[ Ah, Max, hope you're not tired of seeing him yet and talking shop. Really, they should stop meeting like this, but until they gain some more experienced and overpowered party members, it'll just be all business and little party.
Plas, personally, is tired of running around, and really wishes they had invested in child leashes for the gremlins. Uneasy as it makes him to imagine being responsible for twenty-plus people on an ongoing basis. And it does seem like they're missing more these days, doesn't it? It seems like maybe they might have really fucked up.
It's a deflated Plas that drags himself over to her house. Literally, deflated, as in he seems to have become less three-dimensional, and also less firm. This is not figurative dragging. He's a bit melty. ]
Max... [ It's very plaintive, the knock devoid of any enthusiasm. He's not here on funtime business. ]
[Of course she's tired of talking shop, but only in that she wishes there was something else to talk about instead of the endless shitty things that keep getting dumped in their lap. She'd like to go back to that first week, where her biggest worry was finding enough for everyone to eat, not... wondering if a child has died or been turned into some kind of monster.
She's very Max when she opens the door, red lipstick, perfect eyeliner, despite the fact she's never bothered to actually search out any physical cosmetics in this city. It's a defense, in a way, sinking back into a familiar rigidity when everything else is so terrifying.]
You look terrible. [Not a joke, not an attempt at lightness, she's just stating a fact, though she steps back to let him inside, if he has the urge to slough his way in.] I already know.
[Already noticed. Already looked. Already found nothing.]
[ Okay, well, he's coming in, but he doesn't appreciate her just cutting to whatever chase before he can even get started. ]
How the hell can you already know when I haven't even told you what it is yet?
[ Sheer irritability, and just for that he'll stop sloughing around and actually put a little collagen in it. Though his face is still rather too long. ]
[She wishes she had something to do with her hands, but her instinct to reach towards a bottle is aggressively squashed down. No one needs to see that. A cigarette would be nice, except she's running low.]
From the sight of you. From the fact I have been trying to keep track of everyone, and two more are missing. I doubt you cared that much for Hawke.
[Not that there was anything wrong with Hawke, but - this is a big reaction, it makes sense that it's for Aang.]
[ He didn't not care about Hawke, a man he barely knew and definitely didn't somehow forget about despite the fact that there's only twenty people in this city. But it's true that Aang's disappearance cuts a thousand times deeper. Maybe because he's father, even if he's the shittiest one that ever lived where his own flesh and blood were concerned. But to have lost a child in the apocalypse... ]
You're sure he's not anywhere? Max, I've been tearing this place apart...
[ Quietly, of course, in his own way, sticking his nose into every small corner, anything he thought might interest a twelve-year-old kid with more superpowers than anyone outside the Justice League. Stray footprints in the dust, he could have worked with, but the city's so empty and they're so few and it's so easy to just break from the group and disappear, somewhere. Especially if you're small and powerful and all the adults are preoccupied with trying to staple their morale back together by any means necessary. ]
How far could he have gone? He's twelve.
[ A twelve-year-old meta with immense power, who surely could have gotten away from anything, right? He wouldn't have done something heroic and brave by himself, he wouldn't have just...walked off into the goopy sea. ]
If you haven't found it, I doubt there's much I could do.
[If this was her home, if it was a city of bustling people, of cameras, of credit cards, of records, she could find almost anyone. Or she could have almost anyone found, even if she didn't do the hard work herself.
But there's nothing much she can do here. She isn't any kind of detective, and she certainly isn't a tracker.]
He didn't seem to have much regard for his own safety, he could have gone anywhere.
[Plas is upset, Max knows this, and she knows how upset she is, too but-- it's so much easier to detach herself from it. To treat this clinically, coldly. Better than to face the guilt.]
He's twelve, Max, he does what twelve-year-old boys do. Remember being twelve?
[ By now, he'd thought he was used to Max's cold, clinical nature. He hadn't ever fully believed she's as detached as she claims to be. But it'd been convenient for both of them not to probe too deeply into either's secrets, lift up the rock to see what ugly things are underneath.
He's not in the mood to entertain it now. ]
And what the hell do you mean, there isn't anything you can do? You can do all the things I can't do. You think if I could borrow a bloodhound's nose for real I wouldn't have already done it?
[It's not the best comparison to draw, being twelve was terrifying, before she had any power for herself. She wouldn't have run off alone at twelve, she wouldn't have strayed from the group or tried to mess around with any weird substances or creatures.]
