The denial doesn’t sit right, but it’s the least of all this that eats at him. A lecture on his worth in the face of a request to volunteer for cannon fodder is an irony too jagged to swallow without scoffing it back up.
Each angry word jabs at him until her finger is doing the same, but he drinks it in like a wind-turbine taking in the gale and turning it into a slow, steady, mechanical rhythm. His bright blue eyes studying her frustration, revelling in the unintended warmth of her scorn like a child who’ll settle for admonishment in lieu of honest affection.
“Yer right,” his voice is soft and even, if not a little detached. Severing the connection between his tongue and his heart lest one lead the other to injury. “Yer not her. But here you are wantin’ the same thing of me. That’s what you’re here for, Jeannie. Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re scared or lonely or you just knew I’d say yes. But that’s really what you’re here for. To ask me to be the devil you know.”
He steps a little closer. Just enough crowd her when he brings up his hand. He doesn’t touch though. He turns his open palm up. Waiting for the return of the thing she came here intending to leave in his capable hands. “Don’t be. I know why you think of me when you’re plannin’ for the worst. And I've never let you down yet.”
It's only when he says what he does that she begins to find herself wondering: was Phoenix the one who led her here to him? Was this merely all some way to have some sort of history fall into place with the inevitable as it should be line of thinking? Her gaze grow distant and her heart sinks in her chest at that realization of such a possibility.
"No..." the word is soft, gentle. "...I'm not her." Fingers grip tighter around the pouch she holds and she stares to Logan with so many conflicting emotions in her eyes. "I won't do to you what she's done. What she's asked." She doesn't want to live up to any sort of expectations others may have of her. Not like that at least. "I won't think of you that way. I can't."
It dawns on her then that no one can really help her. She has to somehow do this on her own. She can't put the people she cares about in the position to do what she might be too scared to do herself. She doesn't want to hurt them with that decision - dirty work - no matter how 'simple' they think it might be to follow through with. So with a shake of her head, she puts her hand behind her back, guarding the pouch she had meant to give to him.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't have asked you to..." Be her just in case. Swallowing thickly, she shakes her head again. "You don't deserve that weight on your shoulders. Not with her and not with me. Not anymore."
The idea of going around again like they always do is like just now realizing he’s trying to outrun something he’s tied to. Something he’d foolishly let Kurt and Jean-Paul and Wes make him think they could leave behind so long as they never left this place. But sooner or later this place learns those things and lets them come creeping in.
What suffocates his resentment until it’s just a cooling ember isn’t the assurances so much as the unshakable belief that she’s trying to outrun something here too. Even if it ran her right down a path he’s already walked too many times before. Of course she’s trying. He can’t imagine any version of her, the golden child, ever doing anything less.
What’s harder to envision is what they ever were where she comes from if he wasn’t already all the things she so unwittingly summarized in those three poisonous words. The breath that passes through him does it’s best to leave him calm. Invoking some apathy to keep himself protected. “What am I to you, Jeannie? Wherever you’re from.”
The question is one that catches her off guard and it shows so blatantly in the way she stares to him with those shining eyes. Fingers come to tighten even more around the pouch held at the small of her back and she can both feel and hear her heart pounding in her chest as she tries to process that question. Because it's a complicated one. For a few reasons.
Lips purse and her gaze drifts off to the side. A gentle tilt of her head, strands of red fall in front of her face some before she comes to release a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and she smiles a bit.
"I care about you," she says, gaze dropping down now. "A lot."
But she comes to shake her head and looks up to the sky for a moment before finally looking back to him, eyes a little more careful but still gentle.
It's a sweet sentiment and if he finds any comfort in it, it's only knowing she's still nothing short of an idealist.
"You care about everyone," he says, but the skepticism in his tone and the angle of his eyebrow isn't so much harsh as it is fond and knowing.
"What am I to you?" he tries again, pressing for something definitive and feeling like he's playing with fire for it. "A friend? A fantasy? A fixer-upper? Maybe just... a guy you knew for a while?" He shrugs. "You were gonna do it. You came here to do it. And I can't help think pissing off a stranger isn't enough to change your mind when it's made up. So maybe I wasn't such a stranger to you as you. Maybe you already know what things are like between us. Almost every time we meet. Tell me I'm wrong."
That first part right there gets her to look to him with a playful sort of annoyance written across her face. Because while she won't disagree with that, she doesn't really like how he just brushes off his own importance as typical Jeannie or whatever he's thinking.
