[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
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.]