That's all that I Need - Someone Else to Cling to.

[Rogue]

_{[Takes place just after the crazy-chaotic thread of EEK-ness... >.>;;;;;]}

Sitting up, curled so that her knees are up against her chest, Rogue wipes at her eyes with a bare hand, brushing away the tears before they can really fall. Just a dream. It’s not real, and that’s obvious, and …. And she really hates just how shaky she is, and that she’s almost panicking over just a dream…

But it was a vivid dream. And a bad one, a really bad one. And there’s a part of her that wants to just curl up and not move, just burrow down in the covers and pretend it’s all just fine… but most of her can’t stand the thought of staying here alone, and it’s that part that pushes her to her feet, has her grabbing her gloves from her bedside table, pulling them on as she hurries down the hall.

Automatically, she heads towards John’s room. She doesn’t want to think about the argument earlier, and the way it’s all different now, the reason he wasn’t there when she woke up to begin with… Though even that would be preferable to the dream she’d had…

Rogue pauses just outside the door, gloved hand on the handle. She’s still shaking, and she tries to stop, to calm down. It was a dream. Just a dream.. Except what if it’s not? Doesn’t work, thanks to the thoughts that keep nagging on, reminding her of the dream, the images….

She doesn’t wait any longer, or hesitate to knock. She quietly opens the door and slips inside, making sure it closes quietly so as not to disturb him if he’s not awake, and pauses inside, turned to look into the room… which is black. Doesn’t help the panic any, and she sort of stumbles her way over to where she thinks the bed is, and sinks down shakily, reaching out carefully to see if she can find him (even though her eyes are starting to adjust a little, it’s still too dark to see, and the panic isn’t making that easier) with a gloved hand.

Once she’s found what she thinks is him, she clings on (carefully), curling in against him. She’s too upset right now to even ponder the possibility of him getting angry and kicking her out (even though …didn’t he say he didn’t want to help her anymore? Sh*t…), too busy trying really hard not to cry to say anything at all, eyes squeezed closed against the dark (even though behind her eyelids it’s dark, at least that way it’s on her own terms…).

It’s comforting that it’s warm in here like always, and that she can hear him breathing, even if she can’t see him. And, da*nit, it’s nice being able to feel safe… Safe, even, from the things in her head. And she really hopes he won’t kick her out, now that it’s come back to mind, and that almost makes her hold onto him tighter, really – as if if she doesn’t she won’t be able to stay and she’ll have to be alone again.

[Pyro]

John has definitely not been dwelling on the argument. There’s no reason to; he’d only end up feeling guilty for things which, he reminds himself, he’s no fucking reason to regret. So he does what he usually does and refuses to think on it any further.

Not thinking means knocking the heat up so it’s almost too hot even for him, and keeping it that way as some sort of point. It means putting proper investigative effort into checking out the burn, even though he’s told himself it doesn’t need looking at or fussing over and isn’t serious, and deciding that holy fuck, that is in fact one hell of a… whatever the hell that is, and will make a truly beautiful scar… but still isn’t serious enough to merit anything more than a shrug before he slips into his pyjamas – not thinking means actually wearing them rather than just collapsing in his civvies – and heads over to examine the ceiling some more. And whether it’s being drained from the day itself – a riot and then that unholy mess being one hell of a workload even by their standards – or whatever, fairly soon it’s the inside of his eyelids and not that which he’s devoting serious study to.

So, he’s asleep when Rogue enters, and doesn’t immediately bolt awake (which… is odd, really; maybe he really is more drained than he thought) as she crosses to the bed, stirring only slightly when she prods around to mumble something mostly incoherent and curl up more tightly against the wall.

Her getting in though – the way the mattress hollow he’s nestled in shifts to accommodate someone else’s weight, the breath on the back of his neck and the way he flinches when he brushes against the burn – he can’t ignore, and he tenses at the alien-ness of having anyone in his bed, and blinks back into being something like awake. He’s definitely not expecting gloves… though he tells himself that he is, that it’s inevitable she’d come crawling back sooner or later… and really, who else was it ever going to be?

The thing to do – the John thing, the one that would follow this argument through – would be to chuck her out until she grovelled and begged to be allowed back into his favour. But… that sort of ignores why it’s so important she does; that, at the heart of it, it’s nice to be needed. And he’s not sure she’ll *ask* again. And… it’s five in the fucking morning and no one’s brain works at this sort of godawful hour.