I don't borrow anything, I make it. Do you understand how complicated those senses are? That I'd have to change how my brain perceives smell? It isn't something I've used before and my memory is hardly perfect. If I had references, a text book perhaps, but don't you think I'd have already tried it, if I could?
[There's no anger in her tone, not even a hint of irritation, because it would be far too easy to give in to that, to turn this into a fight so she doesn't have to focus on anything else. But she won't give in to that temptation, so she's stuck with just explaining herself.]
[ He does understand how complicated that is, what he's asking of her. Had J'onn ever managed to play bloodhound? Plas can't remember. And he knows that asking it of Max is unfair, she's got her limitations too, but for just once if he could not be the heavy lifter...
Forgetting that no one asked him to. Forgetting that he's voluntarily assumed some level of responsibility here. She's not Bats, pulling his strings, he doesn't answer to Max. ]
[Stress is a funny sort of thing. Max knows her own breaking point and it is a long way from where they are now, even if there's a stark difference between the desperation here and what she deals with at home. But not everyone is the same, sometimes it hits people differently.
Sometimes people need to let off steam. She has to wonder if that's what this is. Is Plas upset at her, really, or is this just an outlet?]
There are other things to be done here, I can't spend all my time searching for a wayward child.
[It almost physically aches to say; she looked for hours. But if he wants to be angry at her, then she'll let him. Better to get this over with, better her than someone else.]
[ But he doesn't want to be angry with her. To seek support at all, to admit that he's in pain, doesn't square with the image he's built. The perpetual joker, the wisecracker, the clown. Rubber to glue; everything's always bounced off him.
This doesn't bounce. This sticks, and it sticks like a shiv in the ribs. One liar to another, he's been playing along with whatever masks she wants to fashion for herself, but he can't idly stand by and swallow it down now. What point does this even serve her, pretending she doesn't give a damn that a boy died behind their backs? ]
A kid died, on our watch, and you think now's the time to play sociopath? At me?
[ Normally a cranky Plas changes with the whims of his temper. He gets bigger, grabs for space, shoves himself right into other people's space to throw them off balance. It won't work on her. He doesn't even bother to try. And yet no ordinary human could clench their teeth so hard without breaking their jaw, no human being could ever be so tense, so still, stand on that edge without snapping. ]
What would you have me do? Would you like me to weep? Should I fall down broken because oh, it's just too much, it's all too hard?
[In the end, does it matter if she's feeding his anger or angry in her own right? The results are the same, with her voice mocking and her spine straight and her hands tense at her sides because gesturing is just another habit she trained herself out of.]
What purpose would it serve, Plastic Man? Crying about a problem isn't going to solve it.
[Maybe she's admitting too much there. If she wasn't so caught up in burying her emotions, would she be crying right now? This feels like the sort of thing that people should cry over, a lost child, but Max hasn't cried for years. It's not an indulgence that she allows herself, not even in private.]
[ Her mockery might hurt, if he thought she was right. If he were so self-conscious about his own humanity that admitting to his own faults and pain could effectively drive him back. But just because he doesn't like to admitting to that stuff gets to him doesn't mean he's wrong to feel gutpunched about this. Or that he's going to let her try and knock him back because she's fucked herself up so royally that she can't even look this in the face. ]
It's a good thing no one else will hear you talk about a dead child this way, ain't it, Max? They might get the wrong idea about you.
[ He's nastier than most might guess. But then, if anyone should have foreseen it ahead of time, it'd be her. ]
One liar to another— don't think because I'm here, now, that you can pull my strings like you might try to puppet the rest. I was peddling bullshit before you were born, Max. We both know hiding from it isn't going to solve anything. You think you can sell me on "ruthless ice queen" so you don't have to admit fucking up this badly gets to you? I'll let a lot slide for you, Max, but you don't get to treat me like a mark, ever.
[ Plas will feel sorry for all of this later. He will. She might think she's using him, and maybe she is, and maybe that's not entirely because he's letting her, but also, genuinely...she is his friend. ]
Does it just take too much effort for you to admit to anything real these days that you don't wanna waste it on me?
[We don't know he's dead dies before it even gets to her lips; saying that is too close to admitting that she's hoping for it to be true, that she's been praying for something so unlikely, so foolish. It's far safer to focus on the rest of what he said, how frustrating it is that he's struck so close to home.
Would she pull this on anyone else? It's unlikely, but then she wouldn't have exposed herself to anyone else right now. Plas came knocking on her door and now he's tearing her down because they both fucked up. They both failed.]
Don't flatter yourself, this isn't about you, or how much effort you're worth.
