The look that finds him when he clears his throat is still annoyed, still edged, but there's more to it, too. Reluctance, a touch of bitter even volatile regret, maybe even a slight turn of anger more for it, even as she's giving, even as it's not anger at himself so much as shifting to being angry, disgusted at herself for letting it happen (and god isn't she so good at that now), for trying to choose something that wasn't the shit they had to deal with, and for his being the one to call her on it. Even if he isn't, he is. He is, she is. Same question as months ago. It could have been days. But he didn't.

Still. It grates worse than sandpaper, and even being stabbed. She doesn't want to let go of what they've been building.
And how fucked is it she isn't sure that what she and Vanya are trying at will survive that conversation?

Sometimes she really hates this family. This life.

The fact she has too many examples of how this isn't how things are supposed to work in the real world. (But the real world doesn't have powers; the real world's mothers weren't pregnant for only minutes; the real world couldn't blow itself up without meaning to; the real world wasn't raised by a heartless, manipulative megalomaniac; the real world wasn't taken to court for being the exact same.)

It just all shoves up under her skin, like her blood is biting her veins, and she tosses her magazine down on one of the couch seats he specifically didn't choose near her. Fine.

Fine, she'll do what she's supposed to do.

Even if it costs her one of the two truly good things she might almost have here.
And makes it so she really doesn't want to be near the other one at the moment either.