His hand finds hers wrapped around him, and he strokes the back of it with his thumb for a moment as if in thought before cupping around it and gently tugging it around just a little tighter with a slurred ”Thought we weren*yawn*oing’is any more?”

[Rogue]

The small movement of just his thumb on her hand is soothing – it’s normal, and that’s reassuring that it's at least a little okay (though he could just not have remembered, or be half asleep and not thinking…), as is the way he pulls her arm a little closer around him, and she turns her hand over slightly to squeeze his gently almost automatically in response.

”Thought we weren*yawn*oing’is any more?”

Rogue lets out a shaky sigh, slightly uneased by the general mention of The Argument, and reassured by the way he doesn’t seem intent on making her leave. It would be bad if she had to leave – even though she knows that the dream wasn’t true, and that he’s still alive and okay, that would still be bad even aside from the general hurt being pushed away would have.

“Only if y’really don’ wan’ t'anymo'…” she murmurs quietly in reply, the words sounding timid, and with something like almost-desperation underneath that, especially the quickly-added “Y’don’ wan’ me t’go, do y’?”

[Pyro]

< Y’don’ wan’ me t’go do y’?
”I… what? Fuck, Rogue, if y’missed’rything else” – he turns to face her, still sluggish with more than a few traces of lingering sleep, turning on to his stomach and round rather than flipping onto his back because that way he can keep her arm around him more easily, keep her close. The proximity is nice – in a friendly way, he reminds himself, though if she’s come back knowing he can’t just want that now then… no, friendly – ”That at least should’a sunk in. Want you here.”

Seeing her is also good, and he quirks a slow, sleep-doped smile… which fades from childishly bright to more curious and hesitant on noticing the tear tracks shimmering in the darkness. ”You okay?” he asks, stupidly, more from habit than anything else before the properly understanding (or at least John’s take on it, which scans simply as serious-if-slightly-bored rather than venomous or sarcastic), though only marginally less redundant, concern clicks in. ”Nightmare?”

[Rogue]

”I… what? Fuck, Rogue, if y’missed’rything else..”[/color]

She opens her eyes as he shifts - though she still can’t see more than vague outline-shapes and such, it’s at least a little better now that her eyes’re starting to adjust, and feels less strange than having them closed - and sort of watches as he turns to face her.

“…That at least should’a sunk in. Want you here.”

That draws a smile, though it’s not exactly the happy-sort, so much as the relieved and emotionally-drained sort, grateful that at least a little bit is still the same. So the murmured "Thank y’, Sugah.” is for that, and she sort of relaxes just a little, now that she knows she’s not going to have to leave just yet.

His smile sort of makes her smile a little more, though still almost-forced – and makes her want to bury her face against him and cling on until the scared and the generally emotional overload of the day and night is gone. Because that seems like it would work, somehow, and it being gone would be really, really good.

”You okay? Nightmare?”[/color]

Rogue nods a little, and tries again with the forced smile. ”Yeah… Guess I can’ handle ‘em on m’own aft’rall.” It’s sort of an apology, the way it comes out, the way her voice sounds almost tentative – because she is sorry, feels as though she’s somehow been horrible by simply making it seem like she’d be okay on her own when she does so obviously rely on him for so much…

”Know it w’s jus’ a dream, but …it doesn’ feel tha’ way.”

[Pyro]

< Thank y’, Sugah
”D’mention’i’.” he yawns, un-curling slightly, wriggling into something sleeker and longer so there’s more for her to cling to and it’s easier for her to slide against him, meeting with length rather than elbows and knees and other awkward bits. And maybe there’s something a little different in wanting to maximise contact tonight – because that’s just plain weird where Rogue’s concerned – but he’d be a liar if he didn’t put at least some of this down to a desire for contact proper rather than just wanting to know she’s there (and yes, he’s a liar regardless of that small truth which isn’t going to change anything, but whatever). ”Just glad y’saw sense and came back.”