[There are so many ways she could play this, but he's seen through her so easily that she isn't sure whether any of them would work. This is exactly why she doesn't spend too much time with people, why she doesn't let them get close.]
This isn't a game to me, I don't get to slip. [To show any real emotion, to let anyone see past the mask.] It was a hard lesson to learn, I'm not forgetting it because I'm a world away, not if there's ever a chance I go back.
[It's the first time she's admitted, even to herself, that absence hasn't made the heart grow fonder. She misses Maurice, she misses her people, but she doesn't miss the rest of it. Not at all.]
[ We don't know he's dead is what Plas wants to believe. What maybe, naively, he'd hoped she might say, or that she might at least have some idea he didn't so that he could keep nourishing that little flame of possibility for as long as he could. But no, she's stomped on it. So he won't help her pretend now. ]
I'm not playing games here. We're shapeshifters. For God's sake, you get to be anyone you wanna be, you get an opportunity to reinvent with a gang of people who doesn't know you from Adam, and you're gonna let somebody else, some ghost, dictate what mask you're gonna wear?
[ Maybe this isn't the time or place to have that conversation, but it's the way she says it. Some lesson learned. Fuck lessons learned, sometimes lessons are shitty and should be unlearned. In a way, Plas has always experienced his power as some kind of attempt to be someone completely different, in his attempt at redemption. Maybe Oscar Wilde has it right: Give a man a mask, and he will tell you the truth. ]
Don't you think that's disrespectful to Aang? To Parker? Aizawa and the rest?
[Whatever thoughts she had about carefully playing this out are a little pointless now, but that doesn't mean she's completely losing herself in the argument. She doesn't point out that the ghost she's carrying is her own, she doesn't need to say that she's already reinvented herself a dozen times and it never works out. Max is angry, but she's rarely careless.]
This is as good as it gets! [Now she gestures, a rough sweep of her hand to indicate herself.] This is a reinvention. Whatever you think I am, I guarantee the reality is far worse.
[She has been different here; she hasn't slept with a single person! Or murdered anyone! It's been great, but she doesn't believe that she can be a real person again. It doesn't mean she can let go of all her masks. Not the way he seems to want.]
[ Oh, Max. But he doesn't think that she's anything terrible. Just, maybe your garden variety of crime boss. When compared with the likes of the Joker, Lex Luther, and Darkseid, it's nothing at all. Terrible in an ordinary but scummy sort of way.
To say that to her would be an insult, and he's delivered enough of those tonight. The edge that made him want to figuratively kneecap her fades a little bit. Plas does believe she's genuinely trying.
Not that it helps much right now. Not that he wants to argue this with her any longer. He's just #done. ]
Fine. You don't have any answers for me. You don't know any better than I do what we should do now, even though we've lost half our crew by this point. You're just gonna keep on keeping on.
[It feels unfair that he gets to start a fight and then decide that they're suddenly done with it. That he gets to pull the plug on this when she's still in the mood to throw something at him. He upset her and called her out
She wants to say something awful, she wants to lay all of their failure at his feet to make him stew in it, but she knows there might be no coming back from that. And no matter how angry she is, she can't fuck this up that badly. Instead, she buries it back down, lets her shoulders drop in an imitation of defeat, of exhaustion. Show a little bit of humanity, to mollify him.]
I think we should leave this city, that's my answer. There's nothing here for us except danger, maybe there's something left out there that hasn't been destroyed. But I'm not their leader, and neither are you. [It isn't delivered harshly, even if she wants to, it's just a reminder of a fact.] They didn't ask us to save them.
[ Everything about their situation is unfair, so why not this, too? But it wouldn't have been anything new if she'd turned it back on him. He's used to taking a lot of flack without room or opportunity to ever dish it in return. But not from someone so like him. It's one thing to endure the judgment of Wally West, knowing Wally was a better man than he'd ever be. It's another to spar with someone whose house is just as glass as yours.
And anyway— it is his failure. This would never happen to Batman, or the the big blue boy scout. Certainly never to Wonder Woman. They're not dependent on a team to be a functional superhero on an apocalyptic scale.
The anger's packed away pretty quickly, tension draining from the angles of his face and leaving lines behind. Tired, and for a second, a little old. ]
That's not how this works.
[ For him, anyway. He couldn't lead them out of a paper bag, and yet if they're dead, isn't that on him? Isn't this all he's good for? Protecting people? But something went wrong. He's fallen down on the job. ]
[She watches the exhaustion in his expression and almost laughs, in a desperate sort of way; what a pair they make. He's far too expressive, everything written in his body, the shape of it, the fluidity, while she may as well be carved from stone.]
