This is why he'll never win an Emmy for his script-writing. His dialogue choices do nothing to add flavour to the scene. Straight to the heart of it, like a surgeon with a scalpel. He would've been written off Grey's Anatomy within two episodes.

Of course, she knows why he's asking.

"My orchard," she says. It's honest; it's not her fault he doesn't ask specifics. When she had finally dreamed a dream that didn't include her boys roughhousing in the front yard, she dreams of her orchard in Sokovia with the sheep bleating in the distance and the warm breeze.

It is the last thing she remembers. Before that, she remembers nothing but darkness and dust, and a red glow before— Well, before she perhaps escaped from Wundagore. Sometimes, Wanda's unsure of whether that happened at all. The building's collapse had been so hurried…

Without needing to read his mind, she knows what he last remembers. He holds himself stiffly. He's not the warmest man, but he's proud and enjoys bleeding that arrogance. Now that there's no need to chase after him, she can see the differences in his posture compared to how he approached her in her orchard. All that stress, all that worry… Does he truly think she'd hurt him in a library? She has respect for books.

Tilting her head to the side, she keeps her expression open, her smile pleasant. It doesn't matter that she came to her senses at the last minute—let him be the unpleasant one. Wanda hates it when they treat her like she's the villain.

"What about you, Stephen?"