< Guess I can’ handle ‘em on m’own aft’rall
”Could’ve told you that one.” He adjusts his position slightly, shifts his shoulder so it’s in the right place for her to rest her head against. The hand wrapped casually around her rests on her back, just at the base of her spine, fingers moving in small circles on their own accord in something like a comforting gesture. It’s oh-so-tempting to slide just a little lower and hook up under so it’s the skin of her spine and not the fabric of her top he’s rubbing against, but that’s so clearly a bad idea on a number of levels, even his sleepy brain can tell as much, and so it stays where it is, occasionally catching against the thickened fabric of the hemming and playing with that edging idly for a moment or two but always letting that drop before he can act on the temptation. ”But you were so determined not to let me handle ‘em for you… which is fucking stupid, really. “

< Know it w’s jus’ a dream, but …it doesn’ feel tha’ way
”It’s not real” He shifts again, so he can look her in the eyes – as far as you can properly look at anyone in the darkness – thumbing away a tear with his free hand, careful to make the gesture both slow enough to be careful and quick enough to pull away before she can start absorbing him. ”This is. But that wasn’t.”

[Rogue]

”D’mention’i’. Just glad y’saw sense and came back.”[/color]

Rogue shifts as he does, so she’s still holding onto him and close, shifting to fit with his new position easily, because it’s just normal and …how it works, how they always work. (And of course it’s nothing other than that, right? Surely he understands that? Because it can’t be anything else, right?.)

“M’too.” She is, she’s really glad she didn’t just curl up and try to ignore it all alone. She’s already starting to feel better, feel okay, and she wouldn’t have if she hadn’t come in here. She wouldn’t have been okay, even once the initial fear went away – and she really doesn’t know if she likes the way she’s so dependant on him, but at the same time anything else doesn’t seem right. And she’s really glad that he’s glad, too – it makes her more sure he’s not just humoring her, that he says so.

”Could’ve told you that one.”[/color]

More shifting, and she again moves only enough to match him, almost lazy-absent in the way she leans her head on him, one gloved hand absently reaching over and pushing hair off his forehead, before settling back to it’s previous position as she flashes a tiny half-smile.

”But you were so determined not to let me handle ‘em for you… which is fucking stupid, really."[/color]

“I thought y’wouldn’ wan’ ta… Didn’ wanna make y’do somethin’ y’didn’ wanna do.” she murmurs, ”R’lly glad y’don’ min’.”

”It’s not real” [/color]

The touch almost makes her cringe – but she doesn’t, settles for the silent be careful look, though she’s not entirely sure it can be seen in the dark. It’s deliberate, she can tell, but he doesn’t flood her mind, and she’s left thinking that she’s stupid and paranoid because of course he still knows what he’s doing – it’s not been long enough for that, or anything…

”This is. But that wasn’t.”

…She’s going to ignore that. Not totally ignore it all, no, but …she’s not going to take it as anything else, because … no. He won’t start that again, right? Not now, not tonight, especially. Not after all that went on.

“’M glad.” she swallows slightly, blinks deliberately a few times to push back the tears the mere idea of the dream being real push to the surface. “No idea wha’ I’d do if I los’ y’ f’real.” She curls in closer as she finishes, buries her face against him and keeps fighting the tears because it wasn’t real.

[Pyro]

< I thought y’wouldn’ wan’ ta
He laughs at that, a small, sharp snort, because… is that it? That she’s doubting his commitment, scared he’s not interested in helping her any more? Okay, so his track record as far as sticking around when things get difficult… pretty much sucks, if he’s being honest (which he isn’t, because that particular train of brutal honesty means talking about Bobby and… no fucking way), but for her at least he’s been pretty damn near constant, right? Which, now he thinks about it, has to count in his favour as far as this whatever-they-have goes – stage one, making her admit she needs him, having gone according to plan, stage two’s concern is getting her to see that he can and will meet those needs in spite of how incredibly fucked up he undeniably is.

< R’lly glad y’don’ min’
”Fucking hell, you know me better than that” He’s still clearly that odd sort of amused which isn’t really entertained so much as relieved, but there’s a gently admonishing edge as well, an affectionate firmness in the tone.

He doesn’t have to push it, he tells himself. Things can roll on perfectly well just like this, just like they always did and always will. He’d made a mistake earlier, even if it had still been right (because he refuses to accept that there’s anything wrong with the idea in principle; it was just the execution), and doing that twice in one night’s just too much stupidity even for him…

< No idea wha’ I’d do if I los’ y’ f’real
… conviction be damned, that’s all the encouragement he needs.