I know.
[Most people haven't asked Max to save them, they have their superheroes, after all. It's never mattered to her whether people asked, there's always been something selfish in her. If she helps enough people, does it undo all the terrible things she's done?
Max takes a breath, steadying, and straightens herself up a little. She misses her wardrobe from home, another layer of armor, another mask.]
Think of me what you will, but don't pretend you don't need me for what I am. [Always what, never who. And there's no anger in this, it's all buried under the surface, now she just sounds as tired as he looks.] No matter what happens, I won't break. And I'll always do what people need me to do. Just ask Julian.
[She doesn't think anyone else here could have done what she did, to carve away the infection. This is the point of the ice queen, to be so cold that nothing hurts her. The others might crack, might give up, but she won't falter, not while someone still needs her.]
[ No one should ever mistake that expressiveness, that fluidity, for weakness. Least of all her. Stone doesn't adapt. Stone cracks. Even where you can't see. He doesn't shrug off punches from Superman by being too hard to break. ]
I do need you. [ There's no pain in that admission. If he thought he could do it alone, he would. But give him some credit for a little self-reflection. ] I'm no Beyoncé, I'm no good without the rest of Destiny's Child. But you can't do it without me, either.
[ He knows bait when he sees it, punches below the belt. Whatever she's done to Julian, at Julian's request, no doubt it'll be obvious. ]
I'll let you know if I find anyone.
[ Peace out, Max, this conversation should probably die here before they say something they really regret. ]
[She bites her tongue on a fuck you, on an of course we need you, on anything she wants to say that rings too close to the truth or too much like an admission. No need to point out that he's the one who called her a sociopath, or accused her of playing one, at least.
In the end, Max doesn't say anything at all. Good luck would ring too hollow after this, everything else is too cruel. The best she can do is hold her head high while she watches him leave, waits until he's out the door to snatch up the closest thing that isn't nailed down (a mug, with the dregs of terrible coffee). There's a satisfying shatter when it hits the wall.]
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no subject
Plas, personally, is tired of running around, and really wishes they had invested in child leashes for the gremlins. Uneasy as it makes him to imagine being responsible for twenty-plus people on an ongoing basis. And it does seem like they're missing more these days, doesn't it? It seems like maybe they might have really fucked up.
It's a deflated Plas that drags himself over to her house. Literally, deflated, as in he seems to have become less three-dimensional, and also less firm. This is not figurative dragging. He's a bit melty. ]
Max... [ It's very plaintive, the knock devoid of any enthusiasm. He's not here on funtime business. ]
no subject
She's very Max when she opens the door, red lipstick, perfect eyeliner, despite the fact she's never bothered to actually search out any physical cosmetics in this city. It's a defense, in a way, sinking back into a familiar rigidity when everything else is so terrifying.]
You look terrible. [Not a joke, not an attempt at lightness, she's just stating a fact, though she steps back to let him inside, if he has the urge to slough his way in.] I already know.
[Already noticed. Already looked. Already found nothing.]
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How the hell can you already know when I haven't even told you what it is yet?
[ Sheer irritability, and just for that he'll stop sloughing around and actually put a little collagen in it. Though his face is still rather too long. ]
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From the sight of you. From the fact I have been trying to keep track of everyone, and two more are missing. I doubt you cared that much for Hawke.
[Not that there was anything wrong with Hawke, but - this is a big reaction, it makes sense that it's for Aang.]
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You're sure he's not anywhere? Max, I've been tearing this place apart...
[ Quietly, of course, in his own way, sticking his nose into every small corner, anything he thought might interest a twelve-year-old kid with more superpowers than anyone outside the Justice League. Stray footprints in the dust, he could have worked with, but the city's so empty and they're so few and it's so easy to just break from the group and disappear, somewhere. Especially if you're small and powerful and all the adults are preoccupied with trying to staple their morale back together by any means necessary. ]
How far could he have gone? He's twelve.
[ A twelve-year-old meta with immense power, who surely could have gotten away from anything, right? He wouldn't have done something heroic and brave by himself, he wouldn't have just...walked off into the goopy sea. ]
no subject
[If this was her home, if it was a city of bustling people, of cameras, of credit cards, of records, she could find almost anyone. Or she could have almost anyone found, even if she didn't do the hard work herself.
But there's nothing much she can do here. She isn't any kind of detective, and she certainly isn't a tracker.]
