[ The words crash over Stephen slowly, at first a prickling sensation down his spine, then a cold deluge. He forgets, sometimes, the smaller microcosms of the multiverse. The space between one human and another instead of planets, galaxies, dimensions. A child swaddled by their mother, a belly laugh between friends. His hand, splayed out on Christine's chest to keep her safe, as he righted the car and told her she'd be okay.
He remembers the texture of her evening gown, the pattern of her breaths under his fingertips. Blinding headlights in the rearview mirror. The space between.
He tears his eyes away from Maximoff's fierce expression, toward the beat-up Volvo station wagon he'd picked because of old safety ads on CRT screens. For a second, he stands there, hands empty at his sides, edges of his cape rustling in the wind. ]
I don't know enough about this version of you to answer that. [ The answer is somber – sincere. He meets her gaze again, manages a melancholic smile. ] You're not a zombie, though, so... you've already got a leg up on the last one I met.
no subject
He remembers the texture of her evening gown, the pattern of her breaths under his fingertips. Blinding headlights in the rearview mirror. The space between.
He tears his eyes away from Maximoff's fierce expression, toward the beat-up Volvo station wagon he'd picked because of old safety ads on CRT screens. For a second, he stands there, hands empty at his sides, edges of his cape rustling in the wind. ]
I don't know enough about this version of you to answer that. [ The answer is somber – sincere. He meets her gaze again, manages a melancholic smile. ] You're not a zombie, though, so... you've already got a leg up on the last one I met.