He pulls back slightly so he can see her face again – ”Not going anywhere. Promise.” – planting a careful, chaste kiss on her forehead. Or at least, careful and chaste is the plan, and it works okay for the first one…

… it’s the second that’s the problem, because John doesn’t do half-measures or ‘the safe option’, and the slight tug of her power when he’s just a little too slow to pull back from the first is just a little too intoxicating, her vulnerability and need a little too enticing. So the second is lower, almost a *real* kiss, though lacking in finesse and still with a hint of something like hesitation, though that's probably more for her benefit than from any real prudence, catching the corner rather than lip-proper.

[Rogue]

”Fucking hell, you know me better than that” [/color]

Maybe she shouldn’t have assumed that what had been said in the argument would hold – she probably should have known he wouldn’t have really made her stop coming to him… but at the time, and after, she’d not really been sure which way was the proverbial up… And confusion always makes things seem worse than it really is. She doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly with a small grateful smile.

”Not going anywhere. Promise.” [/color]

She wants to protest that he can’t promise that, because things happen – bad things like what’s happening with Bobby, accidents and things no one ever thinks about, plans on or for – and he can’t be sure… Except that she’s sort of startled by the kiss to the forehead (and as he moves back, by the fragment she’s picked up from him, too small to really cause a surge of his presence, but big enough to notice) – but rationalizes it as entirely fine, normal. It’s friendly, nothing else, nothing different… So when the second kiss comes around, she sort of tenses and almost pushes him away, because that’s not the same sort of thing…

Instead she sort of freezes, doesn’t push away, but doesn’t pull him in, either. Just… doesn’t move, sort of scared-panicking expression on her face, and tries hard to come up with some way of justifying it, making it not like that, not …like earlier. Hard to do, though…

She curls inwards, moving away so it can’t happen again without actually really turning away from him (because that would still feel too wrong, and she still needs the closeness and some semblance of normal). “John… don’. Please?” The end comes out far more like a question than even a request such as that should. Eyes squeezed closed again, but this time it’s to try to keep from crying instead of against the dark, because, no. This can’t… It… They can’t change. She needs this to be normal, and the way they’re supposed to be.

[Pyro]

… well, that was a stupid thing to do. Very stupid. Not that there’s anything especially revolutionary about him doing stupid things, especially where Rogue and/or Bobby is involved, but still, very, very stupid. She doesn’t push him away, which is some small encouragement perhaps, but the way she tenses is enough to make him make the move himself, pulling back with an exasperated for fuck’s sake sigh – ”Fine” - as he uncurls from her and moves onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

It’s far too fucking complicated, this arrangement; he’s never been good at drawing the line between ‘appropriate’ and ‘too much’ because as far as he’s concerned full out is the only way to go, and it’s somewhere beyond frustrating that she’s so desperate to have that little contact but won’t yield anything else. Bobby was never like that. And maybe that’s why the game is so addictive, because she’s dead set on being untouchable and he’s all about touching that without being burned and… yes, it’s compulsive, as much as it is maddening.

”What is this to you?” It’s equal parts question and babble, not really directed at her despite the fact it’s clearly her he’s asking about. ”I’m, what, your therapist? Your dealer? Your goddamn confessional booth, what? Because I’m having a fucking nightmare trying to figure out why this is such a bad idea.”

[Rogue]

”Fine”[/color]

Rogue shifts when he does, turns to look at him as he pulls away from her as best she can in the dark, and without entirely uncurling from her position. A moment’s hesitation where she just holds that position, watching, then she moves again, not entirely changing, but enough so her head is resting against his chest, even though she’s still sort of in the same curled-in position. She doesn’t want him to move away, just not to get too close…

”What is this to you? I’m, what, your therapist? Your dealer? Your goddamn confessional booth, what? Because I’m having a fucking nightmare trying to figure out why this is such a bad idea.”[/color]

“I don’ know.” She’s sort of given up bothering to push back tears, but she’s not officially crying, either, just sort of …leaking tears. “I jus’ don’ wan’ wha’ever it is t’change… Us t’change.”

And it would, it would have to. And right now, the prospect of that is overwhelming. Sure, there are still other points as to why that would be a bad idea, but right now that’s the biggest one, the obvious, scary one playing at monster-under-the-bed – you know it’s there; you can’t see it yet, but you know as soon as you put one foot down within reach it’ll grab you, pull you under with it…

“Isn’ this enough?”

