Her back was turned toward Steve, her focus on the blank, silent face of her phone. It refused to light up with a return message, it refused to make noise, and it was so stupid to hope that it would. What would he even say that was worth feeling this wretched about? She knew exactly what Clint would say. He would say it didn't matter. He would say she'd done the right thing, and he'd been fine, and he wasn't angry with her, and there was nothing to worry about. Like she'd already scripted out a return message for him and all he had to do was press send, like it was a book she'd already read.
And even if all those things were true for him, they wouldn't feel true. There was so much mess to wade through whenever it came to Clint, how it could never just be easy.
But her eyes were on her phone, anyway, one hand on the coffeepot as she waited for it to fill. "Don't bother," she said, and her voice was just - tired. No venom in it, not now. What would the point have been? Nothing got through to Steve, nothing ever really stuck. It was an empty thank you, a begrudging one that meant nothing beyond the fact that he clearly knew he owed it, and she had no use for empty gestures lately. Besides, the last time he'd come over here, she'd more or less told him in the future, she'd stay out of his business. But she'd intervened again, even if it was something she'd done more for James than she had for his.
"Go back out to the couch," she said, her fingers tightening around the handle of the coffee pot. "I'm fine in here."