"Oh for God's sake, woman, don't apologise." They had known each other for years on end, countless faces, but there had been one in particular that Mystique had worn in the early days, before she'd adapted to the ever-changing lifestyle. One voice, one particular set of mannerisms that appeared now out of age-old instinct. Fond brusqueness, affectionate intolerance, they had always been easy.
"I couldn't possibly have been that important." She had always had trouble with that, the notion of her worth that Irene had seemed to hold. She had done things, yes, but she would have done them anyway, wouldn't she? The important things.
Maybe.
It all depended on what those 'important things' were, and one thing Mystique had accepted was that she would never understand that distinction.