[Pyro]

< I jus’ don’ wan’ wha’ever it is t’change… Us t’change
”Things change Rogue, it’s… fuck, it’s how the world works.” Another exasperated sigh because shit, she’s seriously deluded if she hasn’t realised that by now; how much is it going to take to convince her that things do change, have changed, and will continue to change? Nothing’s stable, nothing lasts, and the most you can ever hope to do is to adapt with that and survive. Bury your head in the sand and pretend it’s not happening and you can carry on as you are, and the world changes enough that suddenly you’re totally redundant. And the fact that things change is a good thing, because being static is being stagnant and trapped and… yes, change is good. Even when it’s bad. ”An’ speaking from experience it’s not usually for the better, so fuck, no, I am not going to pass this one up. Can’t understand you wanting to either…”

< Isn’ this enough?
”No. Not really.”

He’s been resisting the urge to relax back into having her lean against him, staying tense on principle given that she’s been pushing him away and can’t now expect to just curl up since she’s trying to argue that that’s not what she wants… but it’s hard to keep that up when all he really wants to do is go back to sleep and not have to worry about convincing anyone of anything other than that he’s not getting up until at least lunchtime… and a yawn fights its way out through the steely façade and his resolve collapses back in on itself… and he’s sleepy, and he’s babbling, and aware of both these facts but sleep-sluggishly unable to properly fight off either of them. ”Not even like it’s a big change… fuck, you should be glad of it. Makes all this legit, stops it being sneaking around and going behind people’s backs and… Not like you didn’t ‘know’ something at least… And not like it makes us any different… Just makes you crawling into my bed a whole lot less fucking bizarre an arrangement.”

[Rogue]

”Things change Rogue, it’s… fuck, it’s how the world works.”[/color]

“Doesn’ mean we have t’…” …Yes, she can admit that that’s not realistic, and that it’s childish, as is the whiney tone her voice takes on, the way she’s absently playing with a fold in his shirt with gloved fingers, still not really looking at him. Yes, she’s acting like a stubborn little girl …but she can’t bring herself to be willing to accept anything else. This is what she knows, this is okay. Anything else is… frightening.

”An’ speaking from experience it’s not usually for the better, so fuck, no, I am not going to pass this one up. Can’t understand you wanting to either…”

“What if it wasn’ a good change? Wha’ if… it was bad, an’ it ruined us..?” Childish carries over to this, and now she does shift a little to peer up at him, worried-curious sort of look.

”No. Not really.”[/color]

That’s not what she wants him to say, but she didn’t exactly expect any different, really. Couldn’t expect different. Because it’s John, and obviously it wouldn’t be enough if there’s more even somewhere in his sight, and he’d never say it was just to keep her happy. It’s not like him – not with something like this.

”Not even like it’s a big change… fuck, you should be glad of it. Makes all this legit, stops it being sneaking around and going behind people’s backs and… Not like you didn’t ‘know’ something at least… And not like it makes us any different… Just makes you crawling into my bed a whole lot less fucking bizarre an arrangement.”[/color]

…But it would be different. Completely different. Because as friends, as whatever it is that they’ve always been, none of this is inappropriate, because they know it’s not anything else, and not to cross the lines, right? It’s just the way they are… (Or, were? Nooo, still are, right?)

But he does have a point, there, even if it’s a small one, because part of her did know there was something – except she’d ignored that, never thought it was anything important (nothing complex and …anything like what’s apparently lurking here now), and she’d thought it was gone long ago (before he ever left, even)… It had been, hadn’t it?

She starts out quietly insistant, almost arguementive, ”Y’can’ know it wouldn’ b’differen’. It might – probably would be. An’ …” then switches to unsure and almost-tentative. She sort of makes a small motion to indicate the two of them with one hand, though she's not sure it can be seen in the dark. “An’ this… It’s not anythin’ wrong, is it?”