He didn't seem to have much regard for his own safety, he could have gone anywhere.
[Plas is upset, Max knows this, and she knows how upset she is, too but-- it's so much easier to detach herself from it. To treat this clinically, coldly. Better than to face the guilt.]
no subject
[ By now, he'd thought he was used to Max's cold, clinical nature. He hadn't ever fully believed she's as detached as she claims to be. But it'd been convenient for both of them not to probe too deeply into either's secrets, lift up the rock to see what ugly things are underneath.
He's not in the mood to entertain it now. ]
And what the hell do you mean, there isn't anything you can do? You can do all the things I can't do. You think if I could borrow a bloodhound's nose for real I wouldn't have already done it?
no subject
[It's not the best comparison to draw, being twelve was terrifying, before she had any power for herself. She wouldn't have run off alone at twelve, she wouldn't have strayed from the group or tried to mess around with any weird substances or creatures.]
I don't borrow anything, I make it. Do you understand how complicated those senses are? That I'd have to change how my brain perceives smell? It isn't something I've used before and my memory is hardly perfect. If I had references, a text book perhaps, but don't you think I'd have already tried it, if I could?
[There's no anger in her tone, not even a hint of irritation, because it would be far too easy to give in to that, to turn this into a fight so she doesn't have to focus on anything else. But she won't give in to that temptation, so she's stuck with just explaining herself.]
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Forgetting that no one asked him to. Forgetting that he's voluntarily assumed some level of responsibility here. She's not Bats, pulling his strings, he doesn't answer to Max. ]
So what are you doing, then?
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Sometimes people need to let off steam. She has to wonder if that's what this is. Is Plas upset at her, really, or is this just an outlet?]
There are other things to be done here, I can't spend all my time searching for a wayward child.
[It almost physically aches to say; she looked for hours. But if he wants to be angry at her, then she'll let him. Better to get this over with, better her than someone else.]
no subject
This doesn't bounce. This sticks, and it sticks like a shiv in the ribs. One liar to another, he's been playing along with whatever masks she wants to fashion for herself, but he can't idly stand by and swallow it down now. What point does this even serve her, pretending she doesn't give a damn that a boy died behind their backs? ]
A kid died, on our watch, and you think now's the time to play sociopath? At me?
[ Normally a cranky Plas changes with the whims of his temper. He gets bigger, grabs for space, shoves himself right into other people's space to throw them off balance. It won't work on her. He doesn't even bother to try. And yet no ordinary human could clench their teeth so hard without breaking their jaw, no human being could ever be so tense, so still, stand on that edge without snapping. ]
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[In the end, does it matter if she's feeding his anger or angry in her own right? The results are the same, with her voice mocking and her spine straight and her hands tense at her sides because gesturing is just another habit she trained herself out of.]
What purpose would it serve, Plastic Man? Crying about a problem isn't going to solve it.
[Maybe she's admitting too much there. If she wasn't so caught up in burying her emotions, would she be crying right now? This feels like the sort of thing that people should cry over, a lost child, but Max hasn't cried for years. It's not an indulgence that she allows herself, not even in private.]
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It's a good thing no one else will hear you talk about a dead child this way, ain't it, Max? They might get the wrong idea about you.
[ He's nastier than most might guess. But then, if anyone should have foreseen it ahead of time, it'd be her. ]
One liar to another— don't think because I'm here, now, that you can pull my strings like you might try to puppet the rest. I was peddling bullshit before you were born, Max. We both know hiding from it isn't going to solve anything. You think you can sell me on "ruthless ice queen" so you don't have to admit fucking up this badly gets to you? I'll let a lot slide for you, Max, but you don't get to treat me like a mark, ever.
[ Plas will feel sorry for all of this later. He will. She might think she's using him, and maybe she is, and maybe that's not entirely because he's letting her, but also, genuinely...she is his friend. ]
Does it just take too much effort for you to admit to anything real these days that you don't wanna waste it on me?
no subject
Would she pull this on anyone else? It's unlikely, but then she wouldn't have exposed herself to anyone else right now. Plas came knocking on her door and now he's tearing her down because they both fucked up. They both failed.]
Don't flatter yourself, this isn't about you, or how much effort you're worth.
[There are so many ways she could play this, but he's seen through her so easily that she isn't sure whether any of them would work. This is exactly why she doesn't spend too much time with people, why she doesn't let them get close.]
