[html] http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... atable.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> Jefferson.
The sky was a pristine shade, unblemished and uninterrupted by errant clouds. It was strange to look up at the sky and see it dominated by a single, simple color. The sky that stretched above her was a pale robin's egg hue. She felt the warmth of the sun upon her back, beginning to sink below the horizon. From her vantage point, the world seemed to be a simple melting point of two colors. Blue stretched above her, and green met it somewhere in the middle, stretching to reach her feet. She stood, content to be still and quiet as the empty sky over her. She tried to fashion her mind after it, tried to recapture some of that stillness and make it her own. The last few weeks had been tumultuous. Her mind had roared, raged at every moment. She wrapped an arm around middle, so that her left hand rested on her right side. She rubbed her fingers absently over the smooth, pearly lines of scar tissue at her side, where Brennt's teeth had pierced. Above those scars, more teeth marks marred her gray pelt at her shoulder, where the coin-eyed monster had ripped at her. She had come to an understanding that she would likely have these scars forever, and now she didn't mind much. She dropped he hands at her side, and short as she was, her fingertips brushed some of the taller stalks of the high grass. They felt cool, crisp beneath her fingers. She was glad to have found this place, a place she could have to herself, for a while. She could use the time to think, or perhaps be blank, quiet.
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He hadn't planned to say anything about it. Jefferson was not mad, no, he had no reason to be upset. Disturbed... yes. The conversation that he and Geneva had shared last hadn't ended on the best terms; the cyclops had successfully pissed her off, and instead of feeling satisfaction at such a lofty feat and accomplishment, he'd been ashamed. He was still ashamed. Damn, he hated that feeling.
Her scent had caught him as he was heading back to the ranch. She'd passed by there sometime recently, and he could only guess she was not far. It had been weeks since they'd talked, let alone even see each other, and though the Patriarch hesitated and fought with himself to no end, he stepped quietly after her and followed her scent for what seemed like ages. The evening was cool, brisk; the sky was open and clear as night approached, painting the sky with a thousand brilliant colors before settling down and clouding approaching darkness. For a while, he was at peace, hardly noticing that his feet were still moving and his mind had completely paused. ...That is, until he found her.
Her back was to him. The brute hesitated, suddenly regretful of having approached and risking a disturbance to the soothing feel of the night and the tranquility she'd found. He didn't want to start a fight. He didn't want to argue. He just wanted... "Geneva," Jefferson called shallowly, withdrawing into his shoulders. He took a few cautious steps closer, aware that she would be tense with him, but he had to risk it. Guilt was getting to be too heavy a burden for a creature with only one arm to carry it. "Geneva, I'm..." A lightning bug flashed a few inches away, surprising him. He gritted his teeth. "What are you doing out here?"
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[html] Thread forward dated to June 27.
The warmth of the day was fading with the light as the sun sank below the horizon. It would be dark soon. Perhaps she could sink into that darkness and let it carry her away. She didn't feel like company - something she would undoubtedly find if she headed back to the ranch for the night. Although she enjoyed living there very much, there was always constant noise. Whether it was a pack member wandering in and out or Addison clambering around, getting underfoot, and laughing - there was always something. The shewolf didn't usually mind the noise - it created a comfortable rhthym she often fell into. But there was something about this perfect silence that she was hesitant to break.
Dusk had arrived when she came to herself again. She heard the soft rustling of grass moving, and what might be footsteps. She held her breath, keeping herself in stillness, hoping that it was the wind and that she was still alone. However, the sound persisted. Geneva was incapable of identifying whoever was approaching. She couldn't scent the stranger, and couldn't find the will to turn around and break her peace. She needed the rest, craved the peace of her thoughts. She needed to find peace within herself befor she could offer it to anyone else.
She turned to look, the looseness of her muscles gone as her ears pricked up at the sound of an unexpected voice. She had known that someone was behind her, but not Jefferson. Everything in her stood still, as if in anticipation. It seemed as if her insides were on edge, electrocuted into technicolor life by the mere sound of his voice, by the signal of his presence.
