"Alright, well," Lexa clears her throat. "I'll see you soon?"
"Yeah," is Clarke's short, almost shy answer. They've been standing in her hallway for about half an hour now - Lexa insisted on seeing her to the door. 'It's late, and your hallways are dark,' Lexa told her evenly. Clarke only hummed in agreement, deciding against pointing out the obvious.
It's just as hard for Lexa to say goodbye as it is for her.
She glances down and then back at Lexa's face, lightly biting her lip. She knows she's shamelessly flirting. Judging by the way Lexa's breath catches in her throat, she doesn't particularly mind. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
Lexa's smirk is small, but it speaks volumes. "You know we won't stop at tea, Clarke," she says quietly, and her eyes are vibrant green. "Especially not right now."
"Oh?" Maybe she should cut it out. Probably. But it's been so long since she's felt comfortable teasing Lexa like this; since Lexa allowed her to get this close to tease her. It's -- exhilarating. "And what's so special about right now?"
"Not after what you've told me outside Dr. Grant's office," Lexa clarifies. Her voice drops even lower. Just like the shivers down Clarke's back. "Unless..." She trails off, searching Clarke's face. Not for the first time, Clarke finds herself wanting to cave so, so badly. She suspects Lexa's perfectly aware of the effect she has on her. She's just not aware she's using it to her advantage sometimes.
And that's the thought that makes Clarke pause, and think, and take a small step back. It doesn't stop a wistful sigh from falling, though. "Dr. Grant is right," she says. "We're not... we're not there yet."
Images of Lexa - quickly, roughly, gently, persistently, unsurely - pushing her hands away whenever she's wanted to touch her, to feel her, flash through her mind, and she swallows the bitter lump in her throat. I don't want that to happen, and I have a feeling that's exactly what's going to happen if we were to -- and I'm so tired of feeling empty.
The gentle, sad curve of Lexa's mouth lets her know she's thinking the same thing. "I'm sorry," she whispers, "for being so... forthcoming."
"No, no, I understand," Clarke quickly interjects. "Trust me," she lets out a humorless chuckle. "I get it."
Lexa's smile is muted. "Right." She surprises Clarke by slowly reaching out and taking her hand in hers. "I... I wish I could say we're already there," she says, looking up at her and finding her eyes with her own.
"I know." Clarke's overcome with this sudden want to reassure her, and so she does - or at least tries to, stepping closer to her and taking her other hand. Smoothing her thumbs over her knuckles. Lexa does that a lot to her. It feels good to reciprocate. "It's okay to need time, Lexa. And space, too. If you--" she swallows, again, because the words will never get less painful to get out but -- but. "If you ever need to... take a step back, I want you to feel comfortable with sharing that need with me. And I'll understand. I promise you, Lexa."
"Okay." She knows Lexa wants to tell her that no, she won't need that anymore, but at this point, it would be a lie. Clarke watches Lexa take a deep breath, and feels her squeeze her hands. "It's enough, you know," she tells her then, smiling more with her eyes than her lips. "Your promise. It's -- enough."
And Clarke hears everything Lexa doesn't say. I'm getting closer to trusting your word, Lexa's eyes tell her, and they are filled with wonder, as if Lexa herself is only now discovering that. Perhaps, she is.
Clarke nods, and leans into Lexa, resting her head on her shoulder and smiling when she feels Lexa's arms slowly entwine her waist. "I don't want to go," she confesses quietly into Lexa's jacket, inhaling her scent. Leather mixed with soft, barely-there cologne and Lexa.
