rivertalesien:

I think my favorite intimate Clexa moment (and a favorite heartbreaking moment too) isn’t the usual stuff, it’s the scene in 3×03 when Clarke whirls on Lexa and puts the knife to her throat.  They haven’t been that physically close in months. The last time they were was the first time they kissed.

This time, the knife pressed against her skin, Lexa remembers it. She remembers every detail, every second of that kiss, of being so close to Clarke. She remembers the taste of her lips, the small draw of breath, the deep calm that lasted almost barely a moment. But there was a lifetime in that moment. It humbled her then, it humbles her now. All the gratitude she cannot show, all the love she cannot offer.

She remembers and she presses forward, she would die to get closer, to be so close to Clarke again. She hates herself for it, regrets every day of her life that led them to this. She doesn’t deserve to be so close.  She hopes for nothing but Clarke’s ongoing existence and the end of her pain. If her life ends now, this is how it should be, her life belongs to this broken girl before her.

She would do anything to make up for it all. If she gets the chance, she will fall to her knees and offer up her soul to put things right. She presses into the blade. They are so close and Clarke’s tears are like icy pinpricks across her heart. She feels a terrible burning in the center of her chest, as if she has been run through.

She would fall, now, but the knife has dropped and Clarke has turned away. Her life is worth nothing. She brings nothing but pain.

She is dying inside when she steps away. She cannot apologize, she cannot ask forgiveness. Everything she does is wrong. She can only let her go.

________________________________________________________

For Clarke, that long-ago kiss is seared into her waking dreams, a ghostly brand on her flesh. She has hated it and longed for it in equal measure. The girl before her makes her want to pull levers over and over until she melts, dissolves, burns down to ash, a red plume of smoke on the breeze.

She doesn’t trust Roan, doesn’t believe him, but the knife and that throat and that face. So calm and serene as if she’s never known a day’s trouble. Her arrogance “You didn’t need my help.” She could scream. She could rip bloody tears down her perfect cheeks.

She doesn’t have to think, it just happens: she lunges, presses in, hard. She was wholly unprepared. 

There is hardly a change in her expression, but the girl does nothing. She won’t stop her. She presses harder, warning, I’ll do it. Stop me. Lexa must feel the bite of the blade, but she doesn’t wince. She could break her in half without trying, but she doesn’t. She’s offering herself. 

Why? Why must you always be what I want?

They are so close, their breath is one breath.

Clarke wants to hate her. She tries. She tries and she tries and she tries. She wants to claw at her face and kiss her again, one last time. She wants Lexa to know.

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you.

I hate you so much.

Why did you leave me, my love?

Why did you leave me?