"Jefferson," she said, her voice a breath of wind. Her tone was strange - she'd tried to make it flat, soundless. But some thread of warmth from that life that had erupted inside her upon seeing him had crept through. She frowned, closing her mouth as a firefly flew between them, capturing her attention as she tried to recompose herself. Geneva wore her heart on her sleeve. She was a horrible liar. She did not feel confident that she could hide her feelings - her true feelings - from Jefferson. She might have had a fighting chance with anyone but him.
As always, he broght forth a strange amalgam of feelings to the fore. She felt frustration with an underlying tone of warmth, something that crept around her heart despite the memory of their last encounter. She frowned harder, her lime green eyes returning to his face. She sighed as her expression smoothed over to something less tense, but more unreadable as she tried to decide how to feel. It was impossible now to stay angry at him, the knowledge of what dwelt in her heart had served to dull her anger at him, but intensify her frustration with him. "I was...resting." She fought to keep her tone neutral. [/html]
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He'd expected her to brush him off or snap. The second she spoke, he was reminded why she never did. The woman was like the gentlest of winds, soothing at times and pressuring at others, but rarely was she torrential or blustering. There was a cradling effect to her words and she knew exactly how to reach each and every piece of hidden information behind even the most heavily defended walls that stood to block the wind. Jefferson himself was no windmill: always spinning, but never standing still. Yet she found her ways to reach him, and the cyclops was still baffled he'd somehow let her in.
Something felt different in her presence, however. This wasn't a casual passing in the ranch where they both lived nor was it a meeting on a beach or a collision on the borders. The setting seemed to have no say in what the electricity was, but the man somehow detected even the most subtlest difference in the few words she said: the way she noticed him, greeted him, addressed him. The frown on her face was unsettling, to say the least; there was no trace of anger or resentment from their last meeting in her voice, and yet it was clear his presence had disturbed something within her, which even he knew to be unusual in the typically strong, confident Geneva. Their conversation wasn't exactly moving fast like it usually did. Instead, the tension between grew all the more obvious and distressing.
"Look, I know you're not happy with me," he started, a look of compassion dwindling in his eye, but his voice quickly trailed off. He didn't know where he was going with that. "Last time I said some things I regret. I admit it. Okay?" Damn. Even that didn't dispel the twist of guilt in his stomach. The cyclops quickly turned his single eye away. "I... came to apologize." He stiffened. She could reject it if she wanted, she had the right, but for once the stone-hearted Jefferson spoke earnestly.
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[html] Geneva's lime green eyes rested steadily upon Jefferson's face. She couldn't school her features to reflect anger. She had imagined that she would be furious with him upon this encounter. She had imagined screaming at him, or turning a cold shoulder on him. She had imagined a million different scenarios. But now her insides felt inflamed, not by the fires of rage, but by something far more subtle, something far more affecting. Geneva couldn't be angry with him now. The best she could manage was making her face halfway blank, as she waited for him to speak.
She opened her mouth as soon as started to review the contents of their previous meeting. She was going to say that it was in the past, and not to worry about it. A small part of her still stung from his callous words, but she had a thick skin. She didn't expect him to apologize for his words, as thoughtless as they had been. And so she was shocked when he apologized.
He looked away, and she just stared at him, wide-eyed in wonder of what he had just said. She considered him for a moment, her face became thoughtful. Before she knew why she felt compelled to do it, she had moved forward and she touched his shoulder softly. "I forgive you." [/html]
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How did she do that? He knew she wouldn't, but he'd wanted her to get angry all over again. It was no contest this time, there was no winning or losing. He wanted her to be upset because he deserved it, because he had wronged her to the point that he was actually feeling ashamed for it, which was generally sort of rare for someone so tight. She wasted no time moving closer and made things simple and sweet as she always did: I forgive you. Maybe it was the words or maybe it was her voice, but such a thing to be offered to him seemed so foreign and undeserved, though... cleansing. He could not bring himself to smile, but released a long, tense breath of relief when she touched his arm with the typical gentleness he'd come to know her for.
