Stephen blinks, alarmed at the sight of that composure splitting open, like he’s just landed a better blow than he expected: a solid strike, glass ringing, fractures spreading.
It still feels like they’re standing on a precipice. There are so many things caught on the tip of his tongue, but he’s always been terrible at comfort, at reassurance, at finding the right words, and so what he says now might cause irreparable damage if he doesn’t choose carefully, in the wake of Wanda scrubbing away those tears.
Good — I would have come to help, if I had known — I’m glad that you’ve come to your senses —
He needs to watch his words more carefully than he usually does. Some of his first instincts are hopelessly condescending, potentially disastrous, and he’s too-aware that his last attempt at negotiating with the Scarlet Witch hadn’t gone well; had led to her attacking, apprentice sorcerers dying, the fall of Kamar-Taj. So he sits there in the awkward silence for a moment, both of them marinating in it. It’s ugly. It doesn’t feel good. Finally, Stephen clears his throat.
“I’m truly sorry about it, Wanda. If there had been a way—”
But there wasn’t.
“They don’t take kindly to messing with rifts here. You can’t just jump through one to go home again. So for better or worse, we’re stuck here together. I’m willing to bury the hatchet, if you are. Riftwatch could use someone of your talents, and there’s already enough going on with this war without worrying that we might blow up the Gallows on each other. I don’t want to waste time and energy watching my back in our own headquarters.”
And then, warily, he reaches out one of those scarred hands to her. Truce. A ceasefire.
no subject
It still feels like they’re standing on a precipice. There are so many things caught on the tip of his tongue, but he’s always been terrible at comfort, at reassurance, at finding the right words, and so what he says now might cause irreparable damage if he doesn’t choose carefully, in the wake of Wanda scrubbing away those tears.
Good —
I would have come to help, if I had known —
I’m glad that you’ve come to your senses —
He needs to watch his words more carefully than he usually does. Some of his first instincts are hopelessly condescending, potentially disastrous, and he’s too-aware that his last attempt at negotiating with the Scarlet Witch hadn’t gone well; had led to her attacking, apprentice sorcerers dying, the fall of Kamar-Taj. So he sits there in the awkward silence for a moment, both of them marinating in it. It’s ugly. It doesn’t feel good. Finally, Stephen clears his throat.
“I’m truly sorry about it, Wanda. If there had been a way—”
But there wasn’t.
“They don’t take kindly to messing with rifts here. You can’t just jump through one to go home again. So for better or worse, we’re stuck here together. I’m willing to bury the hatchet, if you are. Riftwatch could use someone of your talents, and there’s already enough going on with this war without worrying that we might blow up the Gallows on each other. I don’t want to waste time and energy watching my back in our own headquarters.”
And then, warily, he reaches out one of those scarred hands to her. Truce. A ceasefire.