This isn't a game to me, I don't get to slip. [To show any real emotion, to let anyone see past the mask.] It was a hard lesson to learn, I'm not forgetting it because I'm a world away, not if there's ever a chance I go back.
[It's the first time she's admitted, even to herself, that absence hasn't made the heart grow fonder. She misses Maurice, she misses her people, but she doesn't miss the rest of it. Not at all.]
no subject
I'm not playing games here. We're shapeshifters. For God's sake, you get to be anyone you wanna be, you get an opportunity to reinvent with a gang of people who doesn't know you from Adam, and you're gonna let somebody else, some ghost, dictate what mask you're gonna wear?
[ Maybe this isn't the time or place to have that conversation, but it's the way she says it. Some lesson learned. Fuck lessons learned, sometimes lessons are shitty and should be unlearned. In a way, Plas has always experienced his power as some kind of attempt to be someone completely different, in his attempt at redemption. Maybe Oscar Wilde has it right: Give a man a mask, and he will tell you the truth. ]
Don't you think that's disrespectful to Aang? To Parker? Aizawa and the rest?
no subject
This is as good as it gets! [Now she gestures, a rough sweep of her hand to indicate herself.] This is a reinvention. Whatever you think I am, I guarantee the reality is far worse.
[She has been different here; she hasn't slept with a single person! Or murdered anyone! It's been great, but she doesn't believe that she can be a real person again. It doesn't mean she can let go of all her masks. Not the way he seems to want.]
no subject
To say that to her would be an insult, and he's delivered enough of those tonight. The edge that made him want to figuratively kneecap her fades a little bit. Plas does believe she's genuinely trying.
Not that it helps much right now. Not that he wants to argue this with her any longer. He's just #done. ]
Fine. You don't have any answers for me. You don't know any better than I do what we should do now, even though we've lost half our crew by this point. You're just gonna keep on keeping on.
no subject
She wants to say something awful, she wants to lay all of their failure at his feet to make him stew in it, but she knows there might be no coming back from that. And no matter how angry she is, she can't fuck this up that badly. Instead, she buries it back down, lets her shoulders drop in an imitation of defeat, of exhaustion. Show a little bit of humanity, to mollify him.]
I think we should leave this city, that's my answer. There's nothing here for us except danger, maybe there's something left out there that hasn't been destroyed. But I'm not their leader, and neither are you. [It isn't delivered harshly, even if she wants to, it's just a reminder of a fact.] They didn't ask us to save them.
no subject
And anyway— it is his failure. This would never happen to Batman, or the the big blue boy scout. Certainly never to Wonder Woman. They're not dependent on a team to be a functional superhero on an apocalyptic scale.
The anger's packed away pretty quickly, tension draining from the angles of his face and leaving lines behind. Tired, and for a second, a little old. ]
That's not how this works.
[ For him, anyway. He couldn't lead them out of a paper bag, and yet if they're dead, isn't that on him? Isn't this all he's good for? Protecting people? But something went wrong. He's fallen down on the job. ]
no subject
I know.
[Most people haven't asked Max to save them, they have their superheroes, after all. It's never mattered to her whether people asked, there's always been something selfish in her. If she helps enough people, does it undo all the terrible things she's done?
Max takes a breath, steadying, and straightens herself up a little. She misses her wardrobe from home, another layer of armor, another mask.]
Think of me what you will, but don't pretend you don't need me for what I am. [Always what, never who. And there's no anger in this, it's all buried under the surface, now she just sounds as tired as he looks.] No matter what happens, I won't break. And I'll always do what people need me to do. Just ask Julian.
[She doesn't think anyone else here could have done what she did, to carve away the infection. This is the point of the ice queen, to be so cold that nothing hurts her. The others might crack, might give up, but she won't falter, not while someone still needs her.]
no subject
I do need you. [ There's no pain in that admission. If he thought he could do it alone, he would. But give him some credit for a little self-reflection. ] I'm no Beyoncé, I'm no good without the rest of Destiny's Child. But you can't do it without me, either.
[ He knows bait when he sees it, punches below the belt. Whatever she's done to Julian, at Julian's request, no doubt it'll be obvious. ]
I'll let you know if I find anyone.
[ Peace out, Max, this conversation should probably die here before they say something they really regret. ]
no subject
In the end, Max doesn't say anything at all. Good luck would ring too hollow after this, everything else is too cruel. The best she can do is hold her head high while she watches him leave, waits until he's out the door to snatch up the closest thing that isn't nailed down (a mug, with the dregs of terrible coffee). There's a satisfying shatter when it hits the wall.]