Redhawk Caldera What if time doesn't do what it's supposed to do?

Fire wouldn't fight fire, it would only feed it. The worst in Bronco came out when these conversations happened, and it felt like this was the only language they knew how to speak. The only thing they could create was toxicity, and it grew like a hungry weed the more they tried to explain how those weeds were choking them both. He fumed; he could throw words back and forth with her for hours, but he was tired of it. He just wanted it to be over, so he stayed quiet. 

He wanted to scream at her, but he didn't. That would just egg her on, and he figured the best way to get it over with, and get her to leave, was to give her whatever it was that she wanted. Of course, he wasn't sure what that was, exactly, but he figured if he just agreed with her, that'd be enough, but that was easier said than done. And her read on him was intended to wound. He had things to say back to her, and hated the thought that she might leave, feeling as though she'd won. He wanted her to feel bad, now. He wanted her to leave in tears. He made his move.

"Fennec, I'm still in love with you." His words were too articulate, his tone too even. He didn't move, he barely breathed; it was his way of glaring at her in a way he knew she would notice. "Those feathers are a proposal. I long for you. Come back to me, bully me into marrying you again, please." If she was bluffing at all, he wanted to out her.