Maybe there's sill hope. Maybe her powers to convince Lexa will work just one more time. She hasn't stopped trying since finding out what Lexa plans to do. Thus far Clarke has been unsuccessful, but maybe tonight, the night before Lexa leaves Polis possibly never to return, Clarke can change her mind.
Her tears start before she's even made it half way across the room.
Lexa's on the balcony of her spacious bedroom. It's the quiet before the storm and the guards evacuate, knowing what's about to come. She's staring at the moon. Clarke can only make out her profile but she sees how still Lexa is. How still she always is.
"Please, Lexa. I'm, begging you, please, please don't do this. We can find another way." Lexa doesn't move. "Lexa," Clarke raises her voice, "if you go through with what you're planning you could very well die! I can't let you do that, I won't let you die for me."
Finally, there's a reaction. Lexa looks down, away from the moonlight. There's a deep breath as she turns toward Clarke. There is something unbelievably striking as well as startling by the unshed tears in Lexa's eyes. The lone one that escapes is desperately heartbreaking.
"Clarke," calm, strong, despite the agony painting the air. "I'd do anything for you, anything," she stresses. "Including walk to me death."
Clarke crosses the small balcony. Her intent must be clear because the face Lexa makes seems as if every hope she's ever had is about to be in her hands.
This kiss is much more frantic, it's hard and needy. It's "please stay" and "I can't" all in one. Lexa somehow pushes Clarke away.
"Clarke, wait," she requests with her eyes closed. When they open, Clarke is breathless. "You don't have to earn my fealty. You don't have to earn my loyalty and faithfulness. It's yours already." There's a beat where the only sound is Clarke's breath. "I love you, Clarke."
How does she react to the confession of a truth she's already painfully aware of? She blinks, grins, and says, "I thought love was weakness." She turns her head from those soulful, green eyes. A finger tilts Clarke's chin. "You are not my weakness, Clarke, you are my strength."
Lexa is kissed and has the strength of a thousand men because she pulls away from Clarke yet again. This time she doesn't move far. Their forheads are touching, their eyes locked.
"Are you sure, Clarke?"
"I'm sure." It's with adoration and conviction. It's honest. It's a plea.
And Lexa, she can rarely say no to Clarke.