoughts about the complications that are her and lexa. but doesn't. her suffering should be her own, and they weren't going to get anywhere in terms of preparation if they allowed themselves to fall into that visceral feedback loop. )
(She knows it's happened. The others have told her, but she didn't experience it yet.) ( she's still moderately confused on how that works in the realm of things. interdimensional multiverses hadn't been covered in between earth science and math class. and clarke doesn't know if saving lexa from her own death had been a mercy or a slight. )
[ Clarke's doing a good job of pulling back from his thoughts, but he's having a hard time doing the same. Her guilt feels like a tangible weight. Maybe it's the familiarity that makes it difficult to shake off, calling like to like rather than just claiming her grief for his own.
Except that whatever's between Clarke and Lexa is stronger than whatever he'd had with Melindhra. The comparison feels selfish, and in the end it's more an objective consideration than anything else; grasping at where she's coming from, if not quite hitting the mark.
He turns over a handful of responses, some close enough to the surface that she'll likely get a sense of them — that Lexa might say otherwise, that she's got a second chance. True enough, in his opinion, but he's been on the other end of placating remarks. They usually don't amount to much. ]
( I could talk for hours trying to make you feel better, if that's what you want. But I reckon you should be asking her what the two of you are, not me.)
( a half-hearted cop-out. she should bring her guilt and reservations to the surface in a proper discussion with lexa, clarke knows this. and yet every time she looks at the other woman, the words get stuck in her throat; pushed to the darkest recesses of her mind in favor of just appreciating her existence and allowing her heart beat an uneven rhythm in her chest. because, yes, this was a second chance. but clarke was continually waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this peaceful coexistence between the two of them to crumble in the same spectacular nature it had back home. maybe she didn't want to hear lexa's answer to that question, for fear of it contradicting or complimenting her own.
the problem with loving someone, losing them, and finding them again was — you knew what losing them felt like. that isn't a feeling one could so easily shake.
and yet, clarke tries. clears her throat, sniffs; like those two composing sounds would mask all the overflowing sorrow in her heart. there is the urge to be useful, to use her hands and her brain for anything other than dwelling on this sudden and unwelcome swell of feelings. )
[ Mat's the last person to call someone out for dodging their emotions. There's a pull of disappointment in their link, all the same; at her for avoiding the issue, at himself for not coming up with some miracle fix.
Clarke's question is followed by a heavy pause. He could pursue the subject, but he's not sure to what end. Upsetting Clarke, most likely. ]
(I'll be awake when I'm awake.)
[ Except the undercurrent says yes, a steadfast confirmation that he'll be there when she asks. If he can't offer any resolution to her real problems, he can at least be on time. ]
( stubborn for the sake of being stubborn. she can respect that.
and while the good-natured, friendly tone of their conversation had flickered and died sometime around the first mention of her homeworld, clarke has adequately buttoned up her weepy mood and retreats from his mind with the faint impression of a small smile and a nod.
(and an unspoken threat along the lines of i know where you sleep and i'm not opposed to rolling you out of bed — just for good measure.) )
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no subject
she's not dead now, yes. but if they were to ever return home again, like clarke has sworn to herself she will, lexa will be dead there too. again. so perhaps the real question is: what did those desires make her? )
( I don't think so. ) ( there's the rumble of memories on the other end of the bridge, loose rocks giving way under pressure. and clarke very much wants to dig into the emotional avalanche emanating from mat; wants to drown with him, use the borrowed sensation of being stabbed to lend an outlet for the constricting pain that curls in her gut every time she's left to her own thoughts about the complications that are her and lexa. but doesn't. her suffering should be her own, and they weren't going to get anywhere in terms of preparation if they allowed themselves to fall into that visceral feedback loop. )
( She knows it's happened. The others have told her, but she didn't experience it yet. ) ( she's still moderately confused on how that works in the realm of things. interdimensional multiverses hadn't been covered in between earth science and math class. and clarke doesn't know if saving lexa from her own death had been a mercy or a slight. )
no subject
Except that whatever's between Clarke and Lexa is stronger than whatever he'd had with Melindhra. The comparison feels selfish, and in the end it's more an objective consideration than anything else; grasping at where she's coming from, if not quite hitting the mark.
He turns over a handful of responses, some close enough to the surface that she'll likely get a sense of them — that Lexa might say otherwise, that she's got a second chance. True enough, in his opinion, but he's been on the other end of placating remarks. They usually don't amount to much. ]
( I could talk for hours trying to make you feel better, if that's what you want. But I reckon you should be asking her what the two of you are, not me. )
no subject
( a half-hearted cop-out. she should bring her guilt and reservations to the surface in a proper discussion with lexa, clarke knows this. and yet every time she looks at the other woman, the words get stuck in her throat; pushed to the darkest recesses of her mind in favor of just appreciating her existence and allowing her heart beat an uneven rhythm in her chest. because, yes, this was a second chance. but clarke was continually waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this peaceful coexistence between the two of them to crumble in the same spectacular nature it had back home. maybe she didn't want to hear lexa's answer to that question, for fear of it contradicting or complimenting her own.
the problem with loving someone, losing them, and finding them again was — you knew what losing them felt like. that isn't a feeling one could so easily shake.
and yet, clarke tries. clears her throat, sniffs; like those two composing sounds would mask all the overflowing sorrow in her heart. there is the urge to be useful, to use her hands and her brain for anything other than dwelling on this sudden and unwelcome swell of feelings. )
( Early tomorrow, got it? )
no subject
Clarke's question is followed by a heavy pause. He could pursue the subject, but he's not sure to what end. Upsetting Clarke, most likely. ]
( I'll be awake when I'm awake. )
[ Except the undercurrent says yes, a steadfast confirmation that he'll be there when she asks. If he can't offer any resolution to her real problems, he can at least be on time. ]
no subject
and while the good-natured, friendly tone of their conversation had flickered and died sometime around the first mention of her homeworld, clarke has adequately buttoned up her weepy mood and retreats from his mind with the faint impression of a small smile and a nod.
(and an unspoken threat along the lines of i know where you sleep and i'm not opposed to rolling you out of bed — just for good measure.) )