It’s tempting to want to keep blaming him. To say that he’d kicked all of this off, that if he hadn’t gone after the Tesseract then none of it would have happened. That the deaths of a billion beings, this universe over, are on his head. She can still find the ugly angry feeling — but oddly enough, she can’t summon the will to direct it at him. What does it matter, now? They’re both dead. It had happened.
Perhaps he’s right, and they’d done it. Steve, Tony, Bruce, Clint… they’d brought everyone back. They’d won. And that was what counted, wasn’t it? Whatever it takes.
“I don’t think I can be brought back,” she says, a little dazed. “There was a trade that had to be made.” A life for the stone. Her life. Irreversible. A fixed point in time. Stephen Strange, if he made it back, would probably be able to explain it in a way that made sense. And Clint — he’d need an explanation.
Her heart hurts, all of a sudden.
“You know, whatever version of hell I imagined, it wasn’t this and it wasn’t you.” She covers the vulnerability with a quip, eyebrows furrowing down as she glares at him.
no subject
Perhaps he’s right, and they’d done it. Steve, Tony, Bruce, Clint… they’d brought everyone back. They’d won. And that was what counted, wasn’t it? Whatever it takes.
“I don’t think I can be brought back,” she says, a little dazed. “There was a trade that had to be made.” A life for the stone. Her life. Irreversible. A fixed point in time. Stephen Strange, if he made it back, would probably be able to explain it in a way that made sense. And Clint — he’d need an explanation.
Her heart hurts, all of a sudden.
“You know, whatever version of hell I imagined, it wasn’t this and it wasn’t you.” She covers the vulnerability with a quip, eyebrows furrowing down as she glares at him.