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Summary
“Well I mean, I can always give you a hand. If you want.”
By the time her brain has managed to catch up with what she just said, his eyes have already snapped over to her and she pretends to be engrossed in the salt slowly dissolving around the rim of her margarita.
“Really,” he says flat.
“What are friends for, am I right?” she says breezily, looking anywhere but at him.
or, Clarke is only doing this to help him. Really.