[Pyro]

< Doesn’ mean we have t’
John laughs – it would be over something like this, her finally stopping doing what she’s told and suggesting they rebel against the way things are. ”Y’know I’m usually game for sticking it to the man n’all, but this is different” – and despite the teasing edge with which he counters her childish tone, it’s undeniably serious, insistent, protesting that he’s not fooling, that maybe he has grown up just enough for it to make a difference, and if something that fundamental can change and they still be who they are, then maybe this isn’t that much of a threat – ”Bigger than that”

< Wha’ if… it was bad, an’ it ruined us..?
”What if it didn’t?” His confidence is as childish as her timid concern, and he meets her questioning glance with a grin… not that that makes the line he’s treading any less precarious, nor removes it from dangerously close to dark and twisted and returning to the manipulative schtick which probably doesn’t help any in convincing her they won’t be ruined by playing with this. But it’s not a mean play on her weaknesses if he’s doing it for her own good, right? ”What if it was a good thing, and more, your only shot at a good thing?” His ease with having her that close, the way he’s totally blasé about brushing a strand of her fringe back from her still tear-streaked cheek without the slightest concern for whether she’ll pick up a flash of psyche or not, underlines the point; she kills with a touch, after all, and it’s not like she’ll find many people who don’t particularly care about that… or, perhaps better put if not necessarily more true, who care enough about other stuff to ignore it.

< It might – probably would be
He shrugs. ”Why’s different got to mean ‘fucked and heading straight to hell’?”

< It’s not anythin’ wrong, is it?
He’s slightly stunned she feels the need to ask… though on deeper thought, that’s sort of a good thing, right? If she’s not sure whether where they are now is innocent or something more, it kinda… might just help his cause somewhat. ”No, s’not wrong. Just weird.” Sitting up slightly, he makes a similar gesture, taking in the pair of them, where they are, the way she’s curled up against him. ”You, me, creeping ‘round after dark because you need me to touch you so you can stay sane. S’… shit, Rogue, it’s fucked up to say that doesn’t mean something. Like being fuck buddies and nothing more, and this, us, you for all your… fucking insane… whatever it is… it is more than that, right?”

[Rogue]

”Y’know I’m usually game for sticking it to the man n’all, but this is different. Bigger than that”[/color]

She nods slightly; it is a bigger issue than some childish rebellion against facts. But it’s still not something she wants to just let happen – change, right now? Everything’s already different. Some is okay, but most of it’s been bad, and the good things are mostly what’s gone back to normal, not what’s different…

”What if it didn’t? What if it was a good thing, and more, your only shot at a good thing?” [/color]

The brief touch seems like it’s between absent and deliberate – like he’s either trying to make a point or he’s really just not paying that sort of attention… and either way, it does sort of leave an impression (and not a literal one, no absorption happening that quick), because… yeah, she’s not exactly got anyone lining up to be with her (or, even, to be anywhere near her, though by now she’s mostly-used to that and all, and for the most part that’s perfectly okay). And she can’t honestly say the idea itself is a bad one (…which is new, or at least it’s just now sort of appearing; his mention of ‘denial’ previously may have had a bit more truth to it than she’d been willing to admit…), it’s just … complicated and scary.

She doesn’t say anything. Maybe she should, but she doesn’t really know what to say, so she just sort of half-shrugs against him, with a small sigh that’s almost like she’s conceding he has a point, but she’s not quite ready to accept said point as fact or anything just yet.

”Why’s different got to mean ‘fucked and heading straight to hell’?”[/color]

“S’how it usually seems t’end up when things change.” she murmurs, another tiny almost-shrug. It’s true – every time something’s changed, the majority of the aftermath has been bad. Things are already bad enough – making it worse would be unbearable… (And, yeah, there’s part that wants to know what would happen if it wasn’t bad, for once – just what that would be like… )

”No, s’not wrong. Just weird.”[/color]

She draws back a little as he sort-of sits up more, rolling onto her stomach, still right beside him and sort of leaning against, looking over at him, propped on her elbows just barely, gloved hands fiddling with the blankets absently in front of her.

”You, me, creeping ‘round after dark because you need me to touch you so you can stay sane. S’… shit, Rogue, it’s fucked up to say that doesn’t mean something. Like being fuck buddies and nothing more, and this, us, you for all your… fucking insane… whatever it is… it is more than that, right?”

“Yeah, s’more’n’ tha’… I didn’ mean t’make it seem tha’ way. ‘M sorry, if I did…” she absently drops her eyes to where her hands are still fidgeting, “It is more’n tha’, though.” Tiny smile flashed up in his direction – again, not a concession. It’s not, not entirely. Yes it’s more than meaningless, but … from there, she’s still mostly-lost. And the only person pointing out a direction is pointing her towards one she’s still hesitant to go towards…