( wanda glances up at him, his sudden questions brimming with confusion making her confused, because that's not the reaction she was expecting. but then his confusion gives way to tension, annoyance, some unfettered anger at the notion that she was imprisoned at all.

suppose that all she remembers is seeing the smug faces of officers as they clasped the cuff around her neck to keep her from using her powers, at binding her arms in what effectively was a straightjacket. she didn't stop to consider that others would see it and think of how fucked up it was, that nothing she'd done would be deserving of that.

the image of him becomes a little hazy with the welling of tears, but she's quick to shake her head, to hide that, and instead finds one of his hands to hold; her two hands, pressed down onto his hand, against the mattress. she's appreciative of him, of what he says and what he wants to do, and... wanda might actually take him up on it, but right now, she doesn't want sanji to see her cry.

which is why she says what needs to be done first. )

Let me fix your pants first. Then you can do all that with a little more dignity, ( (she's joking) ) even if they're your lucky boxers.