( clarke had forwarded this entire conversation with the conviction that she wasn't drunk, but perhaps the alien liquor was having a stronger effect on her powers of deduction than originally thought. that would be an easy excuse, a decent way to pawn off any disconnect and her inability to fully comprehend their stark contrasting experiences. even when laid out so neatly before her very eyes. the efficient hurt, the sensation of exclusion; standing off to the side and observing two people so readily connected by history and heavy emotion. but it's been so long since she'd stood and watched finn and raven by the escape pod, and despite the invitation of association clarke refuses to acknowledge the comparisons.
openly admitting one's feelings, that ought to resonate too. she ought to pay that honesty back in kind, but the proverbial button on all of clarke's bone-deep vulnerability remains fastened. she grapples for a time, churning lexa's words over in her head. the accusations of her bias seem to be demanding an explanation, a defensive contradiction, a solid rejection and a firm stance in their solidarity as one people — bellamy, lexa, murphy; all people she cares deeply about, all invariably hers — when so completely detached from the populations that had made them into what they are. but the best clarke can muster is: )
(He's my best friend, Lexa.) ( it had been so easy to qualify their relationship as such when misato had accosted her on the viewing fields in the earlier stages of the races. my best friend, with all the weight of importance behind that fact, but simply put as if there's nothing else there. clarke hadn't deigned to provide misato the insight and footholds in the conversation to grapple further on the topic, but lexa already has the traction.
my best friend manages to sound a lot like i need him, i care for him, i trust him all rolled into one. the embodiment of all her people in one soul. it had never been a secret where each of their deepest loyalties lay, and yet under lexa's pointed inquisition, clarke squirms. )
no subject
openly admitting one's feelings, that ought to resonate too. she ought to pay that honesty back in kind, but the proverbial button on all of clarke's bone-deep vulnerability remains fastened. she grapples for a time, churning lexa's words over in her head. the accusations of her bias seem to be demanding an explanation, a defensive contradiction, a solid rejection and a firm stance in their solidarity as one people — bellamy, lexa, murphy; all people she cares deeply about, all invariably hers — when so completely detached from the populations that had made them into what they are. but the best clarke can muster is: )
( He's my best friend, Lexa. ) ( it had been so easy to qualify their relationship as such when misato had accosted her on the viewing fields in the earlier stages of the races. my best friend, with all the weight of importance behind that fact, but simply put as if there's nothing else there. clarke hadn't deigned to provide misato the insight and footholds in the conversation to grapple further on the topic, but lexa already has the traction.
my best friend manages to sound a lot like i need him, i care for him, i trust him all rolled into one. the embodiment of all her people in one soul. it had never been a secret where each of their deepest loyalties lay, and yet under lexa's pointed inquisition, clarke squirms. )
( I don't know what you want me to say. )