[ The moment her hands close around his, the rest of his hackles lower, and he's suddenly too aware of how fuckin' stupid he feels, guarding himself against something that isn't there. Never was there to begin with. Jesus, he doesn't know why he's like this or why it's happening with Karen, of all people. He hates feeling as if he gives too much of a shitā€”and he swallows the natural urge to pull his hand back and get the hell out. It'd be easy to. He's ended things before over less. Never looked back. But he wants this: her company, her friendship, the sort of thing he hasn't let himself have in years because he couldn't. Because there was no room for it in his time.
He isn't sure if there's room for it now. A tentative part of him wants to believe there is.
She's studying them, the smooth metal claws. He doesn't mind. The scrutiny, he means. His fingers relax, loosening in her grasp. ]
I heal fast. [ The simple answer. He finally retracts them. They vanish in a blink, leaves behind no sign they were ever there. His hand stays in hers, though, lingering. ] We don't exist in your world, do we?
[ Not that she's aware of, at least. He can tell. Otherwise, she'd have more than this sort of idle curiosity, as if she's seeing something she doesn't understand and couldn't possibly have imagined seeing. She'd know what he was. The second his claws came out, she'd have known he was mutant. Maybe his people are underground in her timeline, her dimension. Maybe they were never born at all. Evolution might've just veered in another direction. Funny. He's not sure how he feels about that. When he's faced with somebody who isn't from anywhere close to what he is, that's easier to wrap his head around. But Karen...he could've met a woman like Karen on the streets of Manhattan, at a bar in Westchester, anywhere.
This, here. This is the only difference. As if somebody took a giant eraser to the entire potential of a mutant population and scrubbed them out. ]
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He isn't sure if there's room for it now. A tentative part of him wants to believe there is.
She's studying them, the smooth metal claws. He doesn't mind. The scrutiny, he means. His fingers relax, loosening in her grasp. ]
I heal fast. [ The simple answer. He finally retracts them. They vanish in a blink, leaves behind no sign they were ever there. His hand stays in hers, though, lingering. ] We don't exist in your world, do we?
[ Not that she's aware of, at least. He can tell. Otherwise, she'd have more than this sort of idle curiosity, as if she's seeing something she doesn't understand and couldn't possibly have imagined seeing. She'd know what he was. The second his claws came out, she'd have known he was mutant. Maybe his people are underground in her timeline, her dimension. Maybe they were never born at all. Evolution might've just veered in another direction. Funny. He's not sure how he feels about that. When he's faced with somebody who isn't from anywhere close to what he is, that's easier to wrap his head around. But Karen...he could've met a woman like Karen on the streets of Manhattan, at a bar in Westchester, anywhere.
This, here. This is the only difference. As if somebody took a giant eraser to the entire potential of a mutant population and scrubbed them out. ]