At his words, the energy that Geneva had so quickly built up was just as hastily dispelled; the girl sank a little, defenseless against stray wit and logic, but the stand she made was the same. As long as Jefferson was wallowing in his misery, she wasn't about to let him get away with it. No, Geneva would keep boxing him in time and time again until he opened his mouth and released it all, released everything within he just wanted to keep to himself. He wasn't ready to tell the world he was a parent or that he was a criminal. Jefferson wasn't ready for his pack to know they were being led by a rapist who could potentially have spawned dozens of fatherless beings like the three that had stood on his doorstep, and yet be the same brute who knew not one of them. He wasn't ready for Geneva to find out the truth as suddenly and unwillingly as he had--and question his morals and necessities to the earth in the same fashion as he. He didn't want to scare her off anymore. The cyclops just wanted to be left alone.
But she wasn't going to back off, and that much was final. He'd tried it before and not once had he succeeded. The deal she gave him was simple: answer my questions and I'll answer yours, but he had no questions for her. Jefferson knew he hadn't been told the truth about her fight because they feared he would overreact and go off on a rampage like always, and granted, he might have. She'd smiled at him, but he'd only lowered his gaze to scowl at the water. Her voice had blossomed into something cheery, warm--while his was still clamped within, gruff and broken. He had no questions for her, but he knew what questions she had for him. He knew... so he didn't let her ask.
"I... have..." the Patriarch mumbled slowly, as if admitting the words more to himself than to she. "...Kids. I... have kids." The one-eyed idiot shook his head slowly and finally heaved the great breath that had been locked within, as if the words themselves had opened a gate somewhere. "I'm not supposed to be a parent," he continued, eye staring into the pained gaze his reflection mirrored. "How they were conceived, I..." He shook his head. He couldn't go that far... no, he couldn't tell her. Instead, a long pause spanned between them, as his jaw was parted and frozen in time, trying to find the words to express what the thousands of thoughts in his head were saying. The ocean's waves filled their silence, and the groan of the clouds above replied to the sea.
"Geneva, they were..." He spoke so slowly, trailing off and picking up again when he could find the words. He shook his head again, as if in disbelief, and yet he smiled--just slightly--and almost laughed. "...They were beautiful. They were young and strong, all three of them. And yet... they're mine. They grew up ...beautiful, even with such an ugly..." ...father. Silence.