"You're going to get a finger shoved in your chest again." It's not really a threat and not anything she'll really do, but she sighs then and shrugs her shoulders with an exasperated sort of look.
"Yes, ok? You're an X-Men, you're... a friend. You're... someone I wish would stay. Someone who, when you do finally come back around, you do that stupid grin of yours and I can't help but smile back at you because I'm happy you're around."
Eyes fall shut and she gently shakes her head before letting it bow, gaze then falling onto the ground.
"You're not a fantasy," looking up to him, she smiles a bit, another shrug given. "You're a wish that will never come true. Because you and I are complicated."
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no subject
Each angry word jabs at him until her finger is doing the same, but he drinks it in like a wind-turbine taking in the gale and turning it into a slow, steady, mechanical rhythm. His bright blue eyes studying her frustration, revelling in the unintended warmth of her scorn like a child who’ll settle for admonishment in lieu of honest affection.
“Yer right,” his voice is soft and even, if not a little detached. Severing the connection between his tongue and his heart lest one lead the other to injury. “Yer not her. But here you are wantin’ the same thing of me. That’s what you’re here for, Jeannie. Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re scared or lonely or you just knew I’d say yes. But that’s really what you’re here for. To ask me to be the devil you know.”
He steps a little closer. Just enough crowd her when he brings up his hand. He doesn’t touch though. He turns his open palm up. Waiting for the return of the thing she came here intending to leave in his capable hands. “Don’t be. I know why you think of me when you’re plannin’ for the worst. And I've never let you down yet.”
no subject
"No..." the word is soft, gentle. "...I'm not her." Fingers grip tighter around the pouch she holds and she stares to Logan with so many conflicting emotions in her eyes. "I won't do to you what she's done. What she's asked." She doesn't want to live up to any sort of expectations others may have of her. Not like that at least. "I won't think of you that way. I can't."
It dawns on her then that no one can really help her. She has to somehow do this on her own. She can't put the people she cares about in the position to do what she might be too scared to do herself. She doesn't want to hurt them with that decision - dirty work - no matter how 'simple' they think it might be to follow through with. So with a shake of her head, she puts her hand behind her back, guarding the pouch she had meant to give to him.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't have asked you to..." Be her just in case. Swallowing thickly, she shakes her head again. "You don't deserve that weight on your shoulders. Not with her and not with me. Not anymore."
no subject
What suffocates his resentment until it’s just a cooling ember isn’t the assurances so much as the unshakable belief that she’s trying to outrun something here too. Even if it ran her right down a path he’s already walked too many times before. Of course she’s trying. He can’t imagine any version of her, the golden child, ever doing anything less.
What’s harder to envision is what they ever were where she comes from if he wasn’t already all the things she so unwittingly summarized in those three poisonous words. The breath that passes through him does it’s best to leave him calm. Invoking some apathy to keep himself protected. “What am I to you, Jeannie? Wherever you’re from.”
no subject
Lips purse and her gaze drifts off to the side. A gentle tilt of her head, strands of red fall in front of her face some before she comes to release a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and she smiles a bit.
"I care about you," she says, gaze dropping down now. "A lot."
But she comes to shake her head and looks up to the sky for a moment before finally looking back to him, eyes a little more careful but still gentle.
"That's why I can't do this to you."
no subject
"You care about everyone," he says, but the skepticism in his tone and the angle of his eyebrow isn't so much harsh as it is fond and knowing.
"What am I to you?" he tries again, pressing for something definitive and feeling like he's playing with fire for it. "A friend? A fantasy? A fixer-upper? Maybe just... a guy you knew for a while?" He shrugs. "You were gonna do it. You came here to do it. And I can't help think pissing off a stranger isn't enough to change your mind when it's made up. So maybe I wasn't such a stranger to you as you. Maybe you already know what things are like between us. Almost every time we meet. Tell me I'm wrong."
no subject
"You're going to get a finger shoved in your chest again." It's not really a threat and not anything she'll really do, but she sighs then and shrugs her shoulders with an exasperated sort of look.
"Yes, ok? You're an X-Men, you're... a friend. You're... someone I wish would stay. Someone who, when you do finally come back around, you do that stupid grin of yours and I can't help but smile back at you because I'm happy you're around."
Eyes fall shut and she gently shakes her head before letting it bow, gaze then falling onto the ground.
"You're not a fantasy," looking up to him, she smiles a bit, another shrug given. "You're a wish that will never come true. Because you and I are complicated."