He hesitated a moment, going back to their last conversation. She'd been so happy when she mentioned Jordan, her mate, as well as a child... And with his snide remark, he'd stolen those few precious moments of reminiscence away from her. Gently, he reached up to collect her hand from his shoulder and pull it between them as if her words of forgiveness had been plenty, but perhaps he held on a few seconds too long before releasing it. He didn't seem to notice. "I wanted to hear more about Jordan," he said sincerely, connecting their eyes, "that is, if you're still willing to say."
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[html] There was the barest bit of tension in her fingers as she curled them in slightly as the Patriarch reached to touch her hand. It was strange, and she fought with herself as she tried to decide what to do. Should she pull her hand away, or curl her fingers around his own? Different parts of her wanted different things. The contact was small, almost insignificant, but she felt something inside her swell at the fact that he had reached for her at all. It was a small thing, a small gesture. It was insignificant in the light of the words he had said to her, words she had never thought to hear from him. But there was something about the that small touch she found hard to ignore.
She let her hand drop limply to her side before she crossed her arms over her chest, still listening to Jefferson speak. She was hanging on his every word at this point, her eyes wide and lips half parted as word upon unexpected word poured from his mouth. He connected their eyes, and she blinked once as she tried to comprehend what he was asking. It was strange, and wonderful in a way. It set her ill at ease, and made her feel better at the same time.
"Only if you want to hear," Geneva murmured, somewhat unsure of this situation. Thinking of Jordan still struck a chord within her, inspiring feelings that were eerily similar to those she felt for Jefferson. But at the same time, they were different, deeper, and older. She didn't know where to start, and so she began to speak with whatever entered her mind. "Jordan didn't like to read, and he couldn't. But he liked to listen to me read to him." It seemed a strange place to start, but her mind had wandered back to the rainy spring day she had read to Jefferson in front of the fireplace.
She sighed, shaking her head. "He had a remarkable amount of courage, and very little patience. He was spontaneous, and bright, and dedicated. He loved to laugh and hated to sleep anymore than four hours at a time. He said he would miss out on life if he did. He had so much energy for someone who never rested." Geneva shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "He never tried to make sense of things, said he didn't mind a few mysteries."
She looked away from him briefly and her gaze meandered over the tall stalks of grass as moments replayed in her vision, and she remembered things she hadn't thought on for a while. She blinked as a firefly arced across her vision. She followed it as it flew past Jefferson's shoulder before she looked at him again. "It is beautiful here," she said lamely. [/html]
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Jefferson had expected her to light up as bright as the fireflies themselves when she talked about Jordan, but although she came somewhat close, she didn't. There was a certain peace to her words and expression that he'd seen only a few times in passing before; it delighted him to see her so content, so suddenly one with the world that whatever resentment she still held towards him as well as nostalgia for her lost lover seemed lost to the wind and the night. He smiled when she spoke about reading to Jordan, though the one-eyed fool wondered quietly to himself whether or not she had been aching when she had done the same for her leader during the rainstorm some time back. He hadn't regretted it before, but he regretted it now. Jefferson knew he had dragged her through a lot of pain and confusion, but how much of it did he not know a thing about? He maintained a calm, warm smile as she continued speaking, though such thoughts troubled him in the back of his mind.
As she spoke, the brute nodded and listened. It was increasingly obvious to him that this Jordan was very different from the cyclops. Her former lover had been some sort of picture-perfect image for her, and it was no surprise; he could almost picture them together, though Jefferson knew nothing of what her lover looked like. By her description, Jordan had been as free-spirited and whimsical as his mate was now. They were something perfect together, and when the brute remembered that Jordan had been taken away from her, he felt... torn. There was no way he had just up and left -- Jordan must have died one way or another. Jefferson didn't know that kind of pain, but for a few fleeting seconds, it was as if he could feel hers. Why had he been so snide before? Why had he been such an idiot? What was the point to it all? His hand fisted at his side, but still he said nothing.
