It wasn't so much about Scott turning Melissa's offer down that surprised her - but the request that came after that. The woman knew how badly he could use a friendly shoulder (the weight of running everything seemed to be crushing him lately, no matter how bravely he endured), but Scott wasn't one to talk about it.
Melissa thought she could make it go away for a moment - but she would only deceive his emotions if he asked for it. Instead, she reached out to the closest hand of her colleague and mentor (although 'friend' was the first description she applied to him after arriving at the manor) and clasped it firmly, taking a moment to allow their warmth to share and balance out.
"Everyone cares for you, Scott," she said quietly after a while, honeyed eyes looking up to the ruby shades of his and hoping he could see the sincerity in her claim, "I care for you. Always have," Melissa said, then suddenly realizing how bold that could have sounded and ducking her head next, laying it over his shoulder and breaking eye contact.
Her hold did not lessen, though - and she stayed at his side, tangible and warm. Even if they were uniquely close, the fact he couldn't see her face was enough, so she emphasized it again, soft like any confession (obvious or not) should be. "And I always will. You're not alone."
It was telling that, for a girl with a battle name such as Sirena, she was choosing spoken words over actions or text - it was a testament to her trust in Scott Summers.
@stingslikeabee, unprompted.
Melissa's hand felt small. Big as Scott was himself, it didn't take much for someone to be dwarfed by him, but in the sheer cold of losing Jean Melissa's warmth was as sharp as a knife.
He held onto her, though, despite that. And while grief and guilt continued to strangle him, he kept enough semblance of control not to squeeze the life out of what kindness Melissa offered.
Her comfort was sweet, but it was the truth of it that mattered most. Feeling the weight of Melissa's head on his shoulder, Scott focused on his breathing, and the moment she said it-- you're not alone-- every muscle in his shoulders relaxed, one by one, until he was leaning his own head against hers. Scott shut his eyes, cutting through the perpetual headache, and the humming in his head, and the aches in his body after the battle they'd had only the day before. Centring himself, all he thought about was the weight of Melissa's soft hand in his.
His age-old, paranoid fear of anyone seeing him like this nudged at the back of his skull. Scott resisted it as much as he could, filling his lungs with air and carefully pushing it back out.
"For what it's worth," he started, tone even, "it's not the caring I was worried about. You're an easy read with that one.
There were too many adjectives to list. He was sad. Distraught. Angrier than he'd ever been in his life. He was grieving, and he was miserable, and by God he had never felt as much regret as this in his life. Logically there was nothing he could do; Jean and the Phoenix Force were stronger than Scott could ever hope to be, and even they had fallen. But he would never stop wondering if there was more he could have done.
"I'm tired, Mel. And it feels like I'm in a waking nightmare."
The backs of his humming eyes ran hot with the suggestion of tears.
"We were going to file for divorce, you know," he murmured softly. "After all this." It was no secret that they'd been falling out of what they had-- that after he and Apocalypse became one, Scott had been too haunted to communicate the way she needed him to. "But now she..."
Now she was gone. And though at her deathbed she'd given him her blessing to live on, to find love, to find someone who'd understand him instead of demand things of him... how on Earth was he supposed to?
