[To his credit, he lets her speak. Lets her say her piece until the very end. But by the end of it, Stephen’s face has shadowed itself with a frown, wrinkles marring his brow, making him genuinely look the age he feels. He can’t wholly force the incredulity out of his words.

This is a lot to unpack; he feels like he’s walking on eggshells.]

I flinched because—as much as I wish it weren’t the case—the memory of Kamar-Taj in ruins is still fresh in my mind. We’ve been working on rebuilding it now, did you know that? And every time I look around, watching students practice, or work towards putting the place back together brick-by-brick, I can’t help but notice how many less of us there are now. So yes, I’m a little hesitant, Wanda. And I don’t think it’s fair that you expect otherwise from me so soon.

[What kind of person does she think he is? An automaton? A man who moves through life like it were a checklist, frowning at the things and people that do not fall into line accordingly? Or worse, someone better than that?]

I’m not— [He tears this part out of his throat as though his pride will not allow it. But his pride needs to be softer, more malleable, and he must concede a little.] —a saint. I’m still just human.

[But that flaring moment of indignity is gone in a flash, leaving only more exhaustion in his wake and an empty feeling at his core. Wanda looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and Stephen feels like portaling himself into another realm altogether if he could. He sighs long, reins himself back in. Raises a scarred hand to scrub at his face, his next words having lost their edges.]

I don’t mean… to sound the way I sound half of the time. More than half. [God, did she compare him to Tony Stark?] Christine used to tell me the exact same thing… [He lets that thought trail off, die on the vine.] But I’ll make it clear now: I’ve never once lost respect for you, Wanda. Would I have made any better decisions in your shoes?

[He scoffs.]

I think the multiverse has already answered that for us.