Even after she finished speaking about him and commented on the milieu, he remained quiet. His green eye turned out to look over the field as it stretched out into the dark horizon, for a moment watching a few of many fireflies flicker in and out as they danced about the sky and grass. There was a pause as one frolicked before his eyes; he very gently reached up to catch it in his palm, only to watch its flicker light up the inside of his dark hand before upturning and opening his palm. It dwindled on his fingers a few seconds before escaping back to the night air. Slowly remembering his thoughts, his gaze returned to her. His hesitation was obvious in the look of his eye and the furrow of his brows. "What happened?" The cyclops mumbled slowly. He regretted it fast.
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[html] Everything he did was fascinating. He had always sparked her curiosity from the day she met him, but she couldn't take her eyes off of him right now. What he was doing, saying were things she'd never imagine he'd do or say to her. There was something about the unexpected that had always terrified her, something that had made her watchful and wary of anything without a pattern. He could change direction like the wind, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from him.
The play of small light within his palm was like a magnet for her gaze. She held her breath for a moment and wondered if he would close his fist too tightly, but he merely held the lightning bug for a moment before releasing it into the night air. She was curious. He had captured a part of her unwittingly, and she felt as small and insignificant as that lightning bug in that vast sea of dark sky. Jefferson had snared her and had the power to extinguish that light or hold it in the palm of his hand. She didn't want to feel that way, but he mattered enough to her that he could hurt her now, unwittingly, and his words or actions could cut much deeper.
"He died," she said simply, her voice just a thread of a breath. She didn't think this was the safest place to start anything with him. Although that old wound had re-closed, the last time she had spoken to him about this, he had torn at her heart. She had found it easy to forgive him in light of her recent realization of her feelings for him, and because they had kept some space between them. "We were caring for my ailing father. They died within days of each other."
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Thanks to his amnesia, those Jefferson had lost to the afterlife during his packlife as Maluki were nothing but a couple names without faces or blurred images. His memory gave him some slack every so often; even as strangers at first, Jefferson had recognized Cercelee as resembling someone he once knew well, but the one-eyed idiot had been left in the dark until Laruku identified the memory by chance and recognized Maluki for the first out of many times. Apparently Ceres, his grandmother, had been generally close to his heart at her death, somehow enabling him to remember her even after his brains had been conked out. Ceres had been his first and only lead to learning his identity... and from there, he was still learning.
He wondered if he'd ever fallen in love once, but the emotions were so foreign that he doubted it. The only death he'd found real and terrifying had been Iskata's. The two had been close; Jefferson had opened up to her in a similar way he had Geneva. Laruku was dead as well, but although the two had once been inseparable in their youth, the blind hybrid brother of his died with very little to hold onto any longer. He barely knew the pain Geneva had suffered. He wanted to ask what happened, why Jordan had just suddenly died, but he didn't. For some reason, he felt that was too real a pain for her even now... and besides, he didn't really have the place to ask. Not after his horrible words the first time around. "I'm sorry," he offered. "You mentioned a child, too... it must have been hard. What was... its name?" She would have mentioned the child if it was still around, after all. He didn't know the pain of losing a kid, but he knew the pain of finding a few, if it was anywhere the same. The brute turned his eye away. "You came here to start a new life... too bad things haven't turned out happily for you." The cyclops frowned and followed a few fireflies. He certainly hadn't made it easy for her, but whatever situation she'd been in while in Crimson Dreams had also driven her away.
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[html] Geneva had loved before, and so she knew that what she felt was love, or at least something like it. It was an inkling, something that would grow into a a fire, a drive, a motive. Geneva only knew one way to love, and that was to make an unconditional choice to do what was best for the one she loved. It was deep and wonderful and strange, an a conscious choice, a decision to dedicate all of her strength to one purpose. She didn't know when the world had narrowed down to a pin-point. She didn't know why out of all the creatures in the wide world her heart would be for Jefferson, but she already felt herself changing, turning toward him effortlessly.
