She was unyielding at making a point. Regardless of any amount of sarcasm or subject-changing material Jefferson could have thrown at her, Geneva's mind was set: now was the time to get the poor, one-eyed idiot to admit something he didn't know he was saying. Jefferson was no ignoramus, however; the cyclops understood what Geneva was consistently aiming for, but an inner doubt -- a cold, nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach -- forced a hesitation rare for Jefferson to display. Unlike himself, of course, Geneva admitted her true colors willingly, most likely to inspire speech from the tight-lipped Patriarch. As she spoke, however, only his frown prevailed. He could only stare into her olive eyes and wonder, just wonder, what the true effects of his words would be. If he pushed her away now, would she finally give up after so much trouble in admitting the truth? Would she keep trying to get to him? Would he really never be rid of the green-eyed nuisance?
But if he told her he loved her -- if that's what he was feeling -- what would happen then? Would their lives continue as normal? Would the pack wait to see the permanent effects of her affection on his character? Would Iskata and Laruku smile down upon him, glad to see how little, silly Maluki had grown, or would they frown to know the more familiar Jefferson had changed forever?
As she slowly approached a finish to her brief tyrade of innermost thoughts, the Patriarch lifted his good hand to place a finger on her lips to silence her. His eye moved away, distancing a long while as such thoughts continued breezing through his mind. There's no one else: it echoed ceaselessly in the back of his head. His chest heaved a long, burdened sigh then; his finger stayed still on her lips, maintaining her silence as he finally found words. Emerald eye returned to her, this time sharpened with a thousand questions behind it. "If I told you I loved you," he began quietly, a slight measure of sternness in his voice, "what would you do?"