Expression crumpling into one of heartbreak, Lexi pulled back enough to study her. It was true - Gareth had died for his belief in Lancelot, a belief that was sorely misplaced. "My dear one," she sighed, cupping Clara's face, lips curved downward and eyes bright with tears. "You always did see the best in all of us."
Then she was leaning forward, kissing her, lightly at first and then with growing fervor. There was a promise in there, a vow, an apology for all that she had done so very wrong. For Gareth, though, for that misguided faith, she had to be better. She would be better, if only to serve some kind of atonement.