It was strange to be here. She felt as though she were caught between the past and the present. Recalling Jordan would always bring a glow about her, around her heart. He had been her first love, the first creature she had trusted outside of her family. He had given her a life and experiences she was grateful to have had. Jordan possessed a place in life and memories that he would always keep, but Jefferson had part of her now too. A part of her she wasn't certain she wanted him to have, but she was helpless against it at this point.
His questions, as always, continued to catch her off-guard. His question about the child she'd lost brought her up short - and for a moment, her face was raw with the loss. She had never known the child, but she had loved her. She had loved the idea that although Jordan was gone, she still carried a piece of him, that part of him would live on. She recovered and spoke softly, "I named her Shea, before I buried her."
She looked out over the field thoughtfully. Fireflies floated about, like stars escaped from the sky. Her eyes followed their flight patterns before they drifted back to Jefferson. "I'm happy now," she said, not quite meeting his eye. She meant it. [/html]
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Would he have mourned if he'd lost a child? If Miriette stopped him and reported that one of her siblings had died, how would he have reacted? Jefferson wouldn't have mourned out of tragedy of losing a child. No, the triplets that hated him so dearly connected no sentimental bond that would have the cyclops breaking apart over a death in the family. He might have pondered the subject for days, mind meandering about what was and what could have been as it always did. If the bright-eyed raccoon boy passed, the one-eyed father might have regretted being so rough on him when the pup had attacked. The mangy, sharp-tongued creature that was his other son might have left a few haunting scars on the brute's mind if he vanished. As for Miriette, well, Jefferson actually knew who she was. He might have felt sorrow. He might have mourned.
Addison seemed to be attracted to trouble. Jefferson was her guardian; if he was to lose her, the tragedy would have been overwhelming. She was only adopted, however. He didn't know what it would be like to lose something of his own flesh and blood. Geneva did. ...She lived with that pain everyday, and yet she smiled more than he ever did. Shea... a beautiful name. He attempted a small, desperate smile despite the internal distress in his head. Losing your child was one thing -- but having to bury it, to officially surrender it to the earth and the afterlife, was something he felt he'd never be able to comprehend. The girl was clearly stronger than he'd ever imagined of her, in ways she'd never tried to prove to him. It was... baffling.
"Why do you smile?" The man spoke softly as her gaze wandered away. He didn't understand it. With the death of her mate, father, and child, how did she stand it? Jefferson lived a life of misery because the clouds of discomfort that replaced his memories were nothing but depressing. He'd never tried to live above it as she had; he'd never even imagined trying, he'd always just went along with it. Whose life was less fortunate, hers of his? How had she found happiness in a pack of dreamers, away from her lost love and child? What was there to find in Phoenix Valley that could replace such things... and why had he never found it?
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[html] His questions continued to baffle her. She couldn't follow his train of thought, and she wondered what was on his mind. She wanted to ask him, but she hesitated. There was a strange flow to this conversation. There wasn't a pattern, not really. She didn't know what to expect. He was leading her, and she happily followed, glad to just be in his presence. This time, perhaps for the first time, he wasn't asking her to leave. He didn't want to send her away. Or maybe she was reading too far into it. But she craved to find significance in this fact.
"I still find happiness," she said. So much had happened to her. Sometimes she felt as though time stood still around her, and all she could do was try to find a way to make the world move again. But she had pulled through, the world hadn't stopped spinning. Despite every tragedy, every ghost in her mind, the world and life would go on, whether or not she wanted it to. She had to move on, adapt, and continue. Or else she would stand still, waste away to nothing.
