you answered me with no pretense.
And still I feel I've said too much,
my silence is my self-defense.
The way he stilled, and the way his expression changed under her touch made Geneva remember the day she had found him staring listlessly into the waves at the beach after he had found his children. There were so many different sides to him, the little whispers of words that built up a big secret. She knew that there were pieces of him missing, pieces he could not hold on to or find. And when he encountered something that brought those pieces closer to him, he dropped his walls. And she caught a glimpse into the creature he used to be before pain had warped him into someone who had to develop protective instinct in order to just get by.
The soft expression on his face was washed away once he registered her words. She expected him to push her away then, still cautious of the fragile thing that existed between them. Even though he had already given her his acceptance, and had hinted at deeper things, she was still almost afraid that he would turn away from her. She was relieved when he did not move away, although he did look away. She rested her hands on her thighs, giving him the space he was so clearly trying to establish for himself without pulling away from her.
"Thank you," she said, guardedly. It was a compliment. She herself held DaVinci in high regard, and she felt his absence was a loss to the Valley. She had not known the man well at all, but she had known him to be responsible and strong. She knew that DaVinci had been Jefferson's friend. But that wasn't what she wanted to hear, not what she needed to hear. She knew that Jefferson felt something for her, something more than just a friend. But she wanted to hear him say the words, because then she would know that it was true. Jefferson had never lied to her.