Mary was willing to concede that maybe they'd both provided what the other had needed in the moment, and she was okay with being someone's hero. Mary wasn't very good at hero, not in the ways she was supposed to be: the heart ice cubes floating in her glass served as a reminder of her Aztec and the far more bloody hearts she had allowed to be torn from criminal sacrifices to sustain him. No, Mary was quite weak when it came down to it. It wasn't heroic, the ways she'd ignored what was going on just to keep that blindingly beautiful sun god beside her, just so that he would keep loving her like she'd allowed no one else to for two thousand years.
But Much said she was a hero and he didn't need to know all the many many mistakes she'd made in her long life, all the people who had been let down by her. Sometimes Mary desperately needed to see herself through less judgmental eyes, to prove that she could still make the right choices and say the right things on occasion. That maybe she wasn't a complete lost cause.
"Then we'll call it even," Mary said after swallowing another bite of food. "Wipe away any debt." At least between the two of them. She suspected that Much felt he had a lot of debt to pay since Lust. Mary got that as well. Lust had cost Mary plenty, and some of those wounds would never be allowed to heal. But Mary had always been the walking wounded, the image of a weeping penitent build right into her DNA (if she even had DNA). "Though you're winning points back to your side with this garlic bread."