The gray hued femme had a will to survive. She had changed - she could never be the same untouched woman again. But she would carry what she had learned and felt. "Life goes on - whether or not I want it to," she intoned softly. She smiled at him now. "And I want it to." She didn't want to stay in the same space. [/html]
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After all she'd been through, he wondered what Geneva possibly derived happiness from. She was perfectly content in Phoenix Valley, that was for sure; after all, whatever had happened in Crimson Dreams had driven her away from the pack. If she was discontent in his pack, she would have frolicked away as she had done before. Geneva was a subtly stubborn type; Jefferson knew she would be intent on finding peace of mind and happiness even if it meant leaving people behind. She was finding something in Phoenix Valley that was keeping her there, but the cyclops was having incredibly difficultly discerning exactly what that something was. He wasn't too keen on admitting it, but he envied her. Why was she able to smile so sweetly and live so pleasurably with whatever she'd found when he couldn't find the same thing?
"How? Where?" His question was posed a bit earnestly, a bit more quickly than intended. How had she found happiness? He needed to know. His eye flashed away from her quickly, somewhat embarrassed by the forwardness in his voice, but it was obvious enough already that he was miserable. Jefferson was tired of being miserable. No man, not even one as unfortunate and deserving as he, could live willingly as miserable as he had become. "I never asked to be this way," he mumbled, then released a long sigh. "I don't know what you've found here that I can't, but at least it's paying off for someone."
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[html] Looking at the scarred man, she wondered if he had ever been truly happy. There had been times she had seen hints of happiness around his mouth and in the lines of his body. There were little hints, little secrets that gave it away. Despite the way his eye would flare open in panic or his eyebrows fould fly over his eyes, anytime Addison called his name from across the ranch, he seemed to light up like stars appearing in the sky. And when he was on the edge of sleep when he dozed in front of the fireplace, it looked as though peace lurked somewhere at the edge of his dreams.
He seemed to eager to find something, anything close to happiness. He looked at her as though she possessed some sort of secret treasure. But she didn't. It had been hard for her to find happiness, to carve a path out of the darkness in her own heart. It had been strange, and frightening at times. But she still stretched toward the light, and now she thought she might know the source of it.
He looked to her as though she must have the secret. And she did have a secret, but it wasn't the answer he sought. And she thought back to the day she had taken the heavy steps from Crimson Dreams, leaving it behind with an even heavier heart. So much had changed since she had come here. But what had been the reason, what had made this direction she turned to? She felt the truth rising in her throat. "I found you." [/html]
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"I found you."
The brute's single eye hardly stirred, staring at the gray-furred girl a long while as the words found meaning in his head. They made no sense. Him? What had he done? Even from the first second that Geneva stood on Phoenix Valley lands, before she was even a member, he'd been nothing but a short-tempered nuisance towards her. One way or another, Geneva had walked in on his life at one of its more inconvenient periods; leadership responsibilities had gotten him stressed, followed by Iskata's death and various other extremes that had kept the one-eyed idiot in a nasty mood for the beginnings of her stay.
Clearly, Jefferson didn't get it. He was no beacon of light, no guiding force here to shepherd the innocent from all evil. If he hadn't adopted some sense of justice after all the killing and confusion following his amnesia, the days of mindless slaughter might never have ended for him. There was no reason for Geneva to look up to him, though Jefferson had been previously aware that she did. He hadn't understood it then, and he didn't understand it now. Somehow, he felt plunged backward, confused and overwhelmed as he had been with his three children staring into his eyes. The same pangs of denial pulled at his wits. Perhaps she'd learned how to deal with people through dealing with him, he didn't know. "You're kidding," he muttered, cracking some disbelieving smirk and shaking his head. She was just giving him a taste of his own medicine.
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[html] Some semblance of normalcy returned to their interaction. Geneva did not know whether or not she was relieved or disappointed. He seemed to brush off her deepest confessions with a shake of his head and a flash of his trademark smirk. She felt frustration spiral through her, although she did not want to open up to him and let him know the truth. She was afraid that this was the way that he would handle it. It was such a strange thing, to try and decide how she wanted to feel. She didn't know which emotion would be the most appropriate.
