Ned hears that changed note in Erik's voice immediately, the darkness in it. It makes him look up at him as he answers, make eye contact. That smile is nothing like the one from earlier - there is nothing joyful or pleasant about it. It makes something in Ned's stomach twist painfully, but at the same time serves as punctuation and contrast. He might not know the details, but he doesn't doubt Erik for a second, and it helps provide a perspective that is difficult - if not impossible - for him to provide himself. He trusts Erik's opinion, values it.
(Some part of him wonders quietly just what the hell happened to Erik, what can have possibly made him into the kind of person he is)
There is a certain quality to the way Erik speaks to him sometimes that Ned cannot think of a word for. Idealistic, but without the usual implication of optimism or naivety. Inspirational, but without the commercial or sentimental connotations. Whatever the name for it, it's powerful and unprecedented. Ned hasn't wasted his time on this particular kind of what if in years. He's had plenty of regrets and imagined scenarios: what if he'd lived a normal life without his powers, what if he lived in a world where everyone was like him, what if he had experimented with his powers before trying to use them on any humans, etcetera. But he hasn't conjured up a world where he didn't have to hide.
And it's important to him, the way Erik phrases it. Not that Ned shouldn't have hidden - Erik, Ned knows, understands the reasons for his hiding. What he says, though, is that he should have had to hide. The shift in emphasis makes a huge difference. It implies that he isn't wrong, but that the world is.
He doesn't know how to respond, brings a hand up to rub over his mouth. Ned knows all too well the destructive impact his power can have on others, but Erik is drawing his attention to the destructive power it has had on him. His power has corroded him from the inside, yes. Left him a rusted, tangled snarl of anxiety and neuroses and sensitivity and self-loathing. But it could have done worse. He has, at least, survived it, sometimes with effort. Is that enough make him strong? Can someone as strong as Erik really see strength in someone like him?
"I don't feel very strong," he says, hesitantly. Much as he might have wanted to, he didn't say I am not strong. It's thus not an argument, as such - merely a confirmation Erik's assertion that he can't imagine it. Ned cannot make that mental leap just yet, to figure himself as anything but weak, acted-upon rather than acting. "I never have. I'm not sure I even know how to."
no subject
(Some part of him wonders quietly just what the hell happened to Erik, what can have possibly made him into the kind of person he is)
There is a certain quality to the way Erik speaks to him sometimes that Ned cannot think of a word for. Idealistic, but without the usual implication of optimism or naivety. Inspirational, but without the commercial or sentimental connotations. Whatever the name for it, it's powerful and unprecedented. Ned hasn't wasted his time on this particular kind of what if in years. He's had plenty of regrets and imagined scenarios: what if he'd lived a normal life without his powers, what if he lived in a world where everyone was like him, what if he had experimented with his powers before trying to use them on any humans, etcetera. But he hasn't conjured up a world where he didn't have to hide.
And it's important to him, the way Erik phrases it. Not that Ned shouldn't have hidden - Erik, Ned knows, understands the reasons for his hiding. What he says, though, is that he should have had to hide. The shift in emphasis makes a huge difference. It implies that he isn't wrong, but that the world is.
He doesn't know how to respond, brings a hand up to rub over his mouth. Ned knows all too well the destructive impact his power can have on others, but Erik is drawing his attention to the destructive power it has had on him. His power has corroded him from the inside, yes. Left him a rusted, tangled snarl of anxiety and neuroses and sensitivity and self-loathing. But it could have done worse. He has, at least, survived it, sometimes with effort. Is that enough make him strong? Can someone as strong as Erik really see strength in someone like him?
"I don't feel very strong," he says, hesitantly. Much as he might have wanted to, he didn't say I am not strong. It's thus not an argument, as such - merely a confirmation Erik's assertion that he can't imagine it. Ned cannot make that mental leap just yet, to figure himself as anything but weak, acted-upon rather than acting. "I never have. I'm not sure I even know how to."