( matt doesn't want to fuck this up, and he doesn't. he says exactly the right thing; it's only unfortunate that the right thing to say makes the knot in wanda's throat worse, wells her eyes with tears, and overwhelms her with emotion.

it feels like such a long time since something like this—him holding her hand, after wanda had gotten so used to this flavor of comfort.

her mouth twists and turns, not wanting to make any noise that would alert him to how wretched seven little words make her feel. she swallows hard, shakes her head a little. she's missed him so much, and this fixes things just a little, to admit that he has, too (because wanda needs to believe this is him at his most honest, despite everything else still obscured by avoidance).

when she thinks she has control over her voice, she manages to say, albeit shakily, )

I don't—care what's going on with you, why you're acting like this. Why you can't explain what's going on. Just...

( ultimately, it seems complicated, dangerous, and he's getting so hurt from what she can see, and next time he might be dead in a ditch, a nameless victim of a crime.

her throat tightens again, despite her best efforts. a single tear falls down her cheek. )

—you're all I have, Matty.