On one hand, she wanted to shake him and make him acknowledge her. And at the same time, she wanted to hide the fact that she had ever felt her heart pound hard even at the mere thought of having him near. She was curious to see his reaction, but she was fearful of his rejection. There were so many things that she was uncertain of now. He always seemed to confuse her. Trying to reach him was like trying to reach the moon at times. But she was pulled by his gravity, unwittingly and unwillingly caught by his pull.
She could see Jefferson dismissing her feelings, calling her foolish for even imagining a connection between them. And she could see him telling her that he wasn't worthy of love. She could only conceive of him putting distance between them, something she desperately wanted to avoid. She should just keep her mouth shut, but she was so tired of taking two steps forward and one step back. She was tired of treading lightly, treating each interaction with delicacy when at times it seemed as though they were destined to collide. After several moments of staring at him, she dropped her face into her hands and groaned, "Why did I have to fall for the most difficult, trying creature on the planet?" [/html]
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The second he laughed it off as joke and wit, his vision refused to leave her. Jefferson was suddenly on edge, suddenly keenly aware of every motion she made, every emotion that passed over her eyes, every subtlety in her being that strayed from the norm. She sunk a little -- just enough to say that she'd expected his reaction and yet found disappointment in it -- and it struck him then that her words were true. He did not quite understand her still; he had only made her life a living hell, shouting at her one second and trying to abandon her the next. They'd only spoken about themselves, never about the meanings of life or the interpretations of nature or time or space. They'd never spoken intellectually or logically on some in-depth conversation. He'd never saved her life or made any particular input on a bad day. Jefferson hadn't done a thing. As his smile faded and the two simply stared at each other, the pause spanned between them. Her mind was going a million miles a minute; the cyclops could read it in the hesitance of her gaze. She was regretting things, then scolding herself, then... giving up?
It was at that point that she surrendered her head to her hands in some mixture of embarrassment and disillusionment. The cyclops immediately perked, but his tattered ears flicked against his skull at her words. His jaw parted just slightly in a clear picture of misunderstanding. Fall for? They weren't talking about Jordan anymore. Jordan was somewhere in the past all of a sudden, a thousand miles behind them in only a few minutes' time. No. She spoke of Jefferson then, the undeniably difficult creature that he was. His hand hung limply at his side and no words sprung to his throat.
She couldn't fall for him. That was impossible. It made no sense: she was a free-thinking sunshine-and-butterflies idealist, he was a stone-faced grump with a malfunctioning limb and eye. They were as opposite as opposite could get, and yet he did not laugh. He did not mock her, nor did he deny it aloud. He simply could not grasp the concept, somehow, and such a thing was... frustrating. At some point his heart had started pounding in his flattened ears for reasons unknown, but went unnoticed or ignored. He took a few cautious steps towards her, apparently unfazed by her humiliation and frustration in the least. Slipping his scarred and useless arm from the sanctuary of the sling across his chest, Jefferson stepped up before her and gently took hold of her wrists in both hands, ignoring the pained creaks and groans of the arm he rarely moved, and pulled her hands from her eyes. "Geneva... What's going on here?" His gaze and voice were one: deliberate and shrouded in mystification, but possessing a natural quality of earthiness and gentleness nonetheless. Talk to me, his one-eyed gaze unknowingly begged.
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[html] She was surprised to feel his fingers slip around her wrists. She blinked her eyes as the soft light the of lightning bugs surrounded them. She let her hands fall away from her face, passive and submissive as he pulled them away from her face. And he was looking at her again, his gaze reflecting the questions, both spoken and unspoken, that hung between them. He was mystified, as lost to a sea of confusion, just as she was lost to him. Geneva found that she couldn't pull her eyes from his face. There was a strange light in his emerald gaze, something that attracted all of her attention.
She swallowed the tightness in her throat and found it difficult to breathe for a moment. She felt as though she was positioned at the edge of precipice, a sheer cliff into a void, a dark chasm of the unknown. But he wasn't pushing her over the edge. The gentle pressure on her wrists wasn't demanding. She found that she was willing to take the plunge, willing to try, willing to risk the embarrassment, the hurt that might come of this. There was something about the way he looked at her now that made her believe that this was the time.
But she did not know where to begin. She didn't have the words. She hadn't rehearsed something to say to him. She hadn't even dared to envision that this meeting might ever take place. Geneva had intended to hide from this part of her heart, but here she was, so clearly faced with the choice. She let her mind wander over all the times they had ever talked, the first time she had met him. And as she relived those scenes, emotions washed over her face.
"I notice the way your voice changes," Geneva said, her voice soft, the thread of a whisper that gained a small amount of soul and volume with each word. "I notice the way your face changes, when you talk to me, or someone else...when you talk about different things." She shook her head. "I see how hard you fight yourself, even when I don't know why you do. I see how tired you are because of it."
She turned her hands over and placed her fingers lightly over his wrists, wrapping her hands gently around his wrists, so she held him the way he held her. "I can tell you all the times I've seen you smile...really smile." She smiled now, a small smile playing on her face. Her expression was soft, eager, nervous, earnest. A thread of strength wove its way through her voice as she spoke again. "You are the most frustrating creature I have ever met. You're callous and sarcastic, and sometimes you are such an idiot. Talking to you gives me a headache. You are so goddamned mercurial. And Jefferson..." She stopped, her brows furrowing as she looked at him. She let her lime green eyes meet his single emerald eye. "Jefferson, I love you." [/html]
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Perhaps he'd never looked hard enough to notice the brilliance of the shade of her eyes. Perhaps it glowed more vivaciously than usual just then as she spoke, eyes both afraid and apologetic at the same time. He hadn't known a thing; it was just one more situation he'd unknowingly thrown her into and dragged her around in as he always did. His ears stood tall and attentive as she began, shame dwelling in her voice and eyes as if she knew it was an immovable mistake and hated to admit it. He simply breathed and watched her, making no noise nor interruption. It seemed that just as he had always been watching her every move, her every change in expression, she had been doing the same for him. The cyclops did that just now, studying every change in her emotions as she relived thoughts, memories, pain, frustrations...
And as he began to wonder and trace over similar thoughts, she moved her hands to capture his wrists as well, resulting in a rather surprised look from the one-eyed man. He did not smile even when she seemed to prompt it, but the brute thinned his eyes and clearly softened, only to withdraw into his shoulders abashedly when the gray goddess continued on about his more disappointing tendencies and traits. The hybrid clearly frowned then, brows furrowing and eye darkening. He was a walking, talking headache, after all. He'd never asked to be born, to lose his memory, to rape some innocent coyote. He never asked to be Geneva's personal migraine either, but he'd certainly never worked against the result. And yet she paused, eyes incandescent and unrestrained, and concluded. "I love you."
He inhaled rather quickly, gaping wide-eyed for a few seconds before relaxing. Shame crossed his face quickly; that was never how things were supposed to end up. Jefferson held up his walls for the opposite reasons, to keep out intruders and ward off those who tried to get too close. When had she gotten in? At what point had he stopped patrolling his own borders and keeping his wits about him? At what point had he started to trust her and... treasure her so much that shame and regret made rare grasps at his mind?
Jefferson drew out a quiet, anxious sigh and released her wrists, allowing them to drop to her sides. He was overwhelmed, and yet his mental patterns were performing accordingly. Instead of growing angry and torrential like he had with her before when such surprises arose, the cyclops had somehow learned... peace in alarm. He couldn't explain it. He couldn't explain why he stepped forward and enveloped her in his arms, either. Jefferson didn't know embraces, but his was a gentle one; his stature and arms were large and scarred, but rather than internally crushing, they were externally unyielding. He drew her close, frowned, and closed his eye. "I'm sorry," the idiot mumbled over her shoulder. He apologized not for the things he had done to her, but because just as he did, she herself knew falling for a creature like Jefferson